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 Dec 2013 -
berry
Untitled
 Dec 2013 -
berry
i can't remember when i last heard your voice
and i need you to know that i miss you.
but i don't think the words alone are enough.

i miss you.

I MISS YOU LIKE A BLIND MAN'S BULLSEYE.

I MISS YOU THE WAY A POOR MAN MISSES A ROOF OVER HIS HEAD.

I MISS YOU LIKE THE RUMBLING IN HIS UNFED STOMACH.

I MISS YOU LIKE THE COLD ACHY SPACE IN THIS HALF-EMPTY BED.

I MISS YOU LIKE EVERY POEM I ALMOST WROTE BUT FORGOT ABOUT BEFORE I FOUND A PEN TO WRITE IT DOWN.

I MISS YOU LIKE A FORGOTTEN BIRTHDAY.

I MISS YOU THE WAY JANUARY MISSES GREEN.

I MISS YOU LIKE MY FATHER'S BEDTIME STORIES.

I MISS YOU LIKE THE LAST TRAIN HOME.

MY CHEST IS CAVING. MY LUNGS ARE SHRIVELING,
AND WITH MY LAST BREATH I WILL SCREAM
THROUGH SPACE AND TIME - I MISS YOU.

IT'S TRUE, WHAT ALL THOSE POETS SAY ABOUT THE SUN & MOON - THAT THEY ARE GOING TO KEEP CHASING EACH OTHER FOR ETERNITY, THAT THEY WILL NEVER KNOW ONE ANOTHER'S TOUCH. SO I AM SENDING UP VENDING-MACHINE PRAYERS TO A MAY-OR-MAY-NOT-BE-THERE GOD, BEGGING HIM TO CLOSE THE GAP BETWEEN YOUR FINGERS AND THE SPACES BETWEEN MINE.

- m.f.
a special thanks to my friend Sydney, who is the mind behind the "blind man's bullseye" line.
 Dec 2013 -
Christopher Doyle
Crazy
 Dec 2013 -
Christopher Doyle
The words left altogether.

Thoughts and feelings, memories divided. 
Discrepancies voluntary.
Deceit the ring

Around the foundling’s mare, to ride the darkness 

Of the approaching storm.
Thunder heads rolling 

Behind angry cloud banks.
Spitting sparks. 

Angry, 

Divisive showers.

The universe showed me once how to smile despite myself. 

A garden amongst stone.
An illumination in the downpour. 

I looked again today and history became the mirror. 

The reflection of a purpose restrained.
Less crafted 

Than yielded, of the moment, in relativity. 


I feel the blankness of shock.
I feel the depth of the night 

Spent away from the one I love. 

And yet I crackle with life. 



Reset
 Dec 2013 -
Sophia Fagone
When I was a little girl I used to sit in the audience and watch, as all the dancers on stage lit up my tiny world. They were fabulous, sparkly and their technique was flawless. I wanted to be up there, and I wanted to be as amazing as them. The pounding of the music, and the atmosphere surrounding me was unbelievable. I was a little girl lost in a big world. I couldn’t wait until that was me, I wanted to be perfect, I wanted to be amazing. Now I am one of the oldest in my class, and I know the girls look up to me. I am trying to be the best role model I can be. I want little girls to be inspired like I was. For generations to come, girls who push themselves to become better, that’s the reason why I dance. I love seeing the progress in people, and myself.
About six years ago I joined my very first hip hop class. I had never taken anything like it before. I was a ballerina, and I wasn’t very graceful. So I thought I’d try something new. I walked into a strange room with strange people. I was so nervous, what if I wasn’t good enough? What if people made fun of me? I still remember the look my teacher DeeDee gave me, it was a welcoming, sort of frightening look. She was a fiery red head, and she was full of energy. She was bouncing around, her curls flying everywhere. Those curls, I had some of my own, but I was determined to hide them, so I straightened them everyday. Her hair was flying and whipping and I couldn’t help but just stare. She was a goddess sent down from heaven to teach me how to be a better dancer. Today my dream job is a dance teacher. I strive to be like DeeDee, and I want to live a life full of dance and kids like she does.  
After  that first year of classes, I still wasn’t the best, but I had come so far. I remember wanting to quit, but DeeDee wouldn’t let me. She said I had potential. This meant so much to me, and it felt so good to have someone believe in me. I kept going at it, and finally I had accomplished moving to the older class. To dance with girls older than me was intimidating but it was also a great learning experience. I was pushed by DeeDee to get better, and I wasn’t allowed to quit. No matter how tough things got, I trusted DeeDee when she told me “Hit it hard” I had good days and I had many bad days, but those bad days were a learning experience and I am better today because of it.
The success and the progress I have made in my past years of dancing have all been thanks to DeeDee St. Peter. Without her I probably would not of had the strength to keep dancing and keep trying. To this day I still have DeeDee as a coach, and we are closer than ever. I can count on her for anything and everything. If I ever need someone to talk to, then I can always go to her. She is a great listener and a wonderful friend. I am not a senior yet, but I know, when the day comes that I dance in her class for my final year, I will cry. I will always keep the lessons I have learned, and the memories we have will be forever with me. DeeDee will forever be my hero, and I couldn’t ask for a better coach, teacher, and friend.
 Dec 2013 -
WJ Niemand
A Lost Gain
 Dec 2013 -
WJ Niemand
It was in the candle-lit cabin
that the story was told
about the night
and the cold

'twas a night of fear
though the weather was dear
no clouds were seen
and the grass was still green

but then she came
back to nullify all the gain
she said
what we must not forget

"you did not respect me -
you did not pay my fee!
the atoms were split
and my sky was lit

but how can you take away
all but the shades of grey?"

the earth became a desolate place
reflected on a girl's scorched face

Yes now we have our gold
but half of the world had to be sold
 Dec 2013 -
Alex DeLarge
Almost a year since the presence was known, gave me time to roam,
she was busy gardening an idea that couldn't be grown.
Times change. The mind got rearranged. If I stepped in untimely then I'll burn too quick in the fame.
My past is in the past and she's not one to be passed. But I'm not sitting in crosshairs because I've already got my own aim.
I can't start something that has no substance, or at least a hint of,
But a constant trajectory to the revolving door is what I could easily get sick of.
I have my own value, sad & true. If there's no space to place it then I guess I'm just passing through.
For now, I'm giving it time to see what the ride might brew.
I'm all in. Take every inch, every thought, every sin.
I don't trust a soul because there tends to be bite behind every grin.
If you want all of me there's a simple recipe:
Be true to yourself and then I'll bring the mess of me. Restlessly.
I can sense the powerful energy.
Life is what you make it. I've grown with every ache and confronted anything I've been faced with.
When you concoct your potion hope it's not poison it's laced with.
If you mean every word, bird, we'll paint the sky with our symphonies.
Make rainbows jealous with our palette of memories,
Sitting tight, sipping fine wine as you bring out the best of me,
Turn the atmosphere on it's head while we chill in our new heavenly mezzanine.
 Dec 2013 -
Joseph Martinez
Winter
 Dec 2013 -
Joseph Martinez
Is he being serious?

I can't tell

Am I being serious?

I'm not sure

feeling on the brink of something

am I dying?

is this what it's like to die?

I had a lot of good words to say

they were going to come out like a sickly ball of ectoplasm

like a desperate clawing scream up from the floor

but now I don't know what they were

everything I consume is somehow related to who I am as a person

I've spent a lifetime

modeling myself after words, images, phrases, sounds

they are like little helpers

but they are not me

"don't be afraid to care"

"what did you see while you were there?"

I am bursting with joy

I want to laugh, dance, be free to love

my love is all ******* right now

it's all I know

the moon & sky so beautiful this strange winter

deadly sunsets and snow

crystalline space and stars

"how does it feeeeel?"

he asks & rolls over drunk, uncaring

I slipped her something mid-conversation

what was it?: a hint, a look, an eye?

I don't even know really

Was I being myself or not?

"the joke is come upon me"

at last, the irony is concrete

hilariously, beautifully tragic

& yet not at all; more like a lighthearted pun

"we all shine on, like the moon & the stars & the sun"

why & how did it become so difficult?

this is the struggle of every man

this is not my father's insanity, nor his father's
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