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Sarah Jun 2014
I used to dream of being drowned because it tasted a lot like freedom. whenever i closed my eyes, i pictured my own funeral, with less people coming than i expected. busy traffic was my favorite thing because i could imagine myself stepping on the asphalt-covered road and pretend that i didn't see the truck coming. oh dear, i would love to live in an abandoned building just to befriend the ghosts and the lost memories.

but now i wake up with the little voice in my head telling me that it won't be that bad, that i can go through another day without tearing off my skin. i dress up and i still hate the view in the mirror but i feel the butterflies in my stomach when you show up at my door at 6 am. i love how your hands don't quite fit mine yet we still hold them together ((it makes me feel safe)). when i am given the numbers of history essay to finish and economy project to do, i cringe but i don't ***** like i used to. i only cry at midnight or when i remember all the things i used to love and hate at the same time. i really like the nighttime now, because the dark sky reminds me of the past and the glowing moon reminds me of my hope for the future.

your lips taste like darkness and something inevitable;

i think i'm getting better now.
or i wish...
  Jun 2014 Sarah
Tom Leveille
kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic

i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents

you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door

sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor

i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips

i practice things i'll never say to you

i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl  swingset misses children

rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach

for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray

this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep

i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes

i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one

in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume

i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice

if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"

i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem

the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****

we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you

nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps

sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
  May 2014 Sarah
Scatts
mum asks
why you show your poems to strangers
but not to me?


mum doesn't know
poetry is light
but it can also be darkness
sometimes it is mostly darkness
and poetry is history
and experiences
and things you want to happen
and things you don't want to see

poetry isn't always
chocolate-filled with a coat of sugar
it isn't always pretty metaphors
and nice descriptions of nice feelings

mum doesn't know
my poems can turn a little darker
twisted just like my mind

and she doesn't know
the way I love
or the way I hate
and she would surely ask
and she would surely know who and why and what
and strangers don't know
who the hell I am talking about
and they don't care
as long as they read a good piece

mum asks

I don't reply.
Well, mum hasn't asked... yet. Most of my friends actually did.
  May 2014 Sarah
Sandra
The ground beneath my feet is shaking
The blood is running through my veins
The coldness has taken over my body
I'm sorry, my friend
For that I have been leaving everybody.

The birds sing
After the darkness has appear
Even the sun loves it
When I disappear.

He stops talking
And letting out
A sigh of relief.
Even my loved ones is happy
When I leave him.

Now the sun shines warmly
And the birds sing happily
And the man is smiling softly
Why should I bother
To breathe
Hardly?
Why should I live
When everyone is happy?

I'm sorry, my friend
For that I
Need to be happy,
Too.
This is my first English poetry~
I hope everyone likes it >.<
  May 2014 Sarah
Amanda
Whilst we had that pavlova frosting on our lips and noses,
I had a Pavlovian reaction that made me gasp.

I like you.
I fancy this gorgeous, wide-eyed, laughing boy
who has the kind of notes in his laugh that makes me fundamentally
agree
with the very fact,
it is okay to laugh at myself.

This utterly imperfect being looking like he does not give a ****
is
colouring
my soul
yellow.

And my lips could never say more Thank you s onto the Cupid's bow of his lips.

For, he taught me how to be happy by myself, with only my shadow in sunlight.

To colour in the blank edges of soul with something a little gorgeous and a pinch of something rather

*different.
Hello there lovely!
Have you eaten a pavlova before?
It's delicious.
Sigh, I want a slice now.
Good morning sunshine/Good Afternoon/ Sweet dreams
to you, you and you.
x
Sarah May 2014
and i'm just
tired
God,
i'm so, so,
very tired

please let me sleep.
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