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 27° 
Chloe
I have
been sober
for about
8 months.
Go me.
 19° 
The Non-Poet
life is like
when you're
a little kid
and you
discover that
there is more
than twenty-four
crayons in the box
that there is
the possibility
of forty-eight colors
of sixty-four
of one-hundred and twenty
that there are
so many shades
of love and anger and peace and despair
and absolute bliss
and the ability
to express them all
are now
in the palm
of your hand

life is
colorful
beautiful
thought-provoking
lovely
soulful
heartbreak­ing
inspiring
and absolutely wonderful

every day is
a new sunrise
a new chance
to transform into
the butterfly you
want to be

go out there
and change the world, kid
 15° 
Ashly Kocher
My name is Ashly (yes spelled without
the E)
I was born without a windpipe and was 3 months premature.
I underwent surgery for a tracheostomy and died on the operating table.
I was revived.
I was hooked up to many machines and my parents were told I wouldn’t live for more then 3 days...
If I would survive more then 3 days I would be hooked up to machines my whole life and be in a “vegetative state”
Doctors told my parents and family “I would never live to see my 18th birthday.”
I lived in the hospital for almost 2 years.
At age 2, I myself, ripped out my tracheostomy (which could have killed me)
My family rushed me to children’s hospital and the doctors decided to let the hole in my neck close and see what happens.
My doctors don’t know how I made it through the night or days after.
I went home after a couple weeks and that’s when I started living my life as a “normal” child.
All of my sisters were involved in dance classes, my parents( doctors didn’t agree) enrolled me in to classes.
        THATS WHERE MY LIFE CHANGED
Dance became my passion, along with gymnastics and musical theatre.
Something my family, doctors or even myself never thought I would EVER do.
On my 18th birthday it was a mixture of emotions.
I made a milestone that no one said I would ever see.
I competed in dance and gymnastics until I was 19 years of age as well as did over 60 musicals at my local theatre company.
I never thought I would ever have a boy love me because I had “too many problems” or even get married for that matter.
Fast forward, I am now almost 33 ( June .11th is my birthday)
Married for almost 8 years to my best friend.
Happy doesn’t even cover what I feel everyday waking up next to my love.
We may not have a “family” of our own but we are happy and in love over the moon with one another.

So why did I just ramble on with this?
Because I’m a MIRACLE and a SURVIVOR.
Even though I don’t remember much from my childhood and what I and my family had to endure, I have been fighter since my first breath.

I’M A SURVIVOR and I’VE MADE IT....
Just a little insight to my story. I left out some details but y’all get the idea. Hope this helps to feel why I write and my story.
 12° 
Nylee
Wrapped in silk and satin
she has been waiting
long.
She doesn't expect him
not anymore, but habit
stays.
She nor grins,nor frowns
standing at the end of her lawn
alone.
The day count lost numbers,
lost many days and slumber
hours.
Hope faded, love went,
only she stayed
so far
.
 11° 
oliver
unspoken words,
years of silence

it is time
to spread my wings

to embrace;

i am transgender
 10° 
Stella F
I do not fear the darkness that reside inside of you.

I have sat outside the gates for years listening to the whispers, the screams

I, your fearless warrior queen, waiting obediently for you to open the gates

Hear my war cry, and when the time is right
you can let me in to fight
I always try and explain this to people,
I am not a break down the walls to come and save you type of women,
But I am always there waiting and ready when you need me to fight alongside you. In a sense this is what I want as well, I don't need someone to save me, I want someone to fight with me when the time comes
 7° 
KMH
You can pretend
That the black gloss
On my lashes
Will glue my eyes shut-
Make me blind to truth;
To ‘true knowledge.’
Go ahead.
Tell yourself
That my red-painted lips
Only spout nonsense.
It will only make it sweeter
When my wing-lined eyes
Give you whiplash
as I walk past you
To get my degree;
My award;
My paycheck.
Maybe if you’re ‘nice’
I’ll buy you an ice pack.
feminist makeup
© KMH 2018
 6° 
The voice
I stand in the middle of the room
My classmates are commanded to listen to me
I am the 14th person to present and so far, everyone has done a good job

I stand in the middle of the room
I begin to saw the name of my project
“My Poem”
I cannot remember what it was about
I do remember, what I felt

I stand in the room,
Hoping that everyone feels what I felt when I was writing it
I felt excited, my stomach had ‘butterflies’ I think
I felt the heat in my heart and the cold on my shoulders.
I felt the tingles all over my body, and the air escaping me

I stood in the middle of the room
I stand in the middle of the room
I was in the middle of the room and said
“My poem”
I heard a chuckle.

I ignored it because the ‘in love’ heart in my chest was more excited than It should have been
I continues and my voice began to play tricks on me
And the r’s rolled and the words were suddenly in another language
My mind still ignored it and continues
Because I felt I could write, and read this and everyone could love it

I stood in the middle of the room,
I waited for the, applause, the smiles, the congrats, or even a simple ‘good job’ like everyone else
Instead…
My teacher said, work on pronunciation. She said it again. Pro-noun-ci-a-tion
Ok. ‘Work on grammar.’ ‘Work on sentence structure’
“Work on being American” the chuckle said
Or the person who chuckled?

It didn’t mean much, you know
I loved writing so much that it did not matter
I would be a writer, I would continue to
STAND in the middle of the room and share my talent
And when I did, he chuckled
She chuckled, I was Mexican

Not a writer. Writers can’t be Mexican
Unless you write in Spanish and in Mexico
But I was too American for that at this point…

SO the next time I wrote I was ashamed,
Maybe if someone else wrote my writing?
But it didn’t matter,
When the teacher began reading,
The chuckle reminded the class it was the ‘Mexican’ who wrote it

“Mi nina” My mom would say
She reminded me that no only was I Mexican
I was a woman,
Only men thrive in this world
I believed it
And that is why my name is ‘The Voice’
Not my actually name,
Disclosure: I accept criticism on how to better my writing
NOT on what to write or on my background
Thanks, for a lesson I will never forget:

I make my own destiny!
 6° 
Nylee
Will I find you
in the shadows
looking over me
Will there be you
or it is just the continuation
of recurring hallucination.

It is getting trickier
to place you between
the imaginary and real you
both out to mess around me
your madness is catching me
the shady creature
filling my head space.

Manipulative ways
simply tracking my businesses
connecting into the web
stalking at all time
triggering an all kind
paranoia.

Invading in was easy
but the red light is on
between the scenes
the mask flew away
true colours will come out.

Holes in your plans
aren't as visible to you
the green figures
through the night vision
has come to play too
this exposure to the truth
keeps me sane
you got a new player
in this game.

I am counting the days
waiting for you in the shadows
to watch you
fall into your traps.
 6° 
Diya
I am now braver than thee,
Not a frightened coward anymore.
My heart has turned into an oak tree,
Rigid enough to deal with a carnivore.

The nightmares are friend of mine,
Building power in me after every wake.
More adrenaline is now secreted by my endocrine,
Making me ready to fight even with a venomous snake.

Wanna know secret to my rejuvenation?
The answer may turn you blue.
Still, listen to my citation
I am brave cause I've dealt with a predator like you.
This is just a fictional write...
Thanks for reading ❤
 5° 
Ugo Victor
I can't sleep
Everytime I remember your words
They snap and recoil
And hurt me awake
Next time when someone
Promises me forever
I'll just smile
Look them in the eyes and ask
How long is forever to you.
 4° 
emnabee
Got this little juicer thing,
and each morning
I slice the orange with the knife
and place half on the pointed top
and pulverize the demisphere
and watch the guts appear.

Sometimes this is the happiest thing about my day.

And that’s ok.
(yay)
 4° 
Jamie Riley
Why didn’t you lose, when it was on the news
And hundreds of thousands of people accused  
you of scandal, and incompetence?
You never revealed your conscience
or any remorse for your play boy antics
so far removed from your pedantic
stereotype as a political leader
more like a sleazy wheeler dealer
pervy old dirty geezer
over cologned and greasy heavy breather,
machinating falsifier
misogynistic paedophile,
machiavellian Italian stallion;
Faccia brutta o sfacime no?

You prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga what a pest
she leaked your private fetish fest,
poor Silvio you did your best
to hide the bribes, the bets,
the whores the drugs the threats.
But you never really did care
what was right and what was fair
You got all the attention all the fame
and made the liberals look like philistines
by shrugging allegations that would define
and force any other politician to resign.
You waited until Italy was sucked dry;
for her wallet to exhale a defeated sigh
When you decided to resign.
How could the euro ever survive
with you wanting to prioritise
Your fucking sex drive?

— The End —