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I began to like my body more
when it was joined to a stranger's
I am sorry Shakira but my hips do lie
they told me that self worth correlates
to the amount of goosebumps on my upper thigh
and the number of first names in my contacts
because last names are too hard to type
in the darkness after the door shuts
I think I was thirteen
when I shipped myself out
to the sea of solitude
since then I've tried rowing
back to shore but
currents of discontent
are hard to fight
inevitably I gave in
to the candy-coated
pills and powders
and the minty fresh breath
of men lurking in corners
almost as sweet as sanity
eventually I overdosed on emotions
but I was only trying
to rid myself of feeling
since I was never good
at walking on the tightrope
between wanting and reality
at this point I don't know
who to apologize to
since Hallmark doesn't have cards
for sincere self loathing

it's just that
some days it's really hard
to keep your voice even
when your mother asks
if you're slipping
 Feb 2013 Rachel Hannah
brooke
if only the sun shown a bit brighter
but these streetlamps will have to do
they seemed to glow when he would
kiss me, he's gone spelunking in my
heart to dissolve the mites and tites
where my reality teeters on emotion
and the soles of my feet may disband
as feet and the ground as ground, but
here the upheaval of roots can only be


good
(c) Brooke Otto
 Feb 2013 Rachel Hannah
brooke
Once in a while when the city lights
are cotton candy and the phone poles
are licorice wires against melon skies
the chatter fades to clacks like drum
beats with the wind inside my lungs
all the cheeks are red bowled Okinawa
sunsets beneath mocha stained tips
of fingers and we are all humbly aware
of the way our feet scuff against the
pavement on our way past the 5th
Avenue Theater.
(c) Brooke Otto
 Feb 2013 Rachel Hannah
brooke
If it is true that for every closed door
there is one that is open, then I have
closed every door to look for cracks
in the windows, slivers of light near
the rugs, waiting by the slot for the
mail to arrive, never blind-peeking
because I place weight on the hope
that this house will break apart and
all dust will fly from the rafters above
me, who might finally breathe the
foreign air and taste the new day
(c) Brooke Otto
 Feb 2013 Rachel Hannah
brooke
we're such slaves to neon signs
silent buzzing 7-11's at 2 a.m.
dirtier inside, these nights are
a sort of yellow tint, variation;
high. But the avenues are not
grey graffiti anymore, the rocks
come alive, the city never sleeps
and the streets are all knowing
creatures that take the heat, take
the feet, throb and glide, glide
scuff, panel, catch the curb
the streets are the only ones
who love our
shadows.
(c) Brooke Otto

something a little different.
the divergence of roads
is an illusion
a myth perpetuated
by those who fear solitude
but one who has walked the lonely path
enjoyed all its sights, sounds and sceneries
rested in the shade of its motherly oaks
knows that at last
everything converges
every road, every fellow traveller
every other choice
meets at one
single brilliant point

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   08.02.2013
  Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish,
I love how "cleaved" can mean both "split" and "linked". The word is its own opposite!
some nights the nastier bits of myself crawl up from my throat and sit on my tongue & whiskey isn't strong enough to wash them down
 Feb 2013 Rachel Hannah
nash
If one day
i end up loving myself,
that is when
my love story will
begin
 Feb 2013 Rachel Hannah
Tori
There is a Japanese man
living inside me
Who walks bare foot across my soul
dazed and
mumbling to himself
In language i dont understand
He doesnt bother me
so i permit him
to sleep on my heart
spectate my dreams
and eat whatever
ego he can find
Although i can tell
he is not happy
here
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