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 Jun 2013 R
Sarina
I am not sure which is bloodier, more gruesome –
birth or death. It is like asking God if he prefers Eve to Adam
for demolishing that false sense of security,
specks of pride dissolved in snake venom apples.
There is mourning in creating monsters
as there is in killing them: I see starving children with
round, pregnant bellies and somehow they are more at peace than
I am on my best day. We will understand when we are dead,
not in the act of becoming a ghost, but once we are one.

When I was little, I saw the house on Camellia’s corner
crumble: attacked from behind, the same swamp I had in mine.
I had not noticed its yellow shingles before
and suddenly, this nine year old girl felt lonely for
bricks and plaster and the refrigerator hung on its balcony door.
On its side like a woman in labor –
midwives have her in a kiddy pool, the origin of its
name. Imagine being baptized before you take your first breath.

Ametrine is an amalgamation of two gemstones:
amethyst and citrine. I am that of my parents, one quarter grandma.
She who I never met but got my alcoholic mother from.
My clumsiness stemmed there, the constant
stumbling on invisible rocks and breeding ****** knees –
having two daughters who bleed monthly, but it’s never in sync.
Still, I cannot grasp being proud of ghostliness  
when there are millions of invisible children in clear blood.
 Jun 2013 R
LDuler
There is so much you don't know about a person
so much some do not speak of
Some secrets
are best left untold
and some secrets have simply gotten too heavy
to lift

This is not your fault
but you could have done more
You could've made my days a little bit easier
if you'd tried
But now you cannot reverse this
I'm sorry
I cannot come back.
Never.

I am no longer here because I was shattered
I deserve
credit for my courage,
for having endured so long

The only explanation I can give
is that I was a glitch.
That's all I ever felt myself to be.

The insensitive
are best suited to this world
and I am not strong enough
to endure my own presence.

I can only beg of you,
beg you to remember
To love yourselves
love those who surround you
Hold hands and know
that every person carries
a secret, untold struggle
(some are harder to survive than others
-I'm so sorry,
I had to)
Remember me
but most importantly
remember what I've been trying so hard to teach you.
Love
Tonight, today, tomorrow
Love
No matter the price.
Mortis hic est *** mortem sibi conscivit
Lubeo vale
 Jun 2013 R
Richard Jones
My wife, a psychiatrist, sleeps
through my reading and writing in bed,
the half-whispered lines,
manuscripts piled between us,

but in the deep part of night
when her beeper sounds
she bolts awake to return the page
of a patient afraid he'll **** himself.

She sits in her robe in the kitchen,
listening to the anguished voice
on the phone. She becomes
the vessel that contains his fear,

someone he can trust to tell
things I would tell to a poem.
 Jun 2013 R
chels
burn me
 Jun 2013 R
chels
echos bounce off of the
brown wooden walls
in this room;
i am stuck.
a constant ringing -
reminder of a time
that once was.
i survive through
dates carved on
bridges in front of
waterfalls.
you avoid eye contact -
and i notice.
we are swastikas
and *** leaves
drawn in permanent marker
on the
insides of
desks.
we are phone numbers
scrawled on
bathroom walls -
do not call me for a good time.
we are cigarette burns -
               on purpose.
 Jun 2013 R
T R H
Asking Too Much
 Jun 2013 R
T R H
I just want someone to see all the potential that I don't see in myself
Believes that I'm so much more than what I really am
Someone who'd be proud to show me off
Not be embarrassed to hold my hand.

Someone to love all the flaws that I've grown to hate
to love my imperfections and make up for all that I lack
Not someone who only loves me secretly, under the covers.
Is that too much to ask?

Or do I not deserve that?
 Jun 2013 R
Jami Samson
Three early birds broke the flying record today,
Under a ball of yellow light and sky of white cobwebs,
Uphill, amidst a godforsaken town,
At the far end of the deserted residential area,
In front of our binned and bagged house,
On the peach tiles of our topsy-turvy garage,
Inside a scroungy cardboard box,
Between the wasted space and rotten nest made of broom,
Where they left their bodies mushy and misshapen,
Where a colony of red ants now celebrate for a carrion feast.
They flew higher than any in their kind could ever reach,
That they went straight to heaven,
Early for their embellished feathers and wings,
Early for their final cartilages,
Early for their full-grown beak and claws,
Early for their black, beady eyes,
Early for their last rites,
Yet for us to forecast the bad news,
Yet for us to get off of our plastic chairs of indifference,
Yet for us to drop our glasses of lemon juice and inattention,
Yet for us to fumble outdoor and crash the ceremony,
Yet for us to solve the mystery,
Of whether the ball of yellow light radiated enough to fry,
That the three early birds had to fly the coop to oasis;
Of whether our mother's frenzy gave a cold welcome,
That the three early birds had to say goodbye when she tossed the box out;
Of whether I am to blame for yesterday's miracle
Of finding their home attached to the open bottom of our air-conditioner,
Which turned into a tragedy of a falling baby out of excitement,
That the three early birds felt like it was time to join their fourth sibling once again.
Indeed, too early
For the three siblings endowed with a mother and a father,
For mankind is blessed enough to have such a thing as family,
Who claimed the three early ones before the garbage does,
Who could've been proud parents in the future,
For witnessing the becoming of their three youngs
Who came out too soon,
Who were traceless of eggshells,
Who never knew a father,
Who were ****** enough to even be abandoned by a mother,
Who never knew if she even came back for them,
Who broke the flying record.
Indeed, too early.
After days of packing up sentiments,
Donating valuables,
Throwing away memories,
And leaving behind possessions,
I thought, for a moment,
We could save something
But we couldn't.
#23, June.02.13
Rest in peace, my three little early birds.
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