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 Jun 2018 River
James M Vines
Speak boldly and do not back down. Go into the prisons and hospitals to the forgotten and those who despair. Bring compassion and mercy as you join others to advocate. Be the voice to the helpless and the hopeless. Walk for those who cannot. Claw at the door and pull down the strong holds of indifference. Bring strength and determination to the fight. Pick up those who are wounded and carry them with you. Lift up the causes with charity and Thanksgiving. Be the voice for all who cannot be heard.
The cloth bazaar was quietly breathing rest.

I was scanning rows of hangers for summer shorts
picking up here and there
dresses without skeletons
smiling in the revelation
why skeletons don't need shorts.

I found a poem in one of those hangers
**** with no words
begging me to drape it with some
enough to make it one summer shorts.

Something welled up in my eyes
bare as the poem and as true
and thinking of it
I bought summer shorts
not one but two.
March 16, 2018, 1pm
 Jun 2018 River
Jack Jenkins
You're the kid
Who didn't have anxiety
Growing up

You're the kid
Who was never abused
Parents didn't lay a finger on me

You're the kid
Who didn't fit in your Christian family
Black sheep

You're the kid
Who saw everyone else suffer
But not you

...not you...

The few friends you had
When they left, were they worthy?
Or did you **** it up again?

Your faith is misfired, again
Schizophrenic
A brittle child and a brute

Did you spare your skin the razor
Just to cut your heart on glass?
Chew and swallow every shard

You're four drinks in tonight, Jack
Your mind on repeat
Thinking of lost things

...fleeting things...

Jason Mraz serenades your
Buzzed mind
"I Won't Give Up"

That was "the song" for her
You gave up Jack
Pour the fifth glass

You're just a kid
Playing catchup on anxiety
Growing old

You're just a kid
Savoring every sharp word
Disappointment

You're just a kid
Quitting faith when it's hard
Begging for love when you're alone

You're just a kid
Suffering and nobody sees you
Just me

...yeah...
 Jun 2018 River
Isabelle
rainbow
 Jun 2018 River
Isabelle
you are my rainbow,
the beauty after the rain
the peace after the storm
you are my rainbow
turning black and white
into colorful hues
you are my rainbow
my glimpse of paradise
but you won’t even last
rainbows don’t even last
 Jun 2018 River
Isabelle
thief
 Jun 2018 River
Isabelle
i thought it was the sun
but it was your smile
oh you’re a culprit in disguise
you stole the sun’s shine
 Jun 2018 River
Sarah Tayler
their first
and last mistake
was thinking that she was a flower
or anything fragile or gentle
though she looked like silk and velvet
she felt like broken glass and iron
and it cut deeply into your skin
your mind
your soul
spilling your blood as she went
perhaps rainstorms and romantic lullabies
are more your kind of fairytale
but you'll never again deny her power
her dark and wondrous power
like lightning across the darkest of clouds  
the fire and brimstone of Tartarus
the grey and wild lashing of the ocean
- s.m.t // draft
concupiscent (adjective)
1. lustful or desirous
2. eagerly desirous
 May 2018 River
Neon Beaches
I just hurt everyone
I fabricate false truths like art
I weave them together like threads in a tapestry

A kind of poisonous performance art
I steal others ideas and use them as mine

Upon an alter I sacrifice friends to the abyss
And for what?
Who knows why

Long ago has my fire burned out
Its last sparks disappearing as I write

Too young am I
To cloud over with the sorrows of my past
My possible futures I’ve given up
Just to cry

Stuck like a record player
I repeat the same mistakes
I repeat the same mistaks
I repeat the same misaks

I repeat the same mstks

I repeat the same mstk


I repeat the same mtk



I repeat the same mk




I repeat the same m






until there are no more to repeat
and those that loved me
leave me

I fall in spiral
Endlessly into an infinite hole
Unable to stop

Yet it is me
I am killing myself
I can’t live like this anymore
But I know I will
No matter what anyone says
The last sparks of hope,
That used to blaze
An inferno in my eyes and soul
Mind and body,
Have died


lies
His head kept bumping on my shoulder
and he was not my father
or anyone I knew

he smelled as if a bath was overdue
and slept like wasn't a place better
than the ***** briefness of my shoulder.

Breaking down was my brittle patience
needled by his bristled cheek
brushed by his shabby dress,

was for rest the man hard pressed?

Wouldn't I have been nudged by pride
if the head on my shoulder was my father
happy to have him by my side?

as he gets older
does his blurry mind miss
a place where he is not alone

one or any shoulder
for an untimely nap in peace
a quiet stranger to rest upon?
A bus ride in the heat, Mar 15, 2018, 2pm
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