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 Feb 2014 Squanto
g
I wore a light blue dress the day you kissed me and every day after to prove that I was in love. I had floral patters around my waist so I could twirl around for you and show you the life inside of my heart.

You squeezed my hand as if every letter of their vows was your silent message to me. Red. We wore red. It took me six months for me to let that dress go, and I swear to God I never felt as beautiful as when the rain poured around us that day.

I wore a black dress for you with ribbons down my spine but every touch snagged the lace and it's starting to hardly cover me spelling only your name across my hips and my sides. Those dresses were the most appropriate for the days I let you take me. Sheer silk laid across the small of my back. I saw an inviting place for your palms but you only saw the zipper.

How fitting is it that I wore a fitted blue dress to my first real date after we gave up (exactly one year, two months and nine days). The same dress we made love in. The first time you did not tell me you loved me after.

A tan dress just like our skin in the summer. I let a you touch me naked and I've never felt fully clothed ever since. Not even the sleeves and loose skirt of my dress could hide the scars no matter how many times I twirled around for someone new.

I wore a polka-dot dress the first time you touched me inappropriately. I remember it being hot out. I wish I wore something else. November 1st, 2013. You would not even look at me after we became one, never mind talk to me.

On Sundays I wore white dresses to feel innocence again. I never failed to ***** the precious pearls lining the collar of my dress every week, though. I felt the bow across my back untie by your hands and the pure white tulle was ruined by my blood stained skin (though it was not the first a life ******* residue remained).

New Years Eve, 2013 I wore the prettiest dress I had ever owned. Apparently he thought it was pretty, too, because a taken boy kissed me in it. I remember being afraid you were drunk. I remember fighting with you. I remember missing you. I remember telling you that you only talked to me because you missed her. There's not a day I don't miss those drunk texts.

I wore multiple colors and threads fabricating all my good memories into a dress except I can't remember much anymore and this is rather skimpy.
 Feb 2014 Squanto
martin
beauty goes unseen
nature still is generous
where wild roses grow
 Feb 2014 Squanto
eden halo
my sister is picking fruit, tummy aching
with the weight of a second basket;

my mind three steps to the left
of my skull,
i ask for pomegranates

(the sun is dead that watched me
last time i ate.)

my sister says:
"there are no strawberries"

my sister says:
"there are too many raspberries"

i need something
the size of
my fist, bursting
with red cells and life
to swell my chest, ground me
here

like a phonebox, my heart
can barely hold one person
before we start to bruise each other,
peach soft, blushing
dark and aching,
as each mistake rots through
to the pit of my stomach

juice runs down her
fingers like old blood

plasma gilded, scabbed
and spilled, please
give me thicker skin,
cake me in rind and membrane
to hold the magma in.
 Feb 2014 Squanto
John
Please
Read no further if you don't like
Who I am
And who I am
Is constantly
Changing
I shift with the tide on the blackest nights
I move with the waters
Sway like the branches
Blow like the wind
And I never know
Never ever
If I'm coming or
Leaving

So hear me now
And listen close
Put on your spectacles
If you need to
But what I'm saying here
Is change
Change
Shift
Transformation
It's been said a million times before
And it'll be said a million times after this
But when are we going to change?
Not just me
and not just you
And not just your family
and your neighbors and
your teachers
and cousins and
grandparents
I mean us
As a whole
As a complete and full circle
When are we going to break the cycle
Of what we think works
And realize it just
Isn't
And implement a new process
A new line of thought
An "experimental" approach, say?
Now people don't like that word
Because people are scared of change
And they don't believe in taking chances or risks or putting their own ***** on the line but come on!
When are we going to realize that living the same old way
In the same old house
Thinking the same old thoughts
With the same old brains
Is getting us nowhere?
 Feb 2014 Squanto
Xiomara Hussein
Tiresome he choked
Scuffling on the cold wood floor
Waxed thoroughly, his eyes meets the cracks of another him
An alternate view adjacent and new
Conquering the present with its futuristic view
Wounds appear, slapping, scrapping, and screeching
He doesn’t want this life
It’s not his for the keeping
Gliding across, fingers numb and broken
His tears fall too loudly, rudely outspoken
Another him gleaming and cunning
Wraps his wrist with grips unreal
Forcefully pulled, head first into another him
Unwillingly christened, knees bandaged and bruised
New, He stands up tall, forgetfully leaves behind
The now scuffed, raw *****, cold, wood floor
 Feb 2014 Squanto
Brandon
To Sea
 Feb 2014 Squanto
Brandon
Would you break your silence
As the tide washes over me?
Lend me your lips for one last kiss
Before I'm thrown into the awaiting abyss
It's become abysmal to walk the surf
Without holding your hand in mine
And the soft pallet of your laughter
Drowning out the music from seashells

It makes what time we have
Feel like a short eternity
But names written in the sand
Have a tendency to wash back out to sea

There's footprints I follow
Will they lead me to the beating in your chest
Or are they where I've already been?
Have I touched the tender ache of your skin
The way I dig my toes into the sand
And feel the ocean caress me like your finger tips
Have I known this all along
Or have I sank to the bottom
Lungs filled with melodies of woeful maladies?

It makes what time we have
Feel like a short eternity
But names written in the sand
Have a tendency to wash back out to sea

When the tide comes in
Would you break your silence
Would you struggle to save me from my fate
Would you cry if you were too late
When the tide comes in
Would you forgive me for not staying

When the tide comes crashing in
There's a tendency to wash back out to sea

It makes what time we have
Feel like a short eternity
But names written in the sand
Have a tendency to wash back out to sea
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