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 May 2016 Rebecca
Andrea
once upon a time, you were every story in my head. you were fantasies woven during day and prose written at 3AM. i saw so much poetry in you, in everything you did. that was a sure sign that i felt something for you, that my love ran deeper than plain infatuation and crushing.

i wrote about how your smile could light up the darkest of days; my sunshine, my flashlight. i wrote about how beautiful i thought the callouses on your hands were, i wrote about how your flaws were never imperfections to me. i wrote about the lyrics you remind me of. i wrote your name in cursive on the back of my hand along with words of promise and endearment. i scribbled you through the margins of my notebook with poetry and song.

but oh, it wasn’t all just fairy dust and wanderlust.

my pen bled ugly words, rage and heartbreak and jealousy. prose after prose of how you’d leave me in the rain, how you always made me feel like i was either too much or not enough. they were angry taps to the keyboard. pens tearing in to paper. the horrors of them made e.e cummings turn in his grave, the curses of young love would have made shakespeare proud.

you knew about that. you knew about how i meticulously wove words together for you, words that would have made other people fall in love. and not once did you appreciate them; you threw aside my gifts of poetry and prose like they weren’t about you. like they didn’t mean a thing.

if you read them, you would’ve seen how much i adored you. if you read them, you would’ve recognized a love so unprecedented, unrivaled, untouchable. but you didn’t. you never got past the first stanza, the first paragraph, the first three words before giving me a half-hearted thanks and changing the topic.

and so i started to write about you less. my words began to lose it’s substance, my phrases got shorter, my metaphors making less sense. and you didn’t notice. you never noticed how you slowly faded from the thing the one thing that mattered more to me than anything in the whole world.

you faded, then you were gone completely.

i no longer write about you. wait, no, that’s a lie: i no longer want to write about you. i hope this is the last time i do, the last set of words i’d dare to pull together for you. you don’t deserve to know how i feel about you, you don’t deserve my poems or my words anymore. god knows my words are all i have, and i can’t love you if you don’t learn to love them. i’m sorry; call it selfish, or unfair. but these words, these words, my words. how can i write about you if you don’t– if you never– valued the best gift i had to offer?

you’re now just some left-over papers that i keep under my bed, one day to open and read with tinges of nostalgia, but never to re-write again.
 Mar 2015 Rebecca
Tom Leveille
ground zero
i become aware of boundaries
i am a dog chasing cars
i sing your voicemail to sleep
there are no surgeon general warnings
to tell me that
the objects in the mirror
are more depressed than they appear
so how do i tell you
that there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
or that i look for you every day
in emails & unanswered calls
in the sunrises
i didn't choose to be awake to watch
that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them
   *stage 1
you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip
   stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant
   stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me
after
people always ask
what was loving her like?
after a really long silence
i just say
"it must be nice"
but i never say
it's watching paint dry
i never say
it's a window seat in hell
i don't tell anyone
about the dreams
where i am reading you
bedtime stories
each one is a different way you die
& every time i can never save you
dreams where what i think
are angels in my bedroom
are just homeless versions
of myself you never loved
i have dreams
where i pay someone to shoot me
just to see if you would cry
just to see
if you would cradle my body
i don't tell people
that loving you is like
playing piano
for someone who can't hear
that it's hitting repeat
on my favorite song
& forgetting the words
every time it starts over
that it's finding out
there's no milk after you already
poured yourself a bowl of cereal
it's getting locked in the dark
& being told to
look on the bright side
that loving you is like
being reminded of what it felt like
the first time
you accidentally let go
of a balloon as a child
it's drowning without the water
it's the feeling you get
when you start to dance
& the song ends
 Mar 2015 Rebecca
Nessa dieR
Time heals all wounds, they say,-- but -- heartbreak --I--s a wound deeper than most. What if that was the first thing she has ever --lo--st? They said she was too nai--ve,-- too young.  And it hurts knowing they were --d--ead wrong. It hurts her knowing it ended real bad. It hurts trying to understand. She remembers the lips she once had tasted, and she remembers t --h--e     t--im--e... all of it wasted. She remembers the passion, the love, the way time would fly. And now all that's left is hatred, the blood, a final good-bye
But I loved Him
 Dec 2014 Rebecca
Andrew Switzer
I knew you would forget, just as soon as the sun would rise,
But your words, cliché and hollow, came as no surprise.
I asked but one small favor, at both break and close of day,
Just to hear you say hello, but now, hope's bled away.
Why is it that every time I leave the room, I hear
the candles flickering? You all whispering, your breath
fluttering, butterflies of lies and deceit, they in their eloquent
artifice, they are fluttering the candles, causing them too to whisper,
Voices of smoke and flame, and human tongues, whispering that most hurtful
sound, a trusted friend, hissing through a liars teeth.
He, my trusted friend, my cherished ally, he betrayed me.
That is all.
 Dec 2014 Rebecca
Seher Seven
electromagnetically
feelings occur,
responsive to going ons,
pineal gland awakens the senses.

and almost every woman has heard it
"you're so emotional."
so electromagnetically aware
and we don't remember this,
now,

the womb,
the beat maker,
she tunes the
energy of the babe.
mothers wave of
waves fractionally
lay a deep foundation
of the babes waves.
I tell my children
if they can't find me
to look in their hearts
I reside there…
my rhythm, my beat, my heat
lives on.

my womb
charged that spark
that started the parting
of molecules
fractionally
creating its imagine
time and time again, (as we do)
until, begin again,
a new life.
rest your head upon my chest
child
for a recharge.

in our civilized world
we send mothers to work
in a make believe cycle of need.
babes heart searches
for mamas tone
she only cries short
cautious of overspent energy
first dose of sickness.

and EVERY woman has heard it…
"you're so emotional"
notably more so
during some part of her
moon cycle.
so obviously the moon
is more electromagnetic
than we guess.

and women are more emotional
because we are the heart
of the species.
we co-create the heart
of the species.
we require the emotional
antenna
to summon the essence of the heart.

we didn't come from a rib…
our ribs vibrate the
harmony of life through our time!
our hearts beat
the pulse of the
sun
and the dark side of the moon
and infinity.
we are electromagnetically
inclined to emotions.
systematically processing
the energy of existence.

perhaps the first title I will accept
a claim upon my being,
the feminine sensitive.
hey guess what
I was going to write you a poem
about how hurt I am
how much YOU hurt me
but then I remembered
I'm not letting thoughts of you consume me anymore
NEVER AGAIN
I really am sorry it had to end this way
but it did
so goodbye now
and I hope one day this reaches you
so you know I'm free from you forever
I hope one day this reaches you
this message
in the poem not for you that I didn't write
 Nov 2014 Rebecca
Cali
not everyone makes the team

losers don’t get trophies too

its not about the happy ending its about the story

you cant “trust everyone until they give u a reason not to”

im not as smart as u made me think I was, it hit me hard when applying for college and dating boys

if something doesn’t come back, it wasn’t urs in the first place, but u never told me that they could come back for the wrong reason

drunken words arnt always sober thoughts, but drunken cravings

not everyone who says they love me means it

people can look into ur eyes and still be lying, and they make it look easy

I cant change the world, the world changed me and now we are just struggling together

bad grades doesn’t mean no intelligence

the sun always comes back up, yeah, but I don’t know that if Im too busy crying under my covers for 4 days straight

my coat will keep me warm from the cold weather but why didn’t u tell me what keeps my cold fear of losing people stop shivering?

I cant be whatever I want to be

the man I marry wont always treat me like a princess, but he might to the woman he leaves in the middle of the night for

dancing doesn't make everything better, it just makes u realize u had a partner to dance with

***** is a coping skill

drugs arnt the only thing that makes me hallucinate, deep green eyes do too

the news doesn't actually exaggerate

some scars never heal

the girl who claimed she never believed in love died, of heartbreak
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