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Porcelain eyes, when I see you,
I cry.
I fall over, and moan sorrow,
No closure.
-
Timber hair, when I see you,
It's not fair.
I clench my fists, want to scream,
Can't deal with this.
-
Lightning smile, when I see you,
I can't breathe for a while.
I pause, I giggle, I holler out loud,
Being with you tickles.
Again, three different people :)
 Sep 2013 Sydney Ranson
Anna Vida
because when I was fourteen,
I'd put on my angsty coat
With its burlap pockets
And its itchy collar
And its ill-fit
And I'd go out with my middle fingers
Toasting the world
Blaming every stranger on the street
For every night I couldn't sleep.

And sick was a cold
Sick was a fever.
Sick was the shakes from not eating.
Because I'm a girl.
And my value does not stem
Past my appearance.

When I was sixteen
I rimmed my eyes in charcoal black
And donned a matching outfit
That would bring out
The feigned vacancy in my prying eyes
As the ambivalence of wanting to eat the world
And wanting to hide from it
Weighed on my narrow shoulders.
And a boy thought I was a Satanist.
And he avoided me.
And I loved it.

Now I'm older --
But still just a kid.
And I wear real clothes
That make me look like I'm twelve.
But at least I'm happy.
And sick has a different meaning.

It's reaches past the physiological nausea that accompanies
And into the aches and pains of waking up every day
And through the cold, cold labyrinth in which I've been lost
For seven years
And the sickness is laughing my *** off
In a room full of beautiful people
That I love
That I would do (almost) anything for
And trying to decide whether or not tonight is the night
With absolute glee I ponder
Is tonight the night
When I can cut the crap
And finally get a good ******* night's sleep
And not feel the obligation
And not deal with the fact my ******* body
Is crapping the **** out on me
At nineteen.
And that whatever the **** this is
Is only enough to make me miserable
And not enough to **** me
Because most days, the curiosity keeps me going
And going
And ******* going
And then I'm in pain.
And I laugh,
Because I take myself way too seriously.
And life is a **** beautiful gift after all
right?
And I've got the whole world at my feet.
Who cares about a little pain?

I need to be awake in seven hours
And tonight I don't feel destructive.
I want to apologize to my mother for being so cold
Even when I try not to be.
And I want to buy her a nice house and all the clothes she wants
So she can feel comfortable going to work.
So she sees that she's beautiful.
Even if it's superficial.
And I can't fix anything
And I can't turn my brain off
And this isn't even art anymore.
This is..
It's...

Because who the **** doesn't love being sick.
 Sep 2013 Sydney Ranson
BB Tyler
You share a namesake with Aphrodite,
the Sea,
that which sparks a flame inside me,
seeks to turn the waves to steam,
to drift away as if a dream upon waking,
to see that there truly is no breaking of hearts,
and to start the making of stars born to be us
through combustion.

The dust and rust on a cosmic sword
without a sheath is bequeathed again to the sea,
and the back and forth of wave and flame
rocks us to sleep;
where the steam weeps
and we meet.
 Sep 2013 Sydney Ranson
BB Tyler
Perfection as your goal,
shed upon it no worry
and take from it no hesitation.

Infinence is most easily reached
counting down.
 Sep 2013 Sydney Ranson
Chris
My eyes have been dry the past few days,
my mouth too.
I’ve been wearing my glasses more
and drinking too much water.
Is it possible to drink too much water?
Some say you can never drink too much.
I’m not sure.
All I know is that I can’t dilute
the concentration of you in my blood.
It’s become too thick.
I’ve been tripping over cracks and
folded carpet corners that don’t exist.
I’m not sure how I find my footing again
with the pounding in my head
and all the silence in my bones.
It’s the kind of silence I wish
I could share with you.
I’ve been tripping over myself,
like there’s knots holding me together.
And I’ve seen your fingers tie knots before,
how you delicately labor over each one.
How the perfect amount of string
is always left over for them.
I’ve seen you tie knots before,
because you’ve tied them with my heart,
and I don’t think they’ll ever come undone.
Oh, I don’t think they’ll ever come undone.
her smile was
worn down by the road
and it seemed to her nothing could
lift her spirit
nothing could lift the storm from her brow

and you can feel the soft leather of his boot echo on down the hall
as he steps into the story
and there no joy to be had
there's no place to hide from this face of you

she had thought to
escape into the vast desert of the pages of history
lost to track or trace but
she knew someone would come for her
like a derelict pantomime of a gunslinger
both barrels hot to the touch cold to the eye

he came in to the busy room
and caught her eye
like a morning dove catching the first ray of sunlight
beautiful was the moment in her heart
beautiful in her mind
he was slick and neatly appointed from
his dark brown hat dipped to cover one dark eye
to his boots of spanish leather
that made a hollow sound in the sudden silence

a hush had fallen on the awed gathering
they had heard of men like him
coming up north out the wild country
coming up looking for fortune and fame
with the gun and the deck of cards
but they had never seen such a creature up close
and you could smell the fear
in every man
but you could taste the barely muted desires
in every woman there

the next day at the break of day
she lay with him
a gentle place in her heart had opened
she felt hope
she felt a coolness in the hot breeze
a rose had grown and there was no denying it
like a force of nature
like a tower never breached

and so it lay
a rose so sweet
on the breaker of the changing tides
waiting for sunrise
laying with one of the wolves
she had changed him
woman is a force of nature
that no man can understand
and no man can resist
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