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Jim Dec 2015
She's afraid.
She's afraid to let me sail on my own
Perhaps because I almost drowned
When I was ten
And since then, she told me to be careful.
But every time she say it
It doesn't feel like a reminder.
It always feels like a goodbye.
For Mom has mistaken careful to strength.
And she thought she has raised me like a sword
When in truth
I only became a pin, bendable.
I am as soft as a pincussion.
I am the finger you place on with a thimble.
I watch my Mom as she works on my dresses
There down the cellar.
All her actions lead to my vulnerability.
She stiches the walls around me so I won't get hurt.
She patches me with pieces of cloth to prevent the scars.
She builds me a wall; I try to tear it down.
I try to tear her down.
But I can't.
It's not that my strength is questionable-
That's the problem.
It's because I know that she's not strong.
Mom isn't prepped for battle.
Mom is a hollow egg yolk
And with a slight *****, she'll burst.
She is a shield beyond her knowing.
She isn't the weapon she think she is.
That's why I have to be.
No matter what now.
Frecky Rosa Dec 2015
I became I
You became you
2015,
I'll always love you :
Allyson Walsh Dec 2015
This year has taught me
How to find love
In the spaces between fingers,
In the shadows across faces,
In heated cars,
And in cool sheets.

This year has taught me
How to let love go.
When my second love
Kissed another.
When my almost love
Fled the state.

This year has taught me
How to love myself.
To cherish my laughter lines,
And each bite of food.
To soak in hot water,
And splurge every so often.

This year has taught me
How to hope.
Dickinson reminded me
That “’hope’ is a thing with feathers”.
My middle name is Hope.
Therefore, I will hope once more.

This year has taught me
That much does not last.
Shoulders to lean on are not constant.
Mortal forevers are
Just that:
Mortal.
For myself
Drakeslilbro Dec 2015
Roses are red violets are blue..racism will end and discrimination will too
The days will grow longer and there will be no more hunger
No more fighting, fussing, or struggling
Acts of kindness will begin, no more losing we all will win
All the greed and selfishness will disappear
There will be no more yelling or crying, nope not a tear.
Nairi Kalpakian Nov 2015
I think it's been a year since I took that road trip with Trevor. How lucky am I that was able to experience such serendipitous, powerful love.
The sun setting in Big Sur was every color imaginable, and the beach we stopped on was too real to even describe. I feel so lucky. I keep crying.
It was better than anything I could've ever come up with, because it was real. It was nice. I couldn't even allow myself to feel happy, the floodgates were open and joy just poured out of me.
That was 1 year ago today. My hair is longer and splitting in all different directions, and I'm beginning to notice how dry my skin is. I don't really take my tea with sugar anymore and I'm worried about how big my **** looks in most pants. I water some plants every day and I get to live in a tiny yellow house. I have lots of friends that I'm extremely grateful for that like ***** and **** and nothing and everything in between or around. My flight back home this morning was short. What can I say, I don't want to talk about it.

A little song bird is in my heart and every once in a while I let it sing as it catches on fire. Meanwhile, I think I'm slowly learning how to pet cats. They've got a little scruff around their necks that one can knead and grab.

I got everything I've ever wanted
Commuter Poet Nov 2015
First frost
Clings to tufts of winter green grass.
I am running
Running to feel
Something else.
I awoke sweating at 2.30am
On this Sunday morning
My mind in over driven panic
Just because
I have to face my future
My mind groans
Will I be this way for ever?
Will I ever break through?
I coax myself back towards the respite of sleep
And then I wake, knowing I cannot lie alone with my thoughts
They are not my friends.
So I get up
Wash up
Go running.
I meet people
Collect my daughter
Run errands
All, to stop the waterfall of my fear
As night time once more, draws near
And another week looms.
I occupy myself
Once again with things to stem
The tide of my subtext.
First frost
And a bird sings
So beautifully.
First frost
This is a year of a hundred poems thought of but were never written and were left behind until everything was forgotten.

A year when I held a pen  along with millions of ideas but ended up with a scribble that I just drew out of my consciousness.

A year of letters written by my bleeding heart and tired soul but were never given, never delivered to whom it is due.

A year of typed messages with my sweaty and shaking hands that ended up being deleted and never sent to someone I'm longing for.

A year of flowing tears filled with my inner agony that left my pillow wet, left my cheeks with its trail, and left my heart aching with so much pain.

A year of things left unsaid, words that will never be heard  by anyone  in the face of the earth except for my reflection on the mirror as I cry out to myself.

A year of promises that weren't fulfilled for its not supposed to be done yesterday, now or maybe the entire time.

A year of hugs that weren't felt, nor touched, nor reached the person I wanna give the warmth of love and care.

A year when a thousand different scenarios played on my mind, but  remained there and didn't happen in the reality where I'm living.

A year of feelings that are hidden and kept buried in the deepest part of my heart but hasn't died or even faltered in a slightest way.

A year of regrets that remained as it is because I'm afraid of trying, afraid of failing. Or rather, I'm terrified of taking the risk for I don't want to feel more pain.

This is the year, the very first year, when I  truly learned the word lonely; learned that I am lonely.

This year is ending soon enough, but I still haven't done or said a single thing that might take away all the 'what ifs' in my brain.

This is how I've been for the year two thousand fifteen.
Nairi Kalpakian Nov 2015
My drive to school consists of winding roads and wandering eyes in this town of autumn.  There is a layer of undeniable honesty to this season, as if the world at this time has nothing to hide. Something about the fiery death of the maples down Laurel brings life.
The chill of the crisp blue sky is palpable from behind dusty glass windows, and zephyrs that threaten needles across your cheek rustle the bones of bushes with no urgency at all.
Trevon Haywood Nov 2015
For our hearts and prayers, we will never forget about what happened in Paris.
As the rain began to pour, we will pray for god and heaven to those who were killed in the Paris terrorist attacks.
And i'm going to be sad that I'll have to go to Paris and let my teardrops fall down my face.
Speaking to this, i'm not really a terrorist here in Massachusetts because i don't do any crimes like that in my own life.
Also, my languages are always English and French as well.
So, join me as i make it through the storm and pray for Paris.
Dedicated for those who were killed in the Paris terrorist attacks.
I look at those across from me - searching distant seas.
I guess what they say is true. When a harmful breeze
blows
we will all unite.
But yet when peace does come we search for a fight.
I know though that - no matter how good - corruption
will take root. Until destruction
turns good will into dust and hope into decay
And as we search these twisting allays
for answers
all we can say is pray....

but we will divide
because we all are fearful
and we will be cheerful
when the culprits are found
searching with trained bloodhounds
when it comes to hope
we'll pray with all our might
for their strength, families and fight
we will love for a moment each other
hand in hand with our brothers


*Pray for Paris
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