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Emily 9h
I walk to the places
We never went with each other
I talk about the things
I never talked about with you
I feast without you by my side
Never once thinking of you
Until now

Ne’er before had mortality
Seemed so bleak and grim
Until I laid upon
Not your visage; pale and fair
But your casket bedecked with petals
Thinking about the light
Cast out to where your future should have been
Instead of eight feet underground

I bluster
As I try to understand
The change of fate
The whims and cruelties
Of people I don’t know
Even you

The one whom I cried for
And still continue to cry for
Because I cannot articulate
How two lovers perish
In such fateful wreckage

I think of from where I had come
And from where I must go
Periphery, you were
Periphery, you remain
Except when tears line my eyes
As I realise that the future
Isn’t as predictable as I thought

I will never hold your baby
In my arms
And you will never hold mine
But that is the domestic writing
Thinking about the future
So cloudy and grey
Even when I hold onto roses so stiffly

Roses that I must,
I am afraid,
Lay at your head and feet
Whilst you sleep within the earth
And will never take breath again
Not to sing or laugh
Like you did when we were children

When we still went to the same places
And still talked about the same things
And ate next to one another
Never thinking
The future would quite be like this
Never thinking we would be caught
In the fray of fate as things turn out
So wrong and so sad

But I continue to think of things
I could have said when you were alive
When I didn’t cherish your presence
Because memories are so easily
Made and forgotten
But please take them all
And I will continue to give
All these unspoken words you
In flower bouquets and poetry

For that is all I have
To remember you by,
My dear ailurophobe
Named grace twice
Fitting as you feel twice buried
So, I bid you farewell
With this to part us
But you will never leave my thoughts
Even as I stray along the path
And am subject to fates we never imagined
In loving memory of my cousin, Hannah, who passed away earlier this year
lmbf 5d
there’s a girl in california who knows my name
and her voice sounds like caramel on a sunny day
i don’t really know what i’m doing, but neither does she
let’s forget our time together is shorter than it needs to be

and so
i’m walking to the lake when i catch
a raven-haired girl gazing at me from the side of my eye and i
notice you were staring at me all this time
but if we’re living in the same place, you’re 2000 miles on the other side

there’s a girl in california who knows my name
and when we laugh together, everything falls into place
as if we met somewhere in our past lives
like when she told me, “i really like your vibes”

you see, i am new to this
i am not used to this
of experiencing love that just feels right
and even though ninety-six hours don’t seem like they matter
it mattered to me that we danced at midnight

call me back, tell me what’s in your heart
darling, what time is it wherever you are
i’ve got family across the world but lately you’ve been feeling fur-
ther away
like two boats colliding, then drifting astray

there’s a girl in california who knows my name
i hope one day i can (again) see her face
and tell her that she’s been the light of my life
even 2000 miles on the other side.
Fall Freewrite Sessions 2018 // I'm a firm believer that most people only stay for the season. This past season was particularly eventful.
Dear M, if you ever read this, know that I am grateful for last summer. You taught me the ropes and you taught me to love. You and I are both hoping we will see each other again, but if we don't, know I will be thinking of you.
Yours - always and forever, l.m.b.f.
Arke Sep 25
do you remember spending hours
in that old beat up car of yours
sharing fresh packs of gum
and old stories about love and loss
concerts we wouldn't see together
moments both shared and separate
and even now we laugh together
share a pint and share our scars
and I don't miss being that young
but when I look at you, I still see
the same person from a decade ago
and it's as though no time has passed
and we are both still teenagers
driving around way too late at night
you pressed your palm up against mine
comparing fingers and hands
I hoped you wouldn't see through
the red flush of my cheeks
so let's have one more pint
get sloppy drunk together
and compare the stars in our eyes
Aman Dahiya Sep 16
Fret not, you will beg and pray to grow up.
Even drop a few bargains at it.
You will look at people walking wherever,
But never be allowed out after eight.
You would wanna see yourself at night in private,
But the doors would never be closed, that’s it!

One day, after you blow eighteen candles,
Your veins will suddenly pop.
While some freedom your parents hand out,
Some you will force it on your own.
And you will relish how free you are,
You will build cities on paper boats!

Then you will feel your shoulders falling,
What is this tinging in your chest?
You only want to be happy,
You don’t understand what’s going through you head.
You scrape your life for minute facets,
But it never makes any ******* sense!

You will want to fall down in your mother’s arms,
The pain will be that shattering.
You will look at life from present to past,
Have less photos of now than then.
Then, you will curse yourself every night,
And this time wish to have your childhood again.

But don’t worry, you will find happiness,
In a room full of friends.
Someone will rub tears from your cheeks,
When kindness will knock on your mess.
Eventually, you will find peace in your own company,
With a cheap pair of earphones and a Pink Floyd track!

And you will smile when you’ll realise,
that white is always bought with the black.
For neither holds any value,
Without each other’s back.
There might have been a time
When I wasn’t full of fear so topped off
Like a gassy sombrero
like a burrito left in the
Sun to bake and there might have
Been a
When I hadn’t yet eaten a burrito
In New England, locked in a small state of
Fear and knowing that knowing
just isn’t
There might have
A time when luxury was a nickel
apiece paperback
Book at the Unitarian Church fall sale
to raise funds for
Their roof.
To raise their
And there
Have been a joy in my spark
A joy
In my canter
A Joy in
My legs that preceded my
There might
Been a time:
When I would pick one of the seven records we owned
And delicately put it on the turntable, thinking I will
Have my own money and
buy my own music.
When I idly lift the leaded paint
from the 200 year old wood
And scratch it to smell its sweet aroma.
And put my hand on the glass pane
Think hard enough and open your eyes and it will be
1838 again.
Oh where are the people?
Oh where
when there might have been a time
Did I not see who they are?
Or they did not register.
I must have watched them everyday
so keen to be seen
Is it possible to feel so much
for feeling so little?
Or did I feel gulfs of embrace
that were not there?
I wanted and I desired and I dug.
I craved and thought and speculated
and clung.
And there might have
A time when I roared on my Schwinn down the long empty
Roads of my town.
Invoking our gods.
Invoking my claims.
There was a time when I stuttered with
Compassion and could
feel a touch observed
There was a time:
Across the street in a
lit house at dusk.
Their curtains are open, their lights are on.
Oh, the sun has settled down
There is that time, golden, when I
Look into your kitchen, and the wallpaper is
Blue and harvest gold with small pictures of oil lamps on
Them and your walls are mustard gold.
Your plates are unbreakable
I see them lustre in the
Overhead light, fashioned like a wagon wheel.
Guns ablazin’.
Trails awash.
There might be a time when I can slip back
Into your kitchen
lick the plates and then
Run my fingers over
the wall paper.
Tracing the outline of the oil
lamps imprinted.
Growing up in a small rural town in Vermont.  The boundlessness of it vs. the containment.
Jon Thenes Aug 10
Billy got violent
It used to be an apparition
And now it fights for a vast attention
A geist clear and present
A feast for the mealing viewing of a gross company
:This explosion tuned on tide
And now it is our SwearHeart

Billy was so silent
Now it votes out all its crushings
All its firing angers
It's unnamed energy

The progenitor speaks :
Turn that Clown upside down
You Hanged Child
You Fool Card
By your age I'd joined the military
Had friends
Knew a girl
You are hard work ;
Our little SwearHeart

You're Thin Skin
Worn outside in
Understand (blinkered)
You must live in vain sight
You mustn't cut smart sound
Be team, be trophy
Make us proud
Our little SwearHeart

You play this part brightly
Perfect this Art
Turn in The Performance
And make us quite proud
Our Bitter SwearHeart
With our backing
Join in the game
And plea tame
Our Vicious SwearHeart
Ally Ann Aug 9
At 12 years old
you learned the majority of stars
were already dead.
They are masters of deception
giving you hope that beauty
is permanent
and love is forever.
You learned that love
is too often a lie
and promises find themselves
shattered on linoleum floors
that you step on in the night.
At twelve,
you learned that your bones are fragile
paper thin like the birth certificate
you’ve never seen,
buried under other things
you never really cared about.
You found truth
at 3 am in your bedroom
followed by rivers of tears
and open pill bottles.
You saw life
and you saw death
and sometimes those nights
when you were twelve
are the only things that make you feel
like the world is real.
When you were twelve
you found out the stars were dead.
When you were twelve
you found out that you were not.
I hurt so much at this age it almost killed me
Ally Ann Aug 8
When I was thirteen
I thought that I wouldn’t make it through the year
birthdays felt like due dates
that I was never going to make
and each day brought me closer
to my ultimate fate of nothingness.
My bones felt like they were
filled with lead
and my eyelids sank as if they
only knew how to fall
like the rest of my body
into sleep.
I thought each moment was
a ticking time bomb
that was going to blow up
and leave my family to mourn
the life of someone who chose not to live it anymore.
I was so broken by my own brain
that nothing seemed worth it
and the easiest thing would have been
to step into the water
and let my leaden bones
pull me down.
When I was thirteen
I saw nothing but emptiness
within my own chest
and a body that would soon be useless.
When I was thirteen
I did not know what the future held for me
with laughter and love
and everything I would eventually dream of.
When I was thirteen
I was wrong
about most everything,
especially that I would never make it
through the year.
lmbf Aug 3
Dear good old friend,

I don't regret a minute of it. Being given the chance to play with you, laugh with you amidst the grassy plains of our old schoolyard. Fifth grade mancala and sixth grade basketball games, the people may have changed but the memories stay the same. And I remember you, me, and our group of friends, and all I can associate with it is the feeling of finally being free.

Who would've known that just four years later, we wouldn't be able to recognize the person standing in front of us?

I let go a long time ago, but try as I might I can't bring myself to forget those years; and every moment is conflated with the kindness of your smile. Almost like it's a portrait frozen in time. While now I know that's nostalgia casting its rose-tinted spell, part of me still wonders whether you think of me, your good old friend, when those years come to mind, too.

You taught me the meaning of seasons. That every season ushers in new people, new meaning; and that what is given sometimes has to be taken away. Though I questioned this truth for a very long time, I no longer hurt over the year we fell apart. In fact, I embrace it. You taught me how to see the joys in life (even when I wanted no part of it) and you taught me how to love. And in doing so, you taught me how to let you go.

People often say that someone might leave your life after you have learned something from him/her. But you always were the exception; you made sure I knew that life goes on no matter who's in it. No matter if you've learned your lesson right away or not.
That just as we learned in seventh grade biology that the human skin repairs itself, we, too, will learn to heal - and maybe even to love others again.

Thank you.

Summer Freewrite Sessions 2018 //
though now i can't even recognize the man he has become, here is an old friend whose memories and whose lessons i will always treasure. the wisdom he (albeit unknowingly) imparted upon me before we said goodbye forms a central part of the progression of "SFW 2018" and of my personal growth  this past summer, too. so i felt it necessary to honor him through this piece.

if you have been reading my works this past month - through trending, through your home page, or through a friend, thank you so much! thank you for receiving SFW Sessions warmly and for sharing it, it means the world to me.

if you haven't, i encourage you to check them out. it would be greatly appreciated! (and also some parts of this piece might make more sense.)
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