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Keiya Tasire Jun 2019
Something Begins to Arise.
What is it?
Is it  this a dream?
How can it be?
I am not happy!!!

Tantrums
It is NOT Love!!
It is SUPPOSE to be about Love!
This is NOT about Love!
WHO'S DREAM IS IT!!!!?
This is NOT what I want!

Seeds of Awareness
Am I living someone's dream?
What do you mean it is not my dream?

Inner War
What do you mean it 's a program!
No, you are out of your mind!
I refuse to believe it!!
Where did it come from?
How did it happen?
Who is doing this?
No it can't be!
What is it's roots?
What are it's branches?
All I want is to be loved!
All I want is to be happy?
No things! I will not! I refuse to strive for riches!
NO! I will not be a LAWYER!
NO!  I will not be a BANKER like you!
Riches! Riches! Riches! Don't you care about LOVE? !!!!
Does Love even exist in your heart for me?
Or is it a lie too?!!!

My Anger Stirs
Seeps from every pore!
How can this be?
Lies!
It's ALL lies!!!
There was an uneasy sense of awareness when I begin to remember the pain and core of my suffering as I grew up. Within myself, I realize that I did not have the power to effect a change in my life for the better as a child or a teenager. I was still within the illusion of my cultural's & family's illusionary dream. As an adult, I become aware that I can choose differently. My anger pushed me on to take the needed steps toward creating something different in my own life.
Nikki May 2019
If pressed, I wouldn’t say that I’m unhappy
To leave one home for another,
But that I’m living in the future
And thusly have no control over my surroundings,
For they do not–might not ever–exist, and the I today and the I of June
Are distant relatives.

So, if further proposed the question
Of whether or not I grieve,
I’d reply that this town is like a loved one
Who I shall only visit on leap years,
And decisions are as deaths.
When I go, I’ll leave a piece behind forever.

If asked, I might not disclose
That the fresh wound of impatient joy harbors a quiet fear
Of disappearing into Ventnor City
From the hearts of those who are still in mine.

Yet, should one wonder
If I might reconsider,
I’d reply that decisions are as new lives.
When I arrive, I’ll weep with uncertainty.
I’ll meet the I of June on the shoreline.
I’ll feel the boardwalk under my feet and realize, with a start,
I’m home.
Allen James May 2019
When I was young
I spawned universes out of sand,
Made companions out of stones,
And won epic battles
with only a few good plastic men,

And so when my toys were traded
for life’s unexpected challenges,
I did what I do best,
And created a catastrophe.
When I was four my brother use to catch me snakes, and my sister would buy me donuts, my dad would take me fishing, and my mom would sing to me.

When I was five, my brother could only call me to say he missed me, my sister would write me letters, my dad would drink until the wee hours of the morning,
And my mom was just gone.

I remember sitting in the court house wondering what was happening

“He can have her”

And that was the last time my family was together.

My dad raised me on his own.
A single alcoholic father, raising a little girl
Was not something people were use too.

We lived in a small town, and so they would whisper about the mother who left me behind, and the father that was always drunk.

But even at 5 years old I didn’t mind being alone. My father loved me with all he had, I knew that in my bones.

So the years passed, just the two of us, in a house with empty bedrooms but not empty hearts. I became accustomed to taking care of my fathers hangovers, and walked myself to school, and every Mother’s Day I made my dad a card and picked my neighbors flowers to put in a vase. Though I wondered where my mother was, and why my siblings lived somewhere else, I never once wished my life where different. It was all I knew.
I learned to catch my own snakes, and my dad would buy me donuts, and take me fishing, and sing for me.

From time to time I’d cry silently in my bedroom, wondering why they left. But as I got older I understood that not every family is meant to stay together, that not everyone who has kids is ready to raise them, and that people can fall out of love.

These were all hard lessons, and I learned them early on, but I wouldn’t change a thing, it made me who I am.

My father did finally get sober, and my mother came back into my life, my brother had children, they hang off my arms when I visit, my sister calls me every week, I even have a new brother who looks up to me.

The three paper routes I had as a kid to help my father pay the bills taught me the importance of hard work, the long nights my dad partied taught me to appreciate a good nights sleep, and my family’s separation taught me to cherish what you have.

Nothing’s promised, anything can be taken, so live your life without regrets.
And don’t forget to tell your dad you love them, tell your mother your forgive her, and hug your siblings as often as you can.
Kaiden A Ward May 2019
Before my brother grew up and forgot the colors of the sky,
He shared with me a secret.
That to become invisible, one only needs to climb,
For most adults have forgotten the shape of the world
Beyond their shoelaces.

Barren, winter-worn branches stretch gray
Against the timid rays of the springtime sun,
Coaxing forth tiny, vibrant leaves that
Will age to weave themselves into the walls of
The sanctuary I inherited from my brother.

Wedged between the highest limbs,
I disappeared.
Peering between the wrestling leaves
Of my favorite maple tree,
I marveled at all I could not see,
Reaching out to trace the sharp indigo mountains
From which mystic creatures rose
To claim the expanse of my imagination.
Here, I lost myself
In realms of endless fantasy.

Now, the seasons cycle past, each spring
Rebuilding the leaf-bricked castle
Of my childhood, but
The creatures I once knew have faded from existence,
For I, too, am forgetting the colors of the sky.
Morrie W S May 2019
every day i wake up
           expecting full formation
     only to discover i have yet to pop.

life feels like a kernel in my back left molar.
      

        i look for my future in
     yesterday's egg scramble.
       the yolk: no solution,
no bramble
  

i yearn all the more  for my unrummaged brain--
keep ice in my left hand,
sanity in the wrong vein.

i always fall too steep,
staccato fingers quick to adjust
a smile to a frown.
i always bruise my hips on the way down.


my glass-bottom floor,
my lamp-lit contingency.
all's  keepin' me afloat:
my swiss-riddled dignity.
oof.
Mateo Apr 2019
I once wrote words on paper,
Words that flowed from my soul.
I once had a pen full of ink,
Which dripped dreams upon my sheet.
I once fell asleep in my youth,
Then I awoke as a man.
Caitlin Apr 2019
I look in the mirror,
and I see

                      pox

         scars

                          marks.

I long to be
the round faced girl
that I see in my memories
with eyes that dance with innocence
despite everything she had been through.

                           That saw fairies and dragons
                in the corners of her room

Who talked to mermaids
                                 and danced with bards

Some would call it an overactive imagination.
But I'm faced with the dullness
in my eyes
and I miss the worlds I created.

Because this one

hurts.
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