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c Apr 2018
He jokes that we'd argue over bedsides
We'd live in hipsterville &
I'd bike everywhere &
douse myself in patchouli each morning

He giggles at the thought of us
Dancing in our white-walled apt &
the wine spilling over our glasses &
the dog ******* in the tub

What a crazy thought--Us
Sanding our own dining table &
reading the headlines &
taking pills before breakfast

He laughs at these things
These things I've already thought

Buried under sheets alone
in wonderment
of what we could be

--
c
All in good fun, my partner & I started coming up with crazy things that would happen if we stayed together long enough to live together. Little does he know, these were things I've thought of since the moment I became his and he mine.
George Anthony Apr 2018
age
too sickly an idea, to age beyond activity;
what allure can be founded in limitations?
this flirtation we have, as naïve kids, with growing up too fast
for the fear of missing out on all the fun of adulthood, of decision making
not understanding the freedom to be found in permitted passivity

before realising that brittle bones and looser skin,
and wrinkled eyes, and sunken cheeks,
the vanity within that corrodes self-esteem for every grey hair found,
is something we are far more comfortable seeing
in anybody that isn't ourselves
Piper Diggory Apr 2018
‘Why’ yawps and whines in the corridor, dim
lights paving ceilings to greater unkindnesses;
Greater unknowns fester in cigarette smoke,
And always in dwindling moonlight . What do you
Suppose of yourself? Is it to be, or not
Until men in hats set your sad sky aflame?
The sunset stains you, you’re frittered and worn,
Deluged in the spirits of seventeen.
The night unties the laces of school kids
And you lie in your idle sheets of euphoria
To ignore, or simply not to know.
Where did you go
When you said you don’t know, in sheets shrouding school kids
and their shoelaces all soaked with the sap
Of seventeen, sunset coloured in daylight
Beckoned by men in hats asking rudely of
Scathed suppositions and how they might sound
When the moon is seen blushing in thieving late hours  
Catching cigarettes with fading lungs in its glow,
And the greater unknowns which prey on us all;
At the end of poorly lit corridors, asking why.
one I wrote when I turned 18
c Mar 2018
night to sun
whichever one
i am constantly smiling
a barrier around
to remind the strangers i too
am alright

growth underground
i've found out
it is neither journey nor destination
as i am stuck dancing
in the same rain
as once and each time before

i see the sun but feel no heat
the time slicks by slow as a drain drip
pattering me into childhood--
what're two grown hands worth without
an axe
or intent to wave

sleet underfoot
the earth has made enemy of me
and everyone else

where do we float from bone to dust?

do we conserve love once given
or does it go to soil
as well?

--
c
There's some joy in getting old.

Broken bones and snapping hips.

Wrinkled skin and falling hair.

Wasted days that aren't spent wasted;

Coughing lungs and swollen hands.

I've seen the seas of sorrow high.

I've loved and been loved by.

I saw a war and guilt and pain.

I've bled and cried and mourned again and again.

Now I have more years behind me than ahead.

I'll continue on living, but I'll still end-up dead.

There is little joy in getting old:

But it's still there,

and I'm still here.
Asyura Mar 2018
The sand crunched beneath our feet
as we walked, arms linked
Our smiles and laughter shining brighter than your wedding ring
I was too caught up with my life,
I didn’t even know
until you said
“Let’s catch-up over coffee” a few weeks ago
We spoke of the memories,
for they’re the only thing that can never leave
Apologies were accepted. Misunderstandings were cleared.
Mistakes were forgiven as nostalgia returned.
We made lots of promises as little kids
but now we barely have time for anything
We used to long for adulthood
but now we’re wishing for the simplicity of childhood
Hugs were exchanged as the night came to an end
and goodbyes were said once again
“Parting is such a sweet sorrow that i shall say goodbye till it be morrow”
But I know it will take more than one tomorrow
before we meet again once more.
Chloe Mar 2018
songs for the plastic,
not so fantastic.

kardashian culture,
girl is like a vulture.

that beige colour food,
difficult to swallow and chew.

songs for the blind,
men obsessed with a woman's behind.

immune to love songs like an antibitoic,
now
can someone please change the topic.
I'm grinding
and the dirt
I'm grinding
and the dirt
I'm grinding
and the dirt


And I don't
understand?

I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

please help me,


"The clawed hand is not for shaking,
although it has amazing grip."
-zₑᵤₛ



"Eat a pork shoulder
dusted in granite powder...
dash of cumen, a salty pinch
you'll get over it."
-ᴾᵉˡᵒᵖˢ

                                                  

    ­                                              "He is a porky one isn't she?" -ᴱʳᶦˢ




Betty, uh, Ms. Page,
didn't it bother you?

"Bother me?"

Well you know,
being a person of God,
-doing those things for money?

"Silly, I do what I do
BECAUSE I AM a believer!"
-ᴮᵉᵗᵗʸ ᴾᵃᵍᵉ
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