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Ashlee Reyes Feb 2016
The air smells like you
Like a bottle of givenchy
Cologne, except brand new.

Like the thought of me and you,
The thought of something actually being true.

I think back on that afternoon
Where we downed that whole
Bottle of cognac.

When you said the three words,
Your pronunciation so exact.

You saw all of me that day
And I admired all of your
Charismatic ways.

The lights were kept off
And I took in every bit of your
Neatly kept loft.

You'd said that I was the only
Girl you brought to your home
And for the first time,
I didn't feel alone.

And I remember all of what you said,
Every syllable, every vowel I clung on to,
Cause I always think back on that afternoon,
Praying that for the first time
What we have is actually true.
CVS Parking Lot
12:20 PM
Holey Feb 2016
Sometimes I feel like I am sinking, and as I sink deeper into this black abyss, I think of you, and as I think of you, I start to change my mind, and then I start to crave. Crave for the chance to take a big gulp of air and float to the top. But I've sunk too far down to be saved.
Connor Exodus Feb 2016
A country road with
a hazel glow, that
settles around the
watching lazy clouds.

Some kindly fox
that creeps and sits,
camouflaged in a
familiar field of corn.

The floating flies that
swarm adrift, they’re
careful not to try to
care about anything.

Smells of sweet air,
of apples and of pears
and of heat that hugs
your drooping nose.

This land which I don’t
know, and never have I
been will allow me to
visit maybe one day.
Esther Feb 2016
Living the fantasy and
Breathing colours
As they fade out of rainbows
And into your blood;
Dreaming of being
One with the air
You cannot hold
As you do a friend’s arm
Whilst traversing through
The reality we’ve formed.
Waking up on clouds
Filled with possible storms
Climbing above the havoc
And seeing the sun,
But the moon still cries out
Lonely and high-strung.
Stretching arms into outer space
Skimming over the edge
Of planets deserted
Yet full of their own life,
Spinning with a different crowd
Of rocks for a year or two
Until someone wakes you up again.
Yawning out the tension
Of muscles returning
From sleep and into a state of relief
Withstanding the uniform
Creeping of shaking fear
With images of beauty uncharted.
Jacob Traver Jan 2016
Through the eight-paned stained glass window,
I sit and stare and ponder the snow as though
I am a single solitary flake falling slow with no
Worry of leaving the sky.

I float on air carried and ferried by wind flow
As I gently come to lie on the blank covered ground low
Below the sky stretching grey over white as a plateau
Of heavy clouds on high.
Syiera Rose Jan 2016
She felt as if the air had died. As if the world had stopped.
As if the blood in her veins ceased flow.
And the burning began and she felt a rush. Her blood was once again moving, the world had started revolving again and the air came back to life.
I write all my poems, And if you would like to use what I have written, I ask you to ask my permission or at least let me know that you want to use my words.
That is the least you could do.
thank you.
Caryl Jan 2016
There are some thoughts that even you tell a million times...

...would just be an air that they will never understand.
AM Jan 2016
taking off to the air
is my second favorite feeling
it makes my heart
felt as if I left them behind
somewhere beautiful
until I'm out of breath
and the first is
kissing you
Phoebe Jan 2016
Send me a poem on a paper plane
Take a stamp, stick it, and write your name.
Doesn't matter if you're across the sea
Your letter will find its way to me.

Send it out the window when no one's there
Watch it fly away without a care.
No one will read it but me and you
Darling, I promise-- I swear it's true.

I'll send you back a paper bird
With a message on it-- read every word.
I'll send it 'round the world to you
Just fly a letter across the blue.
AfterImage Jan 2016
In a sense I haven't breathed in a long time. I haven't given any gasp of pleasure or a sigh of relief. Air is ******* within me like a Gordian Knot. Too long have my ribs served as a cage for the trapped air within me. The wind in my breath the very symbol of freedom and my restraining it a resemblance to my claustrophobic thoughts.

I want to melt into the winds of a storm and surrender to the release it would give me. I wish to be as carefree as the breeze and to carry on across the world like a zephyr. I want so much to take example of those drafts and follow a course all of my own.
           I am a pocket of air beneath the water's surface.
                          I am a balloon anchored to the ground.
                                              I am not free to do as I will.
                                                           ­           I am trapped.
                                                        ­                I am caught.
But I will wait for the time I am able to breathe again.
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