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Kurt Kanawa May 2014
don't let them get close
little deaths that leech and gnaw
until I am bone
how much longer?
harvey May 2014
people leave all the time
and all the time i find myself alone
and all the time im begging them to stay
but they come and go
and they do it
all
the
time
JP Goss Apr 2014
Morning:
My taken place at the faucet, a peer
Staring into eyes, not sworn to me
And I was standing, looking in the mirror
Speaking as my reflection
Spoke back to me.
I was shocked when he took my hand
Starting speaking about identity
I was shocked he knew so much
More of me
Than I.
He talked about my too-long hair
Or how good I looked in green
Or how messy my morning face could be
Or whether I was feeling smart or lean.
He knew it all:
I’d go so far to say more of me than I.

Evening:
Look to the east! A sun set
—Bravo! At least consistent and THEN gone.
Me? I’ve no such liberty
I couldn’t even tell, bereft a mirror,
The thing I like to call me.
Walking the roads, lined with lights
Bustling, living,
Lined with sights
Constituting the parts of me, invisible
—Added to nothing, they’re indivisible
Closed, exposed, fall and drizzle
Without the gall keep hold
From doors and boughs
In the windows—I’m there now
And THEN I’m gone.

Night:
The stone church’s door where
The righteous moor their souls
Piety flows
In its golden veins
And I’m there no more.
Their God does hate me
Without presence in the
Pews; I’m dross
Since the saint I chose
Was Saint Me beatified
Confirmed from the sinner Laity Goss
—So I turn
To the school affording play in my words
And a tact therefore
But rejects
All but their templates in blue shoes
Who sleight my for company
Only when within them
Or drowning in *****.
—So I turn
To the wilderness
Blooming in virginal grapes
Disrobed save the skin
Unfamiliar,
Self-aware but only on a whim
And whirlwinds that blow
Ice and shrapnel and
Exile me to the country
Where not but dearth may grow
In a single season of mine
—So I turn
Too afraid of that winter
So much more the fall
And me in the mirror
Knows it all, knows it plenty
A casual drop in a casual chat
About identity
—So I turn
Back to the mirror
Back to it all
With showers and pictures in its wall
Staring into eyes, sworn not to me
Speaking as my reflection
Speaks back to me
I was not shocked he knew so much
More of me than I,
Since he strides alongside mine
And only in a certain climb
Telling me
It’s almost time, I’m almost there
But it’s not clear in which direction,
Or where.
K Balachandran Apr 2014
The vivacious little girl
occupying the table next, with her parents
counts me too, someone close to her
I don't know, what prompts this,
or why she wants to cheer me up.

Smiles at me like I am an uncle
lost for long and now found by chance,
offers a bite from her candy
with a conspiratorial wink.

Its a pity I lost touch
with that part of my psyche
that used to act like a kid
and rejoice, without a thought'
when something like this happens.

Yes, things change
you may not even sense it,
I suddenly realize.

I just look away and see
a bleak cloud fully lost all morning flush
at the corner of the sky limping forward,
dissolving little by little.
Austin Heath Apr 2014
Here we are lined up like ******* ants on pavement,
and I've been alienated before, but
never so collectedly. So familiar.
Here we are making small talk and
suddenly I feel useless, or Caucasian, you know;
how you may be something, but certain times
you may inhale too deeply and
feel it. Maybe I felt it earlier...
That type of feeling where, albeit "familiarity",
if I could be in two places at once,
I still wouldn't be here.
Strangers on my welcome mat,
and I just can't close
the ******* door.
It's probably because I don't live here.
Chit-chat and I have nothing to say,
so I'd say anything just to see if you'd
put me on the outside, treat me
like a stranger, or pretend I really
belong here.
The Welcome Party!;
yet I can already tell I don't belong,
I'm unwelcome, I shouldn't be
here.
Julia Apr 2014
I grow weary of increasingly less
complex humans approaching me
in halls & wanting nothing more
than to see me naked in their bed
& when I say
no
no
no,
how about we talk about why
people die or the shape of
the wind
,
they get


                  blown

                                 ­                   away

in
it
Colette Williams Apr 2014
There's a saying that we are our own worst enemies.
The more I learn about myself, I have to agree.
It is not my friends nor my family
That will end up being the death of me.
Words in my head, words so mean,
Words that drive me to cry and scream.
Sometimes I can't believe this is happening;
Sometimes it all just feels like a bad dream.
The more you live in your own head, the more you hide,
The more you suffer and the less you confide
In the people who could help you understand why
You shouldn't believe in these horrible lies.
Sam Toil Apr 2014
a hallway.  offices.  tinted sunlight.  
people who have forgotten my name.  
but i am here.  
and then a room.  and a meeting.  
and i am unprepared.  
“you’re up”  says the leader.  
and my lungs fill with heaviness as they all turn towards me.  
my mind screams.  
my throat locks.  

and then a word fights through the scream.  
and i breathe.  and find a voice.  
and then another word.  
and a thought.  
then relevance.  
i am moving.  
and eyes do not wander.  
but the scream fights on:  
they will find out.  

i was connected at one time.  
so the scream would fade.  
but not now.  
these many years later.  
“we could use you again,”  
he had said.  
and i had relented.  
but why?  boredom?  faith?  
the scream of fear vs. the scream of isolation?  
or a familiar voice dragging me back from madness.  
“what have you been up to?”  
he had asked.  
and i had lied.  
and now my mind all scrambled between work and stupor.  

“what on EARTH are you talking about?!”
demands the one who should have taken over for me.  
and the throat locks again.  
and the scream rises up.  
and he knows it.  
but sympathy has no place here.  
so i struggle with the scream.
and find the words to hide the Fraud  
as he shakes his head in disgust.  

and i remember why i left.  
so i wade in the scream until i am done and take my seat.  
and the scream that never dies whispers, “what else is there?”

— The End —