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Jonathan Moya Nov 2019
With the sound of sirens screaming outside,
ten knocks on the door, the shout of authority
flooding in from the red steel,
would Joe American give up Anne Frank
hiding in the attic among his dusty relics,
the crawl space shared with a family of rats,
living under the loose floorboards among
the stacks of hidden zombie apocalypse cash?

What if Jane American found Anna Franco
shuddering with her dos hermanos, madre, padre,
in the dark corners of her garage?

Would she give them 2 vests, 3 pair of pants,
two pair of stockings, a dress skirt,
jacket, shorts, lace up shoes,
wool cap, and scarf?

What if her daughter Sarah saw a black hijab Anah
patiently hidden in the foliage of their old oak tree?
Would she gift her her favorite blue fountain pen?

Would she embrace her, or if ordered,
break the neck of her rabbit?
She was the favorite
The baby of the family
Even when she no

She was special
Clearly it showed
In her soft skin
Or her glowing

And the spirit caught
Her nearly from birth
She kept her feet
In both

Which she still does
To this very day
Staying afoot
Here and
The Spirit Catches
Me and
I Fell
The Spirit caught me
Or maybe the Spirit
Catches me

Either way I always Fall
The rabbit hole way further

Than I knew existed

My Fall is not
An easy one
I hit speed bumps
Every which

I've been left in a
State of hazy

But I am not dead
The doctor's told mommy
I would be by now

Yet here I am
Fighting still,
Head held high

With pride
Cause I am a miracle child
Eyes wide open

Each one a testimony that the
American Medical Complex
Isn't always the answer

Isn't the only
At the very least

So divorced from humanity
That they forgot we
Are spirit first


And some fates are worse
Than death
Some alter destinies for more

Than one

Forbid they try
That same nonsense
On me again
Not Hmong
But Still
Anne Fadiman
hannah in spring Aug 2019
Lie awake for me
Tangle yourself in your sheets and
Think about me
You haven't seen me in three days
It's spring break
I promise you this
I won't text you back
Maybe you believe I hate you
That's okay I just
Need to know what it feels like
To have someone waiting

I hope you can fall in love
With silence because
I love silence more than anything
But not enough to stop you from breaking it
Break it
And I'll break your trust
Take me back
Don't ask me to explain
I won't
I have a warehouse worth
Of second chances

I cry because of you
I'll  let you know but
Don't think you can catch me
You know me well enough to know
I don't open up
But not well enough to know why and
I'll  play my favorite song for you
You'll never know why
It makes me smile
But you'll know
All too well
That it makes me cry
When you aren't around
I know that you think
It's all to do
With you
I'll swear it's not
It is
ghost queen May 2019
please open the door
who do i cry for
the golden door is close
do you not want the joy, the ecstasy
the rose bush is blooming, fully flowering
let me in, just unlock the door
my quiver is full, my bow taunt, where is your heart
Johnny walker Mar 2019
I have a favourite song that of The Rose by Le Anne Rimes such a beautiful version I had It
played at my wife funeral
I quote
Beneath The Frozen Snow
Lies A Seed That With The
Sun Love In Spring Becomes A Rose
That was so much like my wife almost died In winter
but In the spring warmer days she bloomed like a flower the perfect song for her and was a fitting tribute to on her funneral
day God bless her
The Rose was perfect song played as a tribute to my wife at her funeral
Willard Feb 2019
I want lithium that tastes like
hair intertwined in chain link
on pedestrian bridges.

It'd be spit.
Your spit I swallowed
eyeing the eye of the storm

barefoot on Kombucha glass,
we both felt safe.
The bridge'd be destroyed eventually

but love's a greater monument
than cathedrals built with
taxpayer money and with

lips locked I'd have no
reason to scream
when winds break the trees

or the wind breaks me.
I'd stand my ground
magnetic banded

to the metal behind
what's in front of me
and I'll have the taste

of lavender and humidity
in my mouth instead
of my own blood.
Tanay Sengupta Oct 2018
When they met,
They were both young and stupid.
Under the tree of love, they sat
Kissed by the arrows of cupid.
He saw a fire in her,
It burned bright.
He was in awe of her
She was like a light.
A light he had sought for
But, couldn't find.
In his core
He was in darkness, he was blind.
Until she came along
And turned him into a different man.
She was like a beautiful song
Her name was Ann.

Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved.
It has been a while since I decided to pick up the pen and write something. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: All characters or people (if any) mentioned here are subject to my imagination. I am yet to meet someone to whom I could dedicate a poem like this. Hence, I made up an imaginary person and wrote a poem for her.
Terry Collett Mar 2018
You were older than I was:
nineteen years older, old
enough to be my mother

not my lover, but you were,
each part of you, that dyed
blonde hair, Rubenesque

figure, blue eyes, **** voice,
and us making out either
in your lounge on the blue

sofa or in your double bed
with moonlight pouring in
on us. You liked the bottle

of wine or scotch I brought,
the Mahler 1st or 5th, small
talk, the big talk. You were

the seduced of my youth
and it was fine, it was an
education of one to one,

a kiss and never tell or tell,
but not with whom or where.
I sailed you through Seven

Seas, climbed your mountain
peaks, surveyed your valleys
of dark and love and lust.

You rest now, in God's peace,
I hope and I trust.
Captain Lucas Feb 2018
Oh how you wish this war had never begun
in consequence of that, you were not allowed to feel the sun
in almost every start of page, you wrote down "Dear Kitty,"
and as a concern you asked Peter, if she was pretty

Now it feels like I am the new Anne Frank from new decade
the difference is that depression is my enemy, it won't let me scape
through moments of dark, you showed me how I could be more strong
through moments of clarity, we both suffered because of bomb

Well, if the nature brings solance in all troubles as you said
I hope fear, loneliness and unhappiness gets out of my head
Inspired by Anne Frank's Story and mixed with my usual life. She is an inspirational person for me... The fact that she had been in the Secret Annex for a few years makes me relate because I stayed inside my house without going out for a while. The difference between is that she wasn't allowed to and I have the right but for depression I resigned that.
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