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Owen Cafe Aug 24
Its odd.
That bit where it looks like lonely
But really its just human.

That bit where "Oh you just need a girl"
But really its just a yearning to be naked.
Naked like prolonged eye contact.
Naked like not talking just being.
Naked like learning who you are.
Naked like breathing on top of
a mountain of social expectation.

Its odd.
They don't tell you about this bit.
Being Human.
Only being their human.
Thoughts on the societal expectory trajectory.
Grass roots and bare feet.
Laokos Aug 22
torn free from the ground of
pregnant ideas and withered
internal dialogues.

aloof in the face of destiny, crying
for refuge among the disowned,
the dismembered, the disinterested.  i
alone exist in the maelstrom of abstraction
crafted painstakingly through my ages
and seasons.

a mind as sharp as mine
to raise me without feathers
and place me
among the mulch.

i blanket my canvas with
woes and worries alike, neglecting
the foul-mouthed begotten son
arranged among the pillars left standing.

crooked trees and iced stone to
vibrate
through these ears of clay.  

i miss the days of youthful
ignorance and exuberant hope shot at my
future like a cannon of pride
and confidence.  

today the final summer flowers exhale
notes of sweet becoming, ever mingling
with the hum of nature's eternal embrace.  
the bodies celestial in ambiguity spin and
swirl in irrevocable sincerity.  from rise to
fall, through night and naught, the world
recurs again to weave itself anew.
I’m having spring fever
Dreams again.
My hands ache to be
Anchored in dirt
Like the roots of a plant,
Delicate and stubborn.

My skin begs for the sun,
Leave kisses where
She’s been. Freckles, undiscovered
****** constellations,
Guide me home; a map to
The real garden of Eden.

My lungs crave the sweet,
The musky,
The dusty smell of outside;
Fresh and natural.
The cold smell of winter lingers,
But not much longer.

Ears attuned to every song
Of the birds,
And every chirp of an insect;
Music to my ears,
The sound of celebration. Growth,
We are all becoming.
Katherine Jan 23
There are houses on this street filled with wolves.
He-wolves and she-wolves and wolf-whelps howling for meat
Scattered like snowflakes across the neighborhood.
It starts slow, and ends with “I lost my temper” “It was their own fault”
“All the better to see you with, my dear.”
Some of us are eaten up, and some of us grow wolves in our own bellies,
And some last long enough to meet our wolves down the line.
What does it matter if you become the wolf or not?
What narratives are left to us now?
Sarah Aug 4
the soul inside of me
is growing far too big
for my body
Elena Jul 17
My pen is dripping
from my heart and soul,
hoping to grow
a bit more beautiful
each day.
Karisa Brown Jul 8
When I see her again
Let me tell you
Every cell becomes alive
I awake

The complimentary serendipity
The particle charge of
Reading from the same mind
The quantum sharing of two universal whole beings of light
That somehow got entangeled
And when I see her
It all makes perfect sense
This and this and this...
Last nights dream was that Helen and dreamed we had met again for the first time we were sitting In the park holding hands
this
oh pretty girl was sat at my side there was snow on the ground and snow was still falling It was bitterly cold but neither of us
felt the
cold
at all for we were to much love with each other to have even noticed the cold at all but It there In the
park
looking Into this pretty girls eyes I knew I was going to marry her that she'd be my
beautiful bride the only thing In my life I'd ever
been sure
of
I think I want to disappear for awhile
to sink in to myself and return a stranger to the one’s who think they know me best
I keep searching for another person to define me because I don’t know myself as well as I’d like
and the past can’t be changed, I’ve tried that
but it’s time to start forgiving it
all I know is this longing for change
all I know is this desperation for freedom from the weight of past transgressions
I am becoming
awakening
stirring the flames that I subdued for you
cultivating the embers
that ate away at my innards

When did I allow
my fangs to produce honey
when venom was what I needed
to stand up for myself?

Too long I’ve tarried
in the shadows
shedding one skin only to don another
caught between a disguise of who I am
and who they want me to be

Esther L. Krenzin
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