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Jeff S Mar 3
Each morning, I wake before God has roused
The sun,
And that is just what we must do: To complete the busy-making-madness of a job. To compose the email, to manipulate the story, to rope the client, to extol the virtues of money and shore up the pillars of industry.

Though we sigh as we do: there is no shine in an empty inbox. Not that we ever see it—

Each day, we are gaveled:
More, and greater, and bigger, and best. Which is exactly what we do, but our wrangling and sending and crafting and praising of profit is never sufficient: More, and greater, and bigger, and bester than best.

In the sands of the sun, we are erecting Ozymandias.

—fired not by passions, not by growth, not by light, but by false engines: caffeine and fear and shame.

It is 7pm on a Tuesday and I hear the sun whisper, its orange lids closing: I have risen and shone another day. So have you. Now:

ChrisL Mar 2
Our relationship, deeper than any pizza base.
Our love, saucier than the finest italian passata.
Our feelings stronger than the maturest of fine cheeses.
Our willingness to please the other stretches such as the most glorious of mozzarella.

To what do we base our feelings upon,
Be it the interchangable toppings or the structural integrity of the strongest crust.

Akin to snowflakes no two pizzas are ever alike. Each one differing to the last, be it the char marks on it's peak or the flame kissed bottom.

Our choice in toppings may differ so vastly, you with your ghastly pineapple and myself with my overly rich and greasy bbq meatfeast.
Alas does this mean anything at all? Nothing but a matter of opinion, toppings change to peoples liking, but our bases remain the same our sauce the binding glue to hold it all together.
Jack Jenkins Feb 27
I see all these blank pages of my future and I tear them to shreds//
I only want to live in the pages of my past//
I only wanted it to last//
For her to last//
I don't wish it was different just that I had done things differently//
Maybe it'd end the same, but not knowing hurts//
Not trying hurts//
Somewhere I stopped trying to grow and only tried to control//
I was just a boy in a man's frame//
Yet I knew how to love her//
I still love her//
But she's gone like the ashes of a wildfire//
Alone I still sing of her//
Empty, echoing, loneliness//
It is my new peace//
Hurt is a wonderful teacher in the school of hindsight. God I miss her.
Yuki Feb 17
The ache of a heart
who cannot rest
for it has been apart
from you who were my best,
the best part
of all art.
If a book can make you fall. In love with people who don't exist,

Why can't I when I love you as you wish?
My friends who keep me sane,

the ones with laughter that chimes louder than any church bells

The people with amber, ombre, raven, ruby, teal, and sandy hair.

With sparkling eyes and warm hearts,

comforting hugs and lighthearted remarks.

Accompanied by the giving of equal parts and the openness of our hearts.

We go through each day together merrily.

But at night, we battle with our minds over common ground.

Tomorrow, however, we start anew.

From the tap…tap...tap of our feet down the empty hallways after eighth,

to the face times that relieve us of our worries and daily stresses.

We glide through the woeful emotions and dramatic labyrinths,

these of which are caused by high schools many intricate obstacles.

They are the people with whom I share my deepest secrets and greatest happiness.

Unique people that say “what’s poppin’”, “this is true”, “meeee”,

Peculiar people that will howl song lyrics in hallways bursting with people,

but cannot, however, say how they truly feel sometimes.

The people with the brightest of smiles, but the darkest of hearts.

We break us down only to put on a Broadway standard performance for everyone but us.  

We don’t have to be cheery around us.

We each have our many emotional support items.

From rings, to sweaters, to jackets, to blankets, to pillows, to pictures.

They are the people who are mine,

while I am theirs.

These are not my friends,

But my family.

They are the ones that make sure I will not let the mask of a perfectly sound mind slip.

Wonderful people who know how to make me white and not gray,

They are the memories and inside jokes and photographs and films and most importantly,

they do not care what race, sexuality or gender, or anything I may identify as.

They keep me being me.

My favorite people who keep me right in the head.
allison Feb 13
It's crazy how much your heart can feel for a person,
the intensity grows like crashing waves,
the care seeps into your bloodstream, intoxicating the mind,
each day you wake up yearning and begging for more of that feeling.

You want this person to feel that same intensity,
the waves, the coursing care throughout their bloodstream.
You want them to feel for you the way you feel for them,
you want their mind to be just as intoxicated.

But alas, for she is prettier than thou.
He goes for her and leaves your mind askew,
for both of your best friends are now in love,
leaving you to your own pit of despair and tragedy.

No matter how many nights you wish,
how many nights you cry because of the intoxication,
you still hope your hearts will one day intertwine and become one,
you hope your wishes and prayers will be answered.

For there is no greater power than love,
there is no greater power than what your heart desires,
thus the crashing waves continue to crash,
and the care still seeps into your bloodstream.

The intoxication that is occurring in your mind builds up,
the bottle of emotions becoming more full with each passing day,
the intensity still grows,
the sadness still follows.

It's crazy how the heart can make you care so much for someone,
but it also leaves you so broken.
And no matter how hard you try, the waves still crash,
the care still seeps into your bloodstream,
and that care still intoxicates your mind.

Leaving you just as broken as you were before,
because of your two closest confidants,
whose hearts intertwined and left you alone,
alone with this bottle of emotions and an intoxicated mind that you can't control.

It's crazy what the heart can do to the mind.
I have dark secrets stashed in my heart.
Not idle gossip or an unknown fact.
This secret feels more like a ball and chain.
This freedom you have given feels like a prison.
You’ve never looked better,
In that cashmere sweater,
I’ve never felt warmer,
In this chilly weather,
Holding your hand,
Two souls together.

Our first cigarette,
We chuckle,
Feeling defiant,
Chanting obscenities at the world,
We were best friends,
Me and my t-shirts,
You and your sweaters.

I still smell your perfume,
I still hear your laugh,
I still remember trying to light that first cigarette,
It was us against the world.

I remember our first argument,
That day on the beach,
I told you a band ******,
You threw your sandal at me.

A fight turned into a wrestle,
A wrestle turned into a swim,
Pushed you in the cold water,
With that same cashmere sweater,
That reminded me of the chilly weather,
And the first cigarette,
And the defiance,
And the hope.

Never in my life will I forget,
The memories,
Your laugh,
Your smile,
Happiness reigns in the shadows of loss,
You are still my happy place.

On chilly days,
I buy a pack of cigarettes,
I know I don’t smoke anymore,
But I miss the taste,
The taste of the memories we had.

I go to my room and look at our photos,
The same ones we took on that very day,
I hold my new cashmere sweater,
And I sit and remember,
What it felt like when I was home.
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