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Amber Oct 13
her body, it was cold to the touch.
my warm fingertips ran across it tracing every inch of her.
she was cold. i pulled the blanket and wrapped it around her.
pulling her into my warm embrace.
i don’t want u to get sick my dear.
please take care of yourself.
i wonder how u would be like if i wasn’t around
wasn’t here for u
to take care of u
u were like a little child that i had to care for
a child of my own
but i love u
ur silky hair that falls on ur shoulder
that smile of urs
even though it hides the fear
i will still love u even if u don’t love urself
i will love every inch of u
this is the erm him version there’s a her version too
Amber Oct 13
the cold wind was blowing against me
it was cold
my body was ice
his fingertips running across it
as if he was melting the coldness of my body
and my body became warmer
he wrapped me in a blanket and in his embrace
he didn’t want me to get sick
i could take care of myself
i... can
if one day he wasn’t around...
i would... still survive
i could.
but i didn’t want him to even go
don’t let go of me
stay here and love me.
this is the her version there’s a him version already posted weee
Jas Sep 25
With every passing of a reflective surface
I look for my face in all.
Each one unrecognizable
Each one undeniably plundering me -
My image, my mind
Into a frenzy of traumatic shock
Because this person,
This person travelling in my belongings
My effects,
Seems to morph and blend in the irises of whoever is seeing me,
Of whatever Jasmin their perception manifests
From what they know
Or have been told,
About me; and

For whatever thing I may be lacking in grows numerically,
The girth swelling and expelling carelessly -
Whatever bits don't fit the Jazmynn, or the Lily, or the Gardenia me,
But I'm stuck.
I'm stuck in my own mind,
And my mind holds many eyes
Of varying colors and windows,
Some sore and some blind - (And)
As I walk I rate my reflections,
I grade on beauty and demeanor and expression
So when the following moment or day arises,
I can adopt whichever vision suits best.

At some point, I must have put Jasmine on trial,
I must have worn her at some time
And discarded her just as quickly
Because she wasn't as trendy as Lily or Gardenia
And the creatures whose eyes I'm borrowing in my mind did not allow me to keep her.
But if I (no matter the version) had known,
I would not have been able to protect her
Or preserve her,
Jasmine would not have belonged to me -
I would not have known how to convert her and her space in my world
Because hers exists only within a frame
Possessing a finite amount of eyes and windows;

But if Jasmine were looking at me
She would see the same -
Some, such reflective surface
Drunkenly distorting each portrait of what she was supposed to be;

Even still,
We would not have known to keep each other in mind.
Gary Brocks Aug 29
We spread our blanket on uneven
ground, bodies embracing in descent,        
                       They lay on the boxcar floor,
                        fingers twisted, clutching slats.
transfixed by the spell of evening,
limbs entwined, interlaced,
                        Barbed wire pressed punctured palms
                        faces creased as old photographs.
We stretched in dawn’s light,
poured coffee out of cups,
and left as it merged with the dust.
                         bones upheave turf and loam
                         fingers grasping, sheathed in soil.

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks

At the time of writing, the war in former Yugoslavia was occurring. Pictures of ethnic extermination camps, barbed write, mass graves, Happeing again. Happening despite the awareness and vows after the holocaust, that such things must never be allowed to happen again. An awareness that had grown stale. Do the horrors of history, even in our ignorance or innocence, ultimately make even the smallest of our acts, some how complicit?
Gary Brocks Aug 28
Last night into the room she crept,
awhilst I lay in bed and slept.
My dreams there caught on sleep’s broad reef
she breached sleep’s net, the blanket thief.

Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks

My wife woke me by wrapping herself in our blanket.
I couldn't sleep, so I decided to try to capture a bit of William Blake's voice.
in 1992, a child is born
and handed a gift.

he opens the box labelled "life"
and examines its contents.

a blanket hand-stitched
with hope, perseverance,
and comfort

draped over a teddy bear
stuffed with fearful nightmares,
and heartache.

a blue jar labelled "sadness",
containing fluttering butterflies
symbolizing joy.

a ticket for the rollercoaster
he's finally tall enough to ride,
with no warning
of the endless ups and downs.

that two-minute rush
of adrenaline
followed by hours
of motion sickness.

this child
is now twenty six.

he is staring at the empty
box labelled "life" -

at the worn-out blanket
lying next to
the teddy bear's stuffing -

at the shards of blue glass
and butterfly corpses -

at the torn up carnival ticket.

he regrets ever accepting this gift.

- v.m
this is a very real story of a very fictional box and a very non-fictional human.

now, this very real ultra violet remarkeyable is here to tell you that you have been given your very own box labelled "life" for your very own unique reason. all you have to do is discover what that reason is. only then, i think, will you truly appreciate your very unique little box.

my butterflies are alive and well. i hope yours are too.
Hae Sun Jul 27
then you realize
the monsters under your bed
can’t get through your blankets
but can go inside your head
Phi Kenzie Jul 16
That brand
didn’t matter at all

The home it was housed in however
was a palace to bask in

Stand it upright
hop from the bed

Crawl in aloft
put a soft blue blanket on top
sit back, watch as it captures all your thoughts
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