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Sudipta Maity Dec 2017
For your good in goodbye
i hang, tying tight by tie.
Float my boat in sea of silence view
away from shore, far away from you.
For your good in goodbye
i rift my bone by stone of wavy lie.
Leave my land and I run
waiting to sink soon, deep in ocean.
For your good in goodbye
i voyage my boat in lighting sky.
To see you smile, i sail my vessel
even storm seems to me gentle, dead until.
I am blending with you again by diving deep to die
remain in your chest to lub-dub whenever you cry.
For your good in goodbye
i ended, saying hello you are mine.
hazel Nov 2015
Her color diminished second by second until all that was left was but an empty abyss.
A sense of such enormity that caused everyone around her to wonder what exactly was she made up of.
Was it secrets or portions of herself that she lay out on a table for everyone to read?
Had we been witnessing her story this entire time or was there more behind the surface that she intended us to decipher for our own well being?
Is she our dictator of soul or have we constructed her into the answers in which we as humans are constantly searching and never receiving.
For what are our determinants but our own minds in a world ravaged by constant input?
Written October 2015
Mike Essig May 2015
Let us take
an impossible
road trip
through each
other's worlds.

Bring a bag,
I'll bring one,

Away we'll sail
the asphalt seas:
finding adventure,
making love,
counting birds,
looking at each other,
exploring ruins,
asking the right

we will arrive
at our destination
being two, in one,

Finally, home.

Mauve is my favorite Color
A sister to Burgundy,
dusty Rose, soft Purple hues..
Love variations of Creams,
buttery Golden Yellows,
Blues, Teals, Pinks and Crimson

Not so much..the Primaries.
So very saturated and bright,
What captives my attention
is the endless, sumptuous possibilities
blending of spectrums and
hues providing me the most delight

Huge fan of Black...
A non-color
the definitive definition defining
lack of all Color.
Which is actually a dichotomy...
As to create black is to chose a base tone
Then blending a series of other Colors
So that every black
The exception being formulations
becomes a variation of a theme..

The debate continues,
If Black is truly the definition
of lack there of, therefore not deserving the title
of being a Color, where does that leave those that insist that Black is their's (favorite)?
Hmmm, maybe Black is my favorite Color too...
A fascination with Colors
X Jul 2014
When I was a newborn, less than 4 days old, you bought as many stuffed toys as your car could fit and surrounded them around my crib, ignoring my grandmother who kept telling mom that newborns don't know how to look at objects.
I moved my eyes and looked at them.

When I was a toddler, you encouraged me to watch Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin and didn't want me to watch Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty because you "wanted your daughter to learn a lesson, not just waste time".

When I was 7 you took me everywhere with you and didn't mind me listening to your friends' political arguments. On our way home though you always told me "Don't grow up to be like them.  Don't let people lead you."
And I didn't. I pushed a girl because she wanted to be the group leader in our science project.

When I was 11 you started discussing books by Stephen Covey and made me listen to Zig Ziglar cassettes. "Don't blindly follow the crowd," you said. "Always raise your neck and look around. If you don't like where they're going, take another road."
And I did. Girls my age were giggling about boys and bras while my eyes were wide open and excited about all the facts I read from my science textbook.

When I got to middle school and got my eating disorder, I refused to eat the apple in algebra class so that I could take my quiz, and didn't mind my teacher calling you to pick me up for my "resistance".
I got in the car waiting for you to pat my back and tell me I did well for refusing to give in to her ultimatum. I waited for you to tell me that I didn't need help anyways. But the drive back home was silent.

When I was 14 and went to my brother's school to beat up the kid bullying him, you called. I thought you called to give me a pep talk, or give me some tips on how to break his nose. All you said was "stay in the car. Leave the beating for the boys". I came back home confused.

When I was 17 and told you about my goals, you said "When you're young, you have unrealistic dreams. You feel like flying from your positive energy and like you have the whole world in the palm of your hand. But you grow up and realize that you need to be realistic."
I opened my mouth but closed it right after remembering you telling me "Think before you speak. If the outcome of what you'll say is useful, say it. If it'll hurt people, don't." I don't think it would've been useful. What use would it be to scream in your face about how that 'unrealistic dream' was the only goal I had, the only distraction from suicide. What use would it be to tell you that I don't remember the last time I felt like I was about to burst from the positive energy that I had?

You taught me how to be different. You taught me to love math and science. You taught me to be my own person and not let people decide what I should do in my life. But what you forgot to do is teach me how to feel okay. You didn't teach me how to reply to people who tell me that I watch too many American shows and that I let go of our traditions because of my opinion on marriage. You didn't teach me how to not feel lonely as **** when it's 3 am and I'm spewing out everything I binged and wiping my tears away while my throat bleeds and the music is playing to cover up the sound of me choking on the last words I screamed at myself and the gasps of relief when I purge out all my feelings and lay on the floor feeling numb. You didn't teach me how to pretend to blend in when the girls my age would take boys' phone numbers and I'd ask them questions like "but how are you guys together now? You don't know each other's personalities. You only just met." You taught me how to be smart, educated Belle and rebellious, going-by-her-own-rules Jasmine..

Daddy, you taught me how to be my own person in a place where you're supposed to be everyone else's clone, and I am forever grateful.. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish you had taught me how to pretend to be like Aurora or Snow White.
Erin Caughey May 2014
You stand so tall, so prim, so proper.
Your every move is calculated, controlled, strained.
But your facade is transparent.
In some moments it is clear who and what you are.
In other moments it is like you become something else.
But not something so very different from yourself.
Perhaps you try to blend in with the trees,
    thinking they will hide you,
But you fail to realize that the trees betray your true nature.
Trees stand so tall, so prim, so proper.
Their every move is calculated, controlled, strained.
But really that's not the case.
They bend, they sway, they tangle and collide with each other.
They're wild and untamed,
   not in the way you'd think,
But it is plain in their design.
So, go ahead. Blend with the trees. You're not fooling anyone.
This poem is inspired by Rene Magritte's painting, The Blank Signature.
Austin Heath Apr 2014
It doesn’t make sense why I hate myself so much

from the outside, but try to understand;

everything that supposedly makes one stand out

really just makes them blend in somewhere else.

So I can’t sleep and don’t even want to be awake.

I’m here because of that and a lot of ****

I just can’t say out loud. **** it.

**** everything.

— The End —