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Austyn Taylor Jan 31
I'd liken you to an alien
Pulling out a new skin suit from the closet each day,

But that would mean you're extraterrestrial
And you are nothing but ordinary.

Tell me you and him are “just friends”
And we are “close friends”

As you sharpen the fangs you’ll leech me with,
Plastic over your teeth.

It’s not winning if you don’t become someone else.
I’d call you chameleon, but

I have too much respect for them
And your colors just aren’t that bright.

Your slithering tongue won’t be remembered in a year.
Your name gone the next.

Take solace in knowing that what you tried to break
Will forever be etched into his skin

Like the tattoo in mine;
Memorable, but not you.

You stood in my shadow
And tried to call it yours.

Blame the sun for spilling your secrets.
And blame me when you burn.

I warned you,
Sweetheart,

That I crawled up from hell.
You just crawled out of a casket.

I have flames; you have your fears,
And you cannot bury me with them.

You tried to warm your rotting soul
And take the flames as your own.

Smother your **** in ice
And ask me why I was so cold.

Whirling wardrobe,
Break free.

Mystic?
*****, please.

A sunflower doesn’t succumb to weeds.
You’re just fertilizer for me.

This is my summer part three.
A piece of my book.
ConnectHook Apr 2018
So many people have come and gone . . .
their faces fade as the years go by
Yet I still recall as I wander on—
as clear as the sun in the summer sky

                                                     BOSTON
                                                          ­                                                                 ­ 

Your name remains: a magic word
to conjure nights of springs long-gone.
I muse upon your face, alone
and find my heaven's hope deferred.
Since unpoetic life occurred,
Romance has gilded scenes long dead.
Nostalgic memory has fed
the embers of a fire you stirred.
You turned and walked out of my days.
I never heard your voice again.
Yet memories of you amaze
Engraved in my adoring brain.
In labyrinths we wonder free
to meet again eventually.

(Is this poem better in decasyllables . . .  ?
I need some feedback.)

                 Name of a City

Your name remains with me. A magic word
To conjure nights and scents of springs long-gone.
I muse upon your tawny face, alone
And find my heaven's hope now long–deferred.
Since unpoetic life and age occurred,
Romance has gilded scenes that lie long dead.
Nostalgic memory of you has fed
The smoldering embers of a fire you stirred.
One spring, you turned and walked out of my days.
I never heard your feline voice again.
Yet memories of you, intense, amaze
Engraved for good in my adoring brain...
On, through the labyrinths, we wander free
To meet in time again, celestially.
Something Japanese:
carp-pools, bamboo, some old monk . . .
yes—Oriental !
aashi Apr 2018
april skies have such potential
     and i never understood why they chose to waste
it away on
r
   a
i
      n
   s
when instead the sun can become a magician
and radiate wonders when it disappears
just witnessed the first breathtaking sunset of April after a stream of bad weather days
Paraphrase Feb 2018
I've been walking,
Down crowded streets,
Dressed in suits that fit you,
Better than they do me.

Your smiles, your eyes,
Listening to music you chastise,
In all but shoes that fit you,
Better than they do me.

And changing into something else,
Makes for vulnerability,
Naked fits you,
Better than it does me.

And yet I feel lighter,
Like thoughts of floating away,
On ripples and waves,
Of the river, with views,
Of lights so far beyond me,
When seen from boats that carry you,
Better than they do me.
Paraphrase Sep 2017
I know,
That our time together,
Has felt,
Like velvet.

Like a gentle morning walk,
Along Storrow Drive.
Like taking flight,
On weightless wings,
Or listening,
To Bach,
On violin and strings.

But these wings have begun,
To wear me down,
The strings in my ear,
Now tie me from toe to crown.

I don't mean to end this,
For you and me.
But you should know,
That the next turn on Storrow Drive,
Takes us right into,
The raging sea.
Kay Ireland Aug 2017
There's **** on the floor of the Blue Line.
It's one in the afternoon,
Tuesday.

This is the poetry
I don't like writing.

About the Fight Club anarchism
without the sense of purpose.

I watch a man cry
over a woman's leftover Chipotle.

Eight feet away:
the passage of pills between palms.
I don't know the contents
any better than they do.

I keep my blind eye
and loose change.

I keep my middle class pride
safe for another day.
Terri Hahn Jun 2017
Do you hear it?
The hiraeth
Here it lies
City lights
The shining bokeh behind your eyes

Can you hear it?
The hiraeth
Here it lies
The rustling leaves
Of Franklin’s oak trees

Will you hear it?
The hiraeth
Here it lies
The snow knee deep
Childhood friendships we shall keep

Can you hear it?
The hiraeth
Here it lies
The ducks of bronze and feather
Make memories of hometown brighter
Haley Greene Jun 2017
it's weird meeting with people
who actually loved you
after months have passed
this love that once strived to be permanent
like conquering mountains
but i shed it like snakeskin
forever is way too hard
when you're too selfish to love people back
always chose myself
did you know your feelings
were the greatest gift i've ever known?

i thought if i arrived here early
and gave you no set time
i would have a bit of the morning to myself
but you were already around the corner
i knew you would be
i know you well, too

i didn't let us go deep this rainy morning
we should only go forward from here
not backwards
we talk
hell, we live in small talk
i say i thrive in summer
you talk about the snow
not much has changed
and somehow weather preferences
felt like the biggest incompatibility then
the most mundane of compromises

didn't run to my own defenses
or fall to your knees apologizing
didn't tell you if i pray or who i've slept with
or that i spent the last three days
crying on the jumpseat
we talk about the coffee shop
i just came here to create a new memory
stub out everything that was
like a stale cigarette
see? i haven't changed that much

instead i say i'm tired of sitting in the back of the plane
as people probe and poke my sides like an insect
asking for coffee with five packets of splenda
i say new york is a drag most days
i am lonely
i wonder if i'm pregnant
it's the only reason i stopped binge drinking
i woke up and wasn't hungover
thank god
i wouldn't admit that i miss the noise
of dry heaving over a toilet bowl

you didn't pay for my coffee
or pour your soul out
or drive me home
you say you leave today
you don't even say you came here for me
because you are just as free to be
so i nod and begin putting my headphones on
before even saying goodbye
i leave the conversation abruptly
ending on a note about
how many cape verdeans
live in boston
i grab my bouquet of sunflowers
slip away into the brooklyn fog
i was gone before you knew it
all the effort you put to be here
with me today
for me to walk out the door
reminiscent of what i did to you then
on a smaller scale

you say "until next time"
but you know i'll slip through the cracks
like i do
predictable me
and even when you find me
i'll be on the run
J Feb 2017
Cemented in my chest
Were memories in the shapes of leaves
Fallen to the sidewalk once it'd gotten chilly, we met in Philadelphia
Outside some bar you got kicked out of
And you broke your hand on the wall of
The hospital next door
You spent the summer relearning how to write in print and I spent it analyzing the irony in what had happened,
Everything goes back to that night In Boston
Cemented In my chest
Are images of my first night out
My The Wonder Years shirt and
Cut off shorts, I was invincible
Unstoppable we were
Until the city lights
Made their move and
Swooped you away
I stopped seeing you outside bars
And behind them instead
When we were kids I'd never imagined
You in shackles made of taxes
It's weird how we chose our paths
You followed an addiction that filled your
Bones when nothing else could
I chose to stay empty
My fear kept me from prison
Your fear kept you from living
What's a home when the cobblestone
Was the first thing to rock you to sleep
At 14? You had alcohol poisoning 13 times before
Cemented in my chest
Are what ifs
Have beens
What would I be had you never crashed into me that night when you meant to start a fight with some man you claim couldn't see the same blue in my eyes?
Does anyone inside have my eyes?
Because I see your hazels in every single city light

I moved to a farm last year
To clear my mind
Of what had been cemented
In my chest since we were kids
Word salad
J M Surgent Feb 2017
I used to love
When you and I
Got too drunk to speak
And watched the stars
From my bathroom sink
In well-lit Boston
Because
Imagination is important
In times like these.
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