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Macy Forte Nov 2020
I once mistook the fresh soil
you poured
down my throat
for butterflies.
But love should not
deep inside you
And tie
your vocal chords
in knots.

Gardens now infest my lungs
in the same ****** place
where you carefully
dug yourself
a grave.
I make bouquets
with the flowers
that burst
from the rotting marrow
of your
            —“your absence taught me fertility”
my Instagram is @macyforte if you want to see more poetry
Giovanna Jul 2020
Writing this piece was a trouble,
says the story of a lovely couple.
A dinky apartment of 2 BHK.
Each day as lively as a flower in a freshly made bouquet.
First light was marked with peck.
Followed with looking for specs on the head.
Before the office came a hug,
that was addictive as a drug.
Their love moved the machine,
and so was their routine.
Today was no different,
For the going to be parent.
The peck, the spec, the hug and lunch.
All love showered in a bunch.
An extra kiss for the bump.
Promised to be back before the moon came up.
Had to return early,
to take her to the hospital securely.
The staff started to prepare.
Sat reciting a prayer.
That happiness was no lie,
when heard his baby girl cry.
Their eyes were full,
when saw their daughter beautiful.
Did it remind you of your partner?
annh May 2019

Or break my windows.

‘I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.”
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief
Kara Ashley Jan 2019
midsummer day-
The sun was calling us by the names
Two little brace faced dorks running out her back screen door
To find a secret hideout for the day
With composition books in hand of course
Our Top Secret  composition books,
Where we wrote about our futures, and boys (shhhh)

We ruled the streets of Bennington woods
Claiming the oak tree in someone’s yard
Where we competed for height in our cheap foam flip flops
Owning the pine trees of another
Where we spied on the teenagers
Trying to understand their secret language
But it was under an old wooden porch where we pulled out the books
And this time, we’d plan our weddings

We would wear beautiful dresses and pointy high heels
Just like a princess
And most certainly marry our dreamy little  blue eyed boy crushes
I even crossed my heart and hoped to die so she would be my maid of honor
Last but not least, we had to choose our wedding flowers

It was the season of flowers; tulips, daisies, marigolds…
Every house was decorated in a colorful array
We ran exuberantly, scanning our options
Then began to pick away
Every flower we knew or didn’t,
As long as we had one of each
We covered the entire street til our hands and books were overflowing
At home we taped them into our precious journals
Sealed forever so we would remember,
These were the flowers we’d have in our wedding bouquets

— The End —