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Ashari Ty Apr 14

**
The campfire's out but it still burns
When I touch you, knowing
your warmth is for someone else.

•°.*
You left
A footprint
On the wood panel
In front of me

Your wet soles
From dewed grass
And drunk squats

Your mark
Lays upon me
I know you’re near
But not here
Mel Williams Mar 3
Your hands were heating pads.
Your fingers, soft and lithe, heating everything that they touched.
We started with our fingertips,
yours between mine, casting shadows on your bedroom walls.
We marveled that the shadows looked like twigs above a burning fire.
And so we stopped.
And made each other marshmallows.

You taught me what it was
to be chocolate on graham crackers,
place them on a metal rod
and cook them over an open fire,
chocolate burning and rolling across my tongue.
Also, like a campfire,
we traded secrets and pinky promises.
Your darkest secret
was that you hated everything that you loved.

Later, we rode your bicycles through the town that you grew up in,
over the railroad tracks,
across the old bridge where you told me you once took a lover.
It was just a kiss, but he stays with you still.
You and I shared that same phenonemon,
in that same spot.

Along the path, splitting up to your house,
we took turns being the leader and the follower.
Again and again, we would change positions.
Had our tires created tracks, you would have seen one tread crossing another crossing the other, pushing and crossing over each other,
like the way our bodies did, in time.

You had to get stitches only once when I was around.
I took you to the doctor and you told me
that you hoped your future husband would do the same.
I assumed the pain that I felt in that moment was sympathy
for the doctor pulling on your bruised and bleeding elbow.
It was not.

That night, you convinced me,
as you always did,
to try something new.
I ran ******* -but with a bra- across my dorm room floor.
No one besides my sister had ever seen that skin before.
You convinced me to dye my hair brown.
You told me I looked **** and I should have more confidence with the boys.
I didn't have the heart to tell either of us that they
were not what I was interested in.

I sat in the back of your car as you and your drug dealer smoked ****.
You asked me about the experience
and I laughed and almost told you
that i was tensed and waiting
to jump into the front of the car
if either of you were too ****** to turn the wheel yourselves.

Later, when he left,
we baked no-bake cookies and bought chips because you said they were the best combinations for romance movies
and ghost stories
and hot tubs.
I smoked **** for the first time there in that hot tub surrounded by the smell of chlorine
and refer.
And you.
In time, I stopped thinking about the inch or so of extra skin around my middle
and started thinking about yours.
You had much more than me
and you
were a goddess.

When we had dried ourselves and went inside
you said you were scared of the ghost you had planted in your house,
the one of your father.
I held you then and I held you later in our dorm room when you cried and told me how you felt
responsible.
You said the darkest thing you know is when you look in the mirror and you see dark eyes,
unrecognizable,
like there is someone else behind them.
Ghost stories never felt real until I met you.

That night,
You laid your body on top of mine
rough like logs
and then softer like marshmallows
and I knew then what it was to create heat out of nothing
but two objects
and a small span of oxygen.

The next day
you took my hand in public,
in the town they called Raystown,
in the chilly cold air,
and I felt the possibility.
Then,
on the way home, we got lost,
and under the dark trees  
you drew ghosts in the branches
and said I would never make you feel
safe enough
to be happy.
The trees looked like charactures at first,
and then just twigs,
and then the dark shadows moving behind glowing wood.

And then you reminded me that you hated everything that you loved.

You hated everything you loved.

You hated everything

that you loved.
My most personal poem, and the one I am most proud of. This girl still weighs on my heart after 6 years.
Emily Feb 20
Why do hackers think so highly of boot camp?
Who pays through the nose to send footwear abroad?
Why use boots and not sneakers nor sandals?

Instead,
Stick with the proven approach,
Used over thousands of years,
Billions of satisfied users,
Faster and cheaper to boot.

Throat lozenges—guaranteed to improve hacking.
Demy Molentor Jan 20
The cracked down on him, inhuman heroes.
They were from the same squad, he and the bullies.
They’ve been laughing at his temper full of stragness.
But you made the talll one say “sorry”, he was the king of bullies

“Why let him with just one “sorry”?” Here am I, right beside you.
I say it like I’m wicked, and smile along with you.
And with joke I hope hil a wound of his or two.
A couple years shall pass, and he’ll be a mountain guarding weak ones, too.

Oh, yes, hi will be guarding with the strength of words.
His eyes, they burn, like sunset skies if you look eastwards.
Hi will be our fellow, buiding from chaos of freedom the best of worlds.
He was saved today, well he will save tomorrow, big friend, trust in these words.
A year ago I translated my best poems from English into my native languages.
Now it’s time I do it in reverse. This is translation of “Gorah”. The original is in Ukrainian.
When the caretaker asked
"What is your plan?"

"To feel sick"
I replied
Genre: Clinical
Theme: Reading Mind.  Who examined who?
Jules Nov 2018
The friendships we made wrapped around our wrists,
Tied with a knot.
The Chinese staircase of string,
Fit perfectly.

But Summer ended,
As so did we.
Our string still smelling fresh,
And of the lake.

The winds started to change
And the seasons brought change.
The bliss of our Summer love cut off,

With the remainder of string, taken from our wrists.
a little camp sadness
ALEX DRAKE Oct 2018
“the crush”

He sat next to me in the common room
His hair is curly and his skin is caramel brown
The first day he smiled at me and I waved
Through the three weeks I had a crush
He was always nice, he always waved and smiled at me
yosemite Oct 2018
dirt and horse ****
these hiking boots are filthy

huckleberries and dehydrated beans
his tongue is stained

**** and sweat
that sleeping bag is ruined

serenity and harmony
my mind is whole
reflection after two-week section hike of the Oregon section of the PCT
lmbf Oct 2018
there’s a girl in california who knows my name
and her voice sounds like caramel on a sunny day
i don’t really know what i’m doing, but neither does she
let’s forget our time together is shorter than it needs to be

and so
i’m walking to the lake when i catch
a raven-haired girl gazing at me from the side of my eye and i
notice you were staring at me all this time
but if we’re living in the same place, you’re 2000 miles on the other side

there’s a girl in california who knows my name
and when we laugh together, everything falls into place
as if we met somewhere in our past lives
like when she told me, “i really like your vibes”

you see, i am new to this
i am not used to this
of experiencing love that just feels right
and even though ninety-six hours don’t seem like they matter
it mattered to me that we danced at midnight

call me back, tell me what’s in your heart
darling, what time is it wherever you are
i’ve got family across the world but lately you’ve been feeling fur-
ther away
like two boats colliding, then drifting astray

there’s a girl in california who knows my name
i hope one day i can (again) see her face
and tell her that she’s been the light of my life
even 2000 miles on the other side.
Fall Freewrite Sessions 2018 // I'm a firm believer that most people only stay for the season. This past season was particularly eventful.
Dear M, if you ever read this, know that I am grateful for last summer. You taught me the ropes and you taught me to love. You and I are both hoping we will see each other again, but if we don't, know I will be thinking of you.
Yours - always and forever, l.m.b.f.
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