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Elijah Bowen Dec 2019
sleep curved miles of patched dead boys into me like a scythe.
their quilts were not mine to sweat through,
to drench nightly with my self.
but i cried out anyway.
said i needed stained warmth more than coffins ever could.
bare as they were.
prodigal as they were.
i turn aside in bed. i sweat it out.
sleep handed me its crowded city plots and boxes of
one-way ticket disownment boiled down
to an art exhibit of photographed bodies.
black and white bodies. end of life bodies.
i tore them into manageable halves.
their varied human pieces quilted themselves together onto the floor.
their eyes floated to land at my shoes.
i stared.

yet it was sleep who drew in
the fluttering array of lost bandanas dyed with every coy color
present on the rare days here
that always smelled more like mornings,
the colors peeking like barefoot children just around the corners of their smirking, drowsy city avenues after rain.
sleep dreamt me an after hours carousel.
the revelry of skintight garbage bags
brimming over with ****** boys.
lovely boys.
boys with a gleam.
faceless baby boys with sores like eyes,
full of their junk they
treasured, fondled, kissed
the little pound of flesh that was theirs,
they gave freely, bait and tackle
to swallow whole.
dust bowl dumpling soft.
pulsing expectance.
those skins underneath you’d discover pressed to an eternity of sorts
between two slurs of the same brick,
that its nightless club grime
mumbled disco sickly to me & him.
and i’d be on my knees.
by a bed, a river, a quilt, a pew, an avenue, a grave.
whatever useless dreams may come,
i always find myself there.
already knelt in every way i couldn’t possibly comprehend.
gravely, maybe beautifully-
beside another slumbering boy
too distant from life not to reach for.
for all those lost to ***/AIDS+
Igor Goldkind Mar 2019
I'm a good catch.

I can see the thin edge where your tire hits the road.
I can see the stone that you just threw,  
Skip halfway across the world

This world slipping  past your fingertips.
I can hear your ears listening to the wind
I can see your eyes greeting the world
I can see your intent summon its consequence
I can see this in you because I can see this in me.
You are the sender, and what you send.
I am just reflection;
An open-palmed receiver of your gifts.
But I'm a good catch.
I can catch a falling girl, faster than a falling star.
For Jackie Lopez
Spicy Digits Dec 2018
Let the birds feed
and the bugs burrow
allow all of life to be
Tend to your garden only to let it flourish
and watch it sing to you reciprocally

It's not just the colours that paint your vision
and soothe each thirsty soul on earth
The fruit bears witness to health and light
the sacrificial sweetness of rebirth

So let each whisper of wind cleanse,
every velvet leaf caress each fingertip
kiss Mother Nature with every inch of skin,
bow to her wise rivers and sip

Tend to your mind-garden and honor each thing
give to the earth back what it gives you
open every pore
be intimate with your origin
and welcome sneaky little changes
Amanda Kay Burke Oct 2018
If I were able to share with you truth
I would climb into your swirling thoughts
Between constellations forming questions
Draw answers to connect the dots.

I would  spell my reasons out in bold print
The "Hows", "Did yous", and "Whys"
Maybe then you could see they are more
Than tired excuses and alibis.

I'd pour my pain in honest ink
Into crevices of your brain
So you'd realize what betrayal feels like
Maybe my agony will leave a stain.

For how else do I make you see
How much I truly care?
I love you way too hard it seems
That's why I can't be there.

I'm bursting with opinions unspoken
Yet do not dare tell you how I really feel
Because that never seems to help us progress
Only strengthens our inability to heal.

I long to teach you how to grow
Or how to love yourself
But how could i possibly do that
When I do not even love myself?

Are we doomed to misunderstand?
I have enquired about this before before
In the end spin tragic circles
Never reaching peace we are searching for.

Hours pass by, brain dwelling
Answers tricky to find
Tired of chasing information not given
Lonelienss is pushing me out of my mind.
If you could read my mind you'd be in tears
when you grow up
in a world where old is not useless
but means connected
to other times that made yours possible

then the weathered beams
     of an old mountain farmer’s house
          lived in for generations
give you a feeling of security and continuity

the solid doors of venerable city buildings
     signal achievement, comfort, safety
     knowledge and culture
     brought to you across the centuries

the crumbling arches of old castles
      remind you of your country’s history
      some of it glorious  some not
      for better or worse

even your faded family photographs
      can make you wonder
      suggesting all the generations
      that passed so you can have
      that special feeling
SoZaka Apr 2018
breath in lightly without a sound
wait for the colors to show
before you let your lungs release
enjoy the view of a nebula in all its glory
beauty before death
thoughts on life's final moments and being one with the universe
Nicole Apr 2018
I imagine colored dye
Floating through my brain
Showing the inconsistent chemicals
The lack of even concentration
A dose of something unexpected
And my eyes turn round like saucers
I feel everything so intensely
I can understand the inner-workings
Of the feelings I never understood
My obsession with lost love
Finally whispered it's truth
I do not regret where I am today
I simply miss feeling the happiness
That accompanies the memories that haunt me
I must come to terms with the fact
That happiness will return to me
If I stop hanging onto the past
And embrace the beauty of the unknown
That will bring me more happiness
Until then
I will allow myself to connect with myself
No judgement
No fear
No regrets
Just acceptance and
No expectations
Lora Lee Jan 2018
There is a storm
gathering in
            my womb
soon to explode
into a thousand
crimson stars
lighting up
my veins with fire
and unraveling
          knotted scars
and the gentle rage
outside my window
presses on, inside my head
as I lie here,
my thoughts twisted
in a cozy, yet empty bed
my thoughts unfurl
in misty haze
           curl into
as nightsky thunder rolls
into creamed saxophone
the snare drum beats
in firelight
ripple sheets
in silky flutter
as my fingers strum
my womanly instruments
into loamy, primal butter
my voice in quiet utterance
as the heavens open
           to heavy rains
                    that liquefy
                           my desert
                 hydrate my
           bare-soul caves
so I electrify my echoes
into fruited, crystal drips
frothing up my
cherry wine
upon these moistened,
hungry lips
All these emotions move in waves
Jaclyn Harlamert Jan 2017
We all deserve to live free

Why do we want things free?

I thought it was supposed to be a free country?

We're selling our time

We're selling our effort

All for the paper...

That's supposedly how we get out necessities.

We buy our food

We pay for a place to live in this world,

So this is "the real world".

Why is the education we supposedly need,

To make the big money and land that good career,

Putting us in shackles of debt?

We're paying for this land

That is given to us by mother nature

For free

And we can teach each other and ourselves

To be free of judgement

To be free of oppression

To respect all of life equally

We can stand up for one another

We can stand up for the people in the world

We all deserve to live free
Freedom should come free, who can agree?
SYL Feb 2015
"God needs a window-display of His goodness and glory."
- *
Pastora Lut
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