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she took

herself

away

too soon

at sixteen

could’ve given

a single try

to what she was

but it wasn’t her call

a tattoo of a finger

around her face

i must’ve looked for her

five times, maybe more

she said

she wanted everyone

to see

her *******

she didn’t care

she cared so little

that she didn’t care

to stay alive

ended always

with a trumpet

in the skies

the hats i wore

when i was sixteen

the backpacks

like rabbit ears

eating radibly

hating one another

if i had the chance

of something more

not what you all say

not a kiss

not a hug

but a slice

of pizza

on the curb

talking

staring at

the passing buses

entering

tunnels

of thoughts

and memories

running

for the color

we were missing

on those grey skies

and bumpy drives

oh

how you mocked them

all

because

just like me

they were all

better than you and I

because we’re

born poisoned

collect our feet

from step to step

you’ll find bruises

and no smiles

flashes, perhaps

flashes of withheld tears

i don’t care

we’re all azure

i still see

you running

through the puddles

avoiding

the missing step

you had another you

with you

someone to get you

more than i ever did

is it still

living

when the curbs

don’t see me

anymore?

how did you do it?

i’m scared

i’m a certifiable

coward

the desire

yes

i feel it

i’m kinda jealous

you found your way

you stopped believing

in your own skin

that we’re all ok

and that we’d all

be ok

i could’ve begged you

to stay

to hear my words

and find out

what’s missing

but i’m fooling myself

in beauty

did they

place it there

to entertain us

while we fall

and get shredded

and tossed

around?

we won’t be

no guns

all it takes

is a leap

were you even

thinking of me?

that this was gonna be

a message

from the other side

asking me to join

eyes closed

in the darkest sheds

of no suns

and moons

made of cotton ribbons

i see a dark

lonely door

awaiting for a hug

that’s you

right?

it has to be you

i thought

i had to figure out

the things

i wouldn’t be able

to do

without

you

and balance

my board

out

but i don’t

i just needed your push

because balance

****

won’t find any

this world’s currency

is happiness

and each other

and i have too much

of none of the two

tend that hand

with you baggy

jeans jacket

i ponder

in miscommunication

**** us

and all of our feelings

we’ve failed ourselves

but we’ve failed

each other most than

anything

all the people

i’ve lost

were

mine to save

if we’ve built

these bridges

these crosses

these relationships

we must

love them

and survive

like poetry

left in the streets

in the arms of a singer

who’s listening to the world

but the world

isn’t listening to

help us, friends

i’m trying to move on

to forever

but this eternity

has failed

every single hit

missed all the punches

at this point

i’m lip syncing

to a song

that wasn’t written for me

awkward

brought on stage

with a band that doesn’t belong

they’re not playing my song

but it’s because

the world doesn’t want to

hear it

the world

will spin

and you’ll still

be gone

swing after swing

and while i believe

i’m truly here

it truly feels

like we’re not
Gary Bennett Apr 6
however you look at it
they were invented
    a figment    of a figment
of your    imagination
       inner sanctions
hallways
what is this
in & out all about
in and out   up
down     around
would be fine
about what is    is not
a nice find
however
     however
           however
the serial number
is always just to keep
the eye   within
the forest     this
is not the time to imagine
the trees
i know i could leave      but
this house
was her
true legacy
her
true 

      love
MJL Mar 10
Sitting in a bowl of fruit
I hold a flower
Paint me with vivid colors
Make me look pretty
Or possibly as a reverent clown
With big floppy feet
In a contemporary return to classics
For the world to look and ask
"What did the artist mean with that banana, and why is that clown sitting on peaches holding a tulip?"


© 2019 MJL
Just a play on the definition of still life and contemporary art.... More than what people paint us to be.
Hilla254 Jan 21
by the window,
gazing on the crescent moon,
cold breezes tear through the room,
the night sky,
glistening monochrome picture,
the beauty reminds me of you,
goose bumps graze the skin,
reality fades away,
and,
involuntarily end up on your world,
The first letter i wrote you,
lays on my hand,
i spilt my heart out for you,
asked to take you out too,
wind blows pieces of paper,
and there lies the fourth letter,
i wrote, it's a poem
scripted script less,
written from the edges of my thought's,
as words coined at will,
i think you would've liked it,
the ending, a cretan,
sends me to the second letter,
a rhyme, declaring
my love for you,
a lovely one,
but the brightest thought's,
bloom the darkest,
and then reality keeps up,
it haunt's you know,
knowing my heart harbors affection,
for you,but silence rule's my mouth,
knowing my brittle heart,
would easily fall for her charm's,
letters didn't see the mail man,
i once dropped it at your doorstep,
wore a cape to get the courage,
to knock,and i did,
but instead i woke up.
Scripted lamentations
Amelia Jan 1
Lately when you’ve looked at the Facebook chat bar, you’ve noticed names that you haven’t spoken to in a long time.
As if Facebook knows what has happened and is saying “Look! Other people exist in the world! You had a past before all of this.”
Too soon, Facebook.
Even memories excluding him somehow manage to involve him all the same.
You spent 5 years in Toronto, and only at the tail end did you two learn each other and find a love that was ******* brilliant.
And now Toronto is a landmine.
U of T is tarnished and bleak.
The ROM, the TTC,
Every quaint and adorable breakfast cafe, Mexican eatery, Starbucks.
Tragic.
And **** Queen’s Park.
And **** High Park.
**** dog parks too because maybe at some point you walked past one together.
And the bookstore.
Never again.
You loved that bookstore
(it brought you him).
And death to bubble tea, and 0 calorie vitamin water.
(No one should ever experience the misfortune of 0 calorie vitamin water, but it’s a memory, so it hurts).
And **** board game cafes. Even though the only game you actually managed to finish was Jenga.
But that’s because you were falling for him and you would rather talk for hours than look away from his face to read too-long instructions.
Catan could wait.
A different world ago you suffered in a city too congested for the likes of your small-town spirit.
And somehow you found life there.
Would have gone back there.
And he will never know.
H E L E N A Dec 2018
Another sigh fogged up its glass walls.
It had grown tired of these vain dolls.
Unknown to the outside world,
Deeper into its dreams the Chrysalis curled.
The day its shell began to *****
Was the prelude to a massive train wreck.
The cars collided one by one:
Love. Hope. And everything fun.
All that was left, a metallic heap,
And into the ground, blood began to seep.
Alas, it realised something was amiss:
The blatant need for metamorphosis.
Willing itself to transform,
It never did want to conform.
When conformity limits quality.
H E L E N A Dec 2018
They come in gold and silver,
Twinkling lights, gem-filled eyes
Of diamonds and critines,
Dotting this night scene with life.

I don't know where they'll go,
But with each pair passing,
Time went so, so slow.

Stones against my bloodied feet,
Cutting at these pulsating streams.
Tarmac, tar black
Laced with that sacred red.

I don't know how much further I can go,
The shards only dig deeper,
The lights are losing their glow.

They left with stains of crimson,
Apathetic silhouettes slinking in the night,
In a trail of shattered garnets,
Past the corpse of death's bride.
Some are left behind.
lucav Dec 2018
a god of his own
ripping the world up to shreds
wreaking ****
bringing havoc
metallic punishments,piercing the air
pulling the pleasure out from mortal wounds within
who will judge the ungodly or godless
bound to loveless and unloved
dying just as he was
gothic fiction,based on "ovando' by jamiaca kincaid
i still dream about my lover
crossing 7 rivers on her old boat,

rowing ripples of sorrow,
formed by droplets of tears

that moon-walked down her cheeks,
like silver lines in dark clouds

running like water fall, down a hill,
falling with deep sighs, with each clock tick

every drop into the river sings a song
as she rows along:

'take me deeper than my fears/
do not taste like my tears/
fare me well to yonder shores/
do not draw me to his voice'

too late

there were days of sunshine and plenty,
when the wind was art and poetry,
how much of him was loved?

there were days when rain was heavy,
when affection was your vanity,
how much of him was loved?

now, by untamed naivety
and itchy ears of the gullible laity,
you laid off, like Jonah,
the plot of your journal,

tell me,
how far are you from where he drowned?
not long, yet you miss him sore?

for along you row,
deep he sank and swam,
calling and pleading and hoping
you'd, for past's sake, heed

but your sadness waved back,
like stray dogs wave tails,
you couldn't, again bark,
when you met your fears,

not so long a time,
'time is the balm'
you claimed, but look, dear dame,
who's got no healing

i still dream about my lover
crossing 7 rivers on her old boat,

on lonely nights of cold
and faint moon lightning

her voice floating in the wind
that swishes west to east,

while an interlude of distant thunder,
rumble in low solemn tones
the song she left unsung:

'take me deeper than my fears/
do not taste like my tears/
fare me well to yonder shores/
do not draw me to his voice'
Consider a bee
while the sunbeams dance on a bench in front of a melting clock
Consider a bee
while the cradling mankind sees a gun under the pillow and feels safe.
The dust of the soul,
the soul dusts away
The bee
buzzzzzzzzzzzz
Interrupts a series of copulations
and a run across the industrial lawn

buzzzzzzz
The sacrifice
of a fat lobster named eternal consciousness
garlic sliced bread & a fear of a thing
as per the given prescription?
am I right?

I have no more time for such nonsense,
Consider a bee
5 more minutes, a 90-degree angle, you are dead.



- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
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