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9:15; a quarter mile away from truth.
Conversations are boring, all about what we've done for today.
Innocence of two kids before their moppet words find their youth.

Texts get a little deeper, a minute past ten.
All past experiences, and mistakes are; with heart and soul
expressed. Their companionship sees the other more than a friend.
"I like you," a quickly deleted message, but has been read.
Emoji eyes; "I seen what you wanted unseen," the eyes seemingly said.

Awkward silence, awkward silence; both sides typing and clearing
their response. Nobody presses send; while there's a slap on the
head exclaiming; "not like this, not the beginning of this
relationship's end"

"I didn't mean to make things weird with my emotions.
I'd like you as a lover, but I love how we are as friends in the
open," a brave text sent out of one still hoping.

"But I like you too," the next reply came around late.
Phew! What a relief; least for now. But what happens next,
I guess is the pending question of staying up this late.

It was best to go to bed by eight...
"People are more honest during late night conversations"

Syv Elena May 29
I've spoken to my brother
It sure had been a while

I've spoken to my brother
Using cards from a pile

He gave me a little pick me up
He told me I should have more fun

But Mischief and Mayhem were long gone
When the springs of his clock had sprung

He recognized this and came with advice
"The memory of my mighty leap is dead weight in life"

He said so and I replied thus
bro what the ****
when he trolls u even in the afterlife :'3
Anais Vionet Apr 29
My roommates and I congregated in our suite's great room and we’ll head out for dinner soon.

“Have you ever eaten dog food?” Leong asked Anna.
“No,” Anna answered, “it smells like chicken - it’s got chicken in it”
“OOO!” Leong pounces, “Busted!!”
“What?!” Anna reacts.  
“How would you know that then?” Leong asks, doubtfully.
“My mom told me!” Anna cries, in self defense. “She’s a vegetarian too.”
“Your mom told you.” Leong said, like a prosecutor raising an eyebrow for the jury.

“I just took my last English class,” I report, pony-tailing my hair, “my teacher told me - privately - that my writing destroys.”
“Nice,” Lisa says.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling and grooming with pride, “I thought that was a ballin’ complement and I’ve been riding that high.”
“No doubt,” Anna says and nods.
“My English professor..” Leong says, exasperated, “is driving me crazy, I’ve written three final papers so far and she’s rejected them ALL.”
“Huh?” I gasp, “Show me one!” I demand, wiggling gimmie-fingers at her laptop.

“Here’s a question,” Lisa asks the room, “What would you change about your childhood?”
“I would have never grown up.” Sophy said.
“When I was in third grade, in the UK, a girl in my elementary school, was murdered,” I reveal.
“What?!” Anna says.
“Oh, my GOD!” Lisa gasps.
“Spill” Leong demands.
“Her name was Kennedy,” I begin, “She was in another class, I didn’t know her but I started to imagine that I’d known her. I’d think of her playing on the swings in a yellow dress, in daydreams and in nightmares.”
“I can see that,” Leong said.
“I was flummoxed, at the time, how a family could lose a little girl and a president.” I added.
Anna looked confused.
“I was in third grade,” I replied, ”what did I know?”
“Go ON,” Lisa prompts.
“We heard that she was walking home and got snatched,” I continued.
“Jesus,” Lisa said, shaking her head.
“Although I never walked home, I was careful not to be snatched for a while,” I summarized.
“I bet,” Anna agreed.
“That’s what I’d change,” I said, “Poor Kennedy.”
“People ****,” Lisa pronounced, and there was general agreement to that.
BLT word of the day challenge: Flummox: "to confuse."
Gabriel Apr 25
what is more unusual than being dead? he says.
being dying, he responds. being a ghost.
and what do ghosts do? they haunt.
who do they haunt? other dead people?
the living. the remains. the corpses.
other ghosts?
there are no other ghosts.

what is more unusual than a blade? he asks.
being stabbed, he responds. blood.
is that not a sign of being alive?
not always. not when it's you.
what am i?
well isn't that the question.
what do i do?
you haunt. you save.
so i'm fate?
if you want. you have one, that's for sure.
i have a fate?
it's a cheap substitution for free will.

what is more unusual than free will? he begs.
nothing, he responds. nothing at all.
yeah yeah this is based on simon blackquill from ace attorney. deal w it
Steve Page Mar 23
You complete me and do so
in every sound you now mouth,
every movement of your tongue,
every muscle’s adjustment
to effect fresh shape to phrase,
in every quick, shallow breath
giving sudden pause and turn
to the next silence.

You complete me at this reading
and so I am deaf to the closing,
blind to the ending you gift me
and ignorant of the next stair
with no balustrade to steady
where you leave the first me
to rise to find, first-hand,
the landing that completes me
triggered by Walt Whitman's 'To You'.
" I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem..."
My Dear Poet Jan 23
Come, sit beside me
Grab a chair, a stool, a couch
Bring coffee and conversation
we’ll slump, chill and slouch
It matters not on where you sit
nor on, what you sit as well
As long as you come in peace
with things to share and tell
It’s of little concern what you look like
or the accent that you leak
as long as you make a good coffee
and we listen when each speak
on a matter of personal opinion
maybe another point of view
So let’s enjoy each others perspective
and feel free to express them too
Danica Jan 20
A deep conversation with heaven
Unspoken words and sorrows
Emanate from my fountain pen
Igniting my creative flows

-talking to the moon about you
Tøast Jan 1
We sit on the edge of conversation
Hands clasped, feet shuffling anxiously
Eyes darting across the room like
the stars in the night sky
You lean back with a sigh
and I catch you.

Hands together, knees bent
fingers touching skin
Tracing outlines of mountains on the map you offer me
You look up from my gaze and a calmness falls across your face
The corner of our eyes don't wonder but meet
Times entangled in the feast before us
I raise a leg and your knee greets my feet.

Waters greet these feet,
Waters that rage on and under us
Washing over our bodies like the light that’s wrapped itself beside us
Bodies become one in the heat of the den that we've made
In the depts we've paid
The depths we've obeyed
The trust we've displayed

Down by the rivers where the whomping willow weeps,
where the waters run ramped, and the wild things wonder
wonder about life, wonder about death
run through your mind son, be absent, be bold
just don’t forget that the water man reaps
reaps in what is sown, sold and told

whispered. whispered like silence on the edge of the wind
the wind that howls through the corner of beauty
there where it stays and sits for a while,
as the man, he stands, waiting watching on duty.
I look back to you, your face changed by the cut of a smile.

A smile.
That smile, that warms my soul like summer breeze,
Wraps me up and takes me in from the cold
You don't even realise, you do it with such ease
You do it now when we're young and you'll do it when we're old.

We sit, once again, as we used to, but more alone
Hands together, fingers crossed, in utter isolation
It’s such a wild thing, wild life that we’ve known
And none of it is ripe for an explanation.

Feet dancing on the edge of contemplation
This information that we use for the source of our meditation
Imagination sparks conversation but also speculation
So, what are we to do when there’s no confirmation?
A shout shuddering in the darkness of creation
Thinking of the combination, representation and motivation for these words when all I ever wanted was a simple conversation.
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