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Kash Jan 2018
We sit across from each other
Both occupied with electronic devices
Not talking
Though there is much to talk about
Hardly glancing
When comments are offered
Brief and lost on deaf ears
Bouncing off a hard surface
I can't talk to you
Because your ears are cement
And only mumbles make their way through
I have something important to say
But your ears are unavailable
So maybe it's not that important after all
I brim silently with feelings
No where to put them
You are already full of god knows what
Tiana Marie Jan 2018
Will we ever talk again?
The question circles in my head.
I ruined my only chance.
Will the romance be only in my head?

Will we ever talk again?
It’s something hard to answer.
Did I lose what we once had?
Now that’s something hard to answer.

Will we ever talk again?
Would he even really want to?
If we happened to bump into each other,
Is it something he’d even really want to?

Will we ever talk again?
Is the answer yes or no?
If yes, I’m broken. If no, I’m broken.
Does the answer have to be yes or no?

Will we ever talk again?
Maybe It’s a choice I must make.
I will walk up to him and say “Hello,”
For it’s a choice I must make.
Nicole Jan 2018
I find it funny
That you don't take me seriously
Until these words
Stain your phone screen
I feel that though
Because I could say anything
But if I write it then
You know it's real
Gabe Ouellette Jan 2018
"What is this?"
"What is what?"
"Why are doors up here?"
"That's fine just show me...."

"My friend has an apartment in New York City."
"Why doesn't he move?!"
"It's insane, the expenses."

"No I'm just so curious"
"No, there's nothing for you here"

"Kurt...."
"What?"
"Please...."
"Your voice is so annoying"

"It's his favorite word again."
"What have you got going on here...."
"This is a horrible one..."
Poetry Class Assignment
Quinn Jan 2018
What are you laughing at?
I once asked the spider.

He told me, not much...
...
Just the look on victim's faces
when they stick in my trap
...
and admire the view.
Graff1980 Jan 2018
The streets are fresh
with the withering flesh
of sensuous conversation.
Tiny bits of floating fragments,
plump and succulent,
pass stranger’s ears,
plain to hear
even though I fear
few could ever take them in.
This is the reality in which
I drown just to swim,
a sea of unclear sounds
and half *** observations
made to clutter my notebook.
"WOW!! How do you write like this?"

"I don't write like anything. I just let out my inner thoughts."

"But your wording...!"

"My wording is my hopes and dreams."

"But the stories..!"

"Those stories are either true situations or the scenes that play out in my mind."

"I've never seen anything like it, though!"

"Maybe not. Doesn't mean you won't see it again."

"Why are you acting like your aren't any good at it?!"

"Because it took 9 years of bullying and acting like I am a **** to give me the writing material. 9 years of lonliness with only books and poems too accompany me. 9 years of taking in every detail and memorizing every aspect of stories new and old. 9 years of sitting by myself. And now the people who caused my problems want to compliment me."

"I am so sorry."

"No your not. Not for me. Your sorry because you realize you outcasted yourself from me. You now regret every time I gave you another chance and you back stabbed me."
Actual conversation I had with a past bully.
If I only
had one
sliver
In the
heart
of time,
I would
return
to the
most
beautiful
moment of
serendipity,
when I had
met him by
chance,
and we
spoke of
how the
eyes were
the windows
to the soul,
I saw through
his, as he
within mine,
unveiling
the robes of
angels of light,
deeper still,
we were
Immersed
In a language
secret
to our own,
the waves
rolled over,
reality, the
mist of
our teas,
and the
soft clouds
of the sky
all faded
to become
the whispers
of our universe
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