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The other day I stuck my finger in the electrical socket, just to get one ounce of the spark you gave me with your touch. My finger tingled for an hour but it didn't give me my fix.

This morning I cried so hard that my room became the sea. I sailed away on my bed and promised to never go back to the person I was yesterday.

Last week I snuck up a building downtown just to have the feeling for a split second that I had made it to the top. I laid on my back and tried to grab the stars; "the most beautiful things just out of reach" you told me once.

This afternoon I went on a drive to clear my mind. On accident I turned in the wrong direction, but I wasn't opposed to going all around the globe to get to where I was going.

Last month I threw out everything in my room hoping that clearing it would do the same for my mind. I found the card you gave me years ago and slipped it under my bed. I obviously missed the purpose.

Tonight I sat outside the loneliest gas station in on earth. I watched the fluorescent lights flicker on and off. I figured it was counting the seconds it took for me to realize that you're not with me this time walking out with two slushies and a deep breath telling me not to worry.

Last year you told me that you loved me. Three words that suspended me well above cloud 9. Even when I felt my emotions could bend the universe, I didn't say it back.

Right now I'm sitting at our bench on Main st. as stardust seeps out of all the deep crevices in me and the cosmic magic of your presence becomes foreign to my body. Each car that passes by reminds me of that fragile night when ours turned the world upside down.

I stayed there, my neck askew, the ground above my head, out from the metal shell. Having no clue that your being had vanished from your own exterior. Unfamiliar faces surrounding me and caressing my bruised body, leaving yours, unloved, under the sheets.

I sit at this bench, wondering if I sit long enough, time will end and start over again, and you’ll come walking up to sit next to me, and I’ll never let you leave. I sit at this bench, reach for the stars still, trying to grab the most beautiful thing just out of reach.
changed some things around recently. this is a revised poem
Taylor Ganger Sep 2018
Sometimes I don't know
What's going on
It brings me to my knees
To the sand
And there are so many
Grains
Between my fingers

I remember a friend
Who cut his foot on glass
And how I felt
Seeing that ****** cut
Dripping and so
Full of sand
Morgan Spiers Sep 2018
to pluck each petal
off of a rose
             leaves
                  only
                        the
                            thorns.

i refuse
to w
        i
          t
            h
              e
                r
                                                    
                                                   away.

no matter the
                              drought-
no matter the
                              little light i receive-
no matter how
                              strong the wind that
                                                          blows.

i will
   fix
my roots in Your soil.

i will
   quench
my thirst in Your grace.

i will
   become
a garden
   in
        the
              desert.

no matter the
                                circumstances
i am bound
to   b l o o m
with You
as
the gardener.
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
Imitation is NOT
the best form of flattery
when the imitator
gets credit for the idea.
Taylor Ganger Aug 2018
I can't stop living my life in other people's shoes
It brings me joy to see what they do

To see a painter's craft;
It's like ecstasy to peer into their head
And feel everything they've put onto a canvas

To hear a musician's melodies
Drag me into wonderment
How do they do that so well?

To read the words of a writer
Live in their world
Have my heart squeezed
And bleed colors I've never imagined

They're all me
I can fathom all of those feelings
I can, I can
The words
The hues
The emotions
The notes
The metaphors
All of those slivers of existence
I can experience them all
I want to
Live in their shoes

But they're not my **** shoes
And they don't fit; my feet are too small
And I know an artist's life is nothing to envy
And most of them didn't recognize their own talent
I don't recognize my own talent
Am I in their shoes now?
Or just talentless?

When I look down at my own feet
I don't see anything but stumps meant for walking
And when I walk to a mirror
I see a fool who keeps trying on other people's shoes
Asking if they fit
As if anyone else would ever know

I see a man who needs his own shoes
I only want to do what brings me joy, but what do I do when nothing does?
Mystic Ink Plus Aug 2018
They gave me
A form to be filled
“Introduce yourself in 200 words or less.”

HUMANIST
Nothing more, nothing less
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Is there something above this? If anyone finds, let me know it.
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