tyler Sep 2018
there is no poetic way i can think to say i miss you
i could start with saying it straight
i miss you
i miss you
i miss you
there is no metaphor
no simile
nothing to liken this deepest pain to
there is no missing you in the abstract
there is no missing you
without saying it straight
i miss you
i miss you
i miss you
i miss you when you show me you’re still here
but so far out of reach that any effort to try to get to you
is rendered useless
i miss you when you show me you’re sorry for leaving me like this
but so far from coming back that there’s nothing i can do but accept it
i miss you when
i miss you when
i miss you when i go to sleep
leaving me only to see you for those fleeting moments in my dreams i
miss you when i wake up
ripping me from the only moments i can share with you now i
miss you in the middle of the day
at the worst times
at the most inconvenient times
i miss you when it storms down hard and heavy
sometimes it feels like you’re miserable
other times it feels like you apologizing
you have nothing to be sorry for
you have everything to be miserable over
but i still miss you
and i wish
i didn’t need to
i wish
i could see you again
without hurting you
CeilingStar Aug 2018
the forest in June

i can feel the trees breathing, the wind whirring past their twirling leaves
the bark is course and clammy beneath my hands, notches and winding paths telling my palm a story of ages past
i can almost reach out and grasp the dancing smell of pine and wisps of a cloying floral tone
it's almost too heavy to breathe, and yet it fills my lungs with omnipotent liquid sun
flowers snake into my throat and down, deep into my chest
settling their roots like worms on my diaphragm
i exhale deeply and my breath leaks out like a creeping fog
it dissipates and past it my eyes bleed onto my cheeks,
dazzlingly delightful colours fill my vision, blossoming over my brain
and all I can think is how wonderful it must be
for my heart of green
to belong to the breeze

Ivy lynn Aug 2018
when will you learn/
money doesn’t buy love/
and sit & notice/
I’m sick and tired of/
this life we live/
I’m now passive/
to all these words/
that I’ve heard/
from here on out/
I will not rout/
goodbye to the girl/
who once was/
hello to the woman/
who now rises above/
hate people sometimes
duncan Jul 2018
it is mid july
and hotter than sin.
some friends and i
drove to the beach
to watch the shore

i drank some gin
and we talked about
television. i laughed
like i would die

when we left
and my feet were
i couldnt help but
remind myself
that i was happy.

and on the drive home
two friends kiss
in the back like
you do when you
think you have it
figured out
and all you want
is the whole world
and its staring back
at you and even smiles
if you kiss it on
the mouth.

and all i could
think about is the boy
i was mean to as
a child and how
he died before i
could ever say
sorry and really
mean it.

i cant help but
twist a knife
if i see one.
Dara Slick Jul 2018
How can we get a cold in the summer?
90 degrees isn't warm enough to prevent it?
I know the logistics, heat doesn't cure a cold,
and yet there is something odd about getting a cold in the midst of July.

It may be worse in the summer.
The shivers matched with heat waves,
from either the illness or a faulty AC unit.
I don't want to miss the beach, but the thought of wearing anything less than my sweatsuit is nauseating.

How can we get a cold in the summer?
The sun is filled with vitamin D,
the vitamin of illness prevention.
Why am I buying tissues and cough drops,
and not margaritas and shrimp.
I can't even eat shrimp,
I'm allergic.
Although, that may be better than a cold in the midst of July.
I have never had a summer cold before, and it is the worst. Morally and physically.
Someone took a pair of shears
and chopped down all the buildings.
Now I must turn my head
to see the whole sky,
splotched with wisps of white
like an old man’s stubble.

Barren hills swell up like blisters
on the smooth flat land,
their windmills slicing the sky
like blunt razors.

My foot squishes over a rejected nectarine.
I kick it as I walk, watching it roll unevenly
on the pavement
until it plunges down a gaping storm drain.
written July, 2001
Maxim Keyfman Jul 2018















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