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Lauren A Todd Apr 2015
All the little cars pull into their little church
As concrete steam slyly reminds us of the temperature.
The night sticks to the bottom of our feet
While the sins of Tuesday
Stick to the palms of their hands.

And all the pews are filled
With the drooping eyes of tired members
As they beg their minds to
Absorb each word of “wisdom”
Offered from the mouths of the “holy.”

Censure seeps from the sideways glances
As the mothers move through the lobby.
***** water spills from their mouths
While the laundry is aired through lofty sighs.
As if they, themselves had no other chores.

Little girls hide from those mothers
Pretending straws are cigarettes
While yelling at invisible boyfriends
As if somehow that is the mark of maturity.
But how else should they play “grown-ups”
If not by mirroring?

Pulling away from their shrine of insolence,
Those mothers point at me across the street.
“See what happens when you don’t stay in church?”
They’ll say to their daughters
Because I no longer pretend straws are cigarettes,
And only siren songs are heard from these lips.
rudds Mar 2015
C
I'll give your jacket back a little later now
It still smells like you
I keep my shower a little warmer now
It reminds me of you
I dream about you a little better now
Because I lost you

You never gave me what I wanted
I still fell for you
I finally know for certain now
I love you
Audrey Cave Mar 2015
My little sister.
My sweet little treasure.
Was lying close to death.
Asleep, on the sheets
Of heaven.
My hand over hers.
Her pale, fair face.
No hair over her head.
Sweet, shallow breaths,
Are all she can take.
The time is soon to bend.
A tear slipped out,
Of my sea-blue eye.
And landed on her cheek.
I went to wipe
That tear away,
And saw a golden streak.
A warm breeze soon came over me
A feather stroked my cheek.
I looked around.
Saw nothing there.
And then I heard the beep.
My little sister,
Lay still as could be.
In gold dust covered sheets.
An angel took my little sister.
But Jesus she would meet.
Jellyfish Mar 2015
My little sister, is bright.
My little sister is unique.
My little sister is confident.
My little sister is funny,
But she's a bully.

My little sister is a bully,
I can hear it in her words.
She's someone I would hide from,
If I were in the same school as her.

My little sister is a bully,
But she's still changing.
I think the reason she's so blunt,
Is because she's afraid of being like me.

My little sister is afraid,
She saw me crying everyday.
So she shields herself with words.
It makes me feel like I've ruined her.

My little sister is a fighter,
She is thin but strong.
She's someone I want to be.
Hopefully she's still smiling.

My little sister is depressed.
But her smile is still wide.
She knows not to hide.
J M Surgent Mar 2015
Do you remember that day
We go in your old Volvo after class
And drove west out into west of nowhere
Passing a museum about dinosaurs
And their place in western Mass.
Until we found that old, small town
That belonged in another era,
With small houses, and small streets
And signs on the doors giving various history degrees.

The music you played didn’t fit
With the scenes we passed,
Children on bikes that laughed at us
As we stared down their streets
Hands over eyes like explorers
Notebooks out and ready like cartographers
Pens tips chewed in the ends of our mouths
Like the writers we wanted to be.

And It was all fun and games
Until we had to turn around,
In that corn field of all places,
That seemed to never end,
Because it was fall and the corn stalks yellowed
And I imagined they would have crunched under our feet
In the cool autumn air
I breathed through the open window.

You went deer-in-the-headlights
As some farmer came by in his truck
And you started joking
-Until fear start creeping-
“This is the end for us,”
Because it looked like something from a film

Where two college kids die alone in a cornfield,
****** unsolved
Scythe found with no prints
The beginning of a bad movie script.

But we lived,
Because he gave us directions back home
Back to route 93
Or 94, or 270
Where we parted for one of our final times
Before you left for the big city,
Losing this memory to history
Like all those little houses
And all their little families.
Alias Mar 2015
Little did they how important they were,
How much they were needed,
How lost I am without,
How alone I am.
Little did they know,
Little did they understand,

Little.
Rockie Mar 2015
All it takes
Is one little 'Hi'
Tapped out on the screen
Sure, it doesn't seem like much
But it means the world to me
Elizabeth Pauzè Mar 2015
i am wearing my favorite christmas hairband
a snowman surrounded by red and blue bows sprinkled with snow
my father wears his favorite cubs hat,

i rest my head on my father’s Slanted shoulder
my eyes rest on my hand sitting lightly on his wrist
my father’s gaze is directed towards his gift.

maybe that’s it.
a poem i would never read my father
Sam Luna Mar 2015
I went out and saw a rose in a field
It was young and fragile
No thorns as shield
Then it looked at me and smiled.

I saw a rose in a field
It needed me
And I needed it
Must I stay or must I flee?

The petals were in full bloom
Scent all over the room
How do you resist such beauty?
I have cared for it deeply.

As I took it by hand
Its thorns pricked my heart
How can something so fragile
Hurt you the most in this life?

I saw my rose in the field
Withered but still beautiful
I hoped of getting it once more
But the wind carried it to the north

I came home and saw a rose in my garden
It was tall and strong
Thorns all around its stem
It will stay with me long.
For my dear friend, Lois, who is heartbroken and needed something to cheer her up. May you find your rose in your garden. :)
Inspired from the book The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
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