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we will pay for everything
in the future
we will pray for nothing
     I had dreamt a silver, shining  dream
once, but now that dream
is a mocking commercial
broadcast from dingy screens
beneath ozone depleting
     we will pay
for living our lies
     we will pay increasingly growing prices
for increasingly decreasing substance
     I had dreamt a green leaf, blue sky
lie once, but now
that dream
is just chemicals in the water
     now trees are just a dream
now deer, now birds
now fish, and now
now there are no more words
no sounds of life, no thoughts
no lips to tremble
and nothing new for "God's" blundering
sons, nor for Her daughters
     now there are no forests, now no cities
     now there are no oceans, no airports
no drive-throughs, no "losers" to date
no lovers, , no families
no malls, bridges, or buildings
     now there are no could-bes
no factories, or flowers
     now there are no smiles, or tears
     now there are no old folks, or youngsters
     now there are no cars, no buses
no night clubs, parties, nor restaurants
classes, passes, nor tickets
no pillows, no blankets
no warm beds for sleep
     now there is no now whatsoever
nor is there a future
because all that remains
is a past that has passed
and some once weres
that cannot be remembered
we will pay for everything in the future
and then we will pray
for nothing
Previously published in the Long Shot Art & Literary Magazine, Vol. 27, the Beat Bush issue, 2004
Fall of Leaves
Spring in Rain
Winter as Mood
Summer the Day
caitlin Aug 2016
be soft and gentle
keep your arms in and hands folded
sit with your legs crossed
dont speak to loud or eat too fast
smile when you speak and dont touch your hair
and learn to hate your body

look at models that look like angels
grow your own set of wings
walk like you're stuck in pointe ballet shoes
have a posture as good as a puppet's

never eat more than a few spoonfuls
drink green tea with no milk
try eating the ice in your water
swallow very slowly

start to wear baggy clothing
to hide the ribs that are visible everytime you inhale
be paranoid that they can see your spine
try to forget the number of vertebrae that traces from your neck to your tailbone

spend your life in front of a mirror
pull at your stomach and pull at your thighs
pull your cheeks back to your ears
pull your skin from your collarbones

lie on your back after a workout, not enough
**** in your stomach, not enough
push your body down, down, down
until you disappear completely

it'll be worth it when you waltz down the catwalk
with razor-sharp hips and just enough muscle in your arms
to pick up a magazine and flip the page
to a stunning model who someone said you look like

my body has to live with me
even when i treat her like this
pull me out from my body like a body from a car crash
let me out of my skin, let me out of my skin

be loud and proud
keep your head up and eyes forward
stand with your arms by your side
speak clearly and eat healthily
speak your mind and love your hair
and never give advice
i felt like writing a poem about body image, even though its too late at night and early in the day to type quickly
Sofia Kioroglou May 2016

The poem is published in Halkyon Days Magazine
You are like my
favourite advisory column
among all of my
favourite magazines.
Poppy Aug 2015
Who could've known
the same little girl
who pranced along the sidewalk
not a care in this world,
would wither away
in Nylon magazines
frail fingers skimming
from page through p a g e
of beautiful
bodies she'd never have
but maybe, just maybe
she could
only if she starves herself.
so hey guys!
Its been a while...
Okay, more than a while.
A LONG time.
Sorry about that...
Thanks for not all abandoning me in the meantime, you guys are the best. :)
Audrey Maday Jul 2015
I long for the life I've only seen,
In picture books and magazines.
Dhaye Margaux Jan 2015
This is it!
The poem is here in this magazine now as the featured poem written by  Daisie Partido.

Kindly support the magazine as it features not only chosen race but all amazing people around the world.

Just hit the link and you will be there.
Thank you and God bless us all!
People Are Amazing Magazine is great!
Martin Narrod May 2014
The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me

And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your

Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.

Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right

Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say

Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.

Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to

Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.

That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.

— The End —