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E McNamara Jun 2018
I feel like ripping wet paper
and smashing mangoes against my lips.
Gray Jun 2018
Every time i taste a sweet mango,
I just want to stop everything and dance the tango!

It’s just so good!
If i could eat a million mangoes, i would!

I think it’s a good idea for me to give up everything and become one.
Doesn’t that just sound like a whole lot of fun?

Man oh man mangoes are so so nice!
I don’t think I have to say that twice!

The best part of it all is that it’s just so juicy.
My love for the beloved mangoes is larger than the mighty blue sea.

Loving them is something we all must believe.
If you refuse, you might as well just leave.
Blake Nov 2017
If it were up to me you see, I would've been holding your hands from the beginning.
If it were up to me, pens would feel comfortable between your fingers, poetry would feel natural flowing from your lips
If it were up to me it would feel less of sandpaper and concrete
Instead, more of silk and lollipops to your tongue in the middle of summer
If it were up to me you wouldn't hate summer, you would adore it
If it were up to me you'd look forward to fresh strawberries and mangoes, the wind hot on your face like my breath would be to your chest
Curled up in your arms listening to your heart beat, waiting for you to stop wishing for it to stop
If it were up to me I would lay by your side each night, holding you close, patiently waiting for you to slip into slumber before letting myself do the same
If it were up to me I'd keep you from anything harmful
If it were up to me the sun in the morning would signify survival, not failure
If it were up to me the sunset would paint the sky with reds and oranges and purples every night to give you a reason to keep going
If it were up to me you'd look in the mirror and see the stars in your eyes rather than storms
If it were up to me your cheeks would be stained with loving pink kisses from the sun rather than tears made of salt and self loathing      
If it were up to me you would've held my hands and felt content from the start, rather than grasping onto them hoping to find something
Other
Than
Summer
i like this.
I live in strange cities and talk with strangers
About things dear to me
I walk on alien paths and eat foreign food
And remember
I paint **** women, their hips large
Dark hair and full *******
And I know
We all seek perfection, not knowing
We are already perfect
I sing, my notes rise and fall endlessly
Like a tireless swallow in the sky
And I praise
Hosanna in the highest
And as the dust motes dance in the wintry sun
In my wooden church, I am transported
To singing with Irish nuns
My skin browner, in a country of heat and dust
A country of mangoes and temples
Of saffron and silks
And as I don my jeans
Memories of my mother’s swishing silks
Take me home
But I live in strange cities and talk with strangers
And home is just another four letter word

— The End —