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Inked Quill Mar 2019
The seize
The hold
The grasp
Ain't easy
On my passion
My desire
Of you
kaylene- mary Jul 2018
And I'm back here
at the intersection of foreign language and familiarity
Choking down gum like a four year old memory
And it's not because my head's been somewhere else lately
but because it gets me thinking
about the difference between loosing you and knowing someone else found you
I keep opening umbrellas inside because I can't seem to get away from all this rain
and I've been in the gutter for longer than my father stayed but when the flood water comes it's not gonna be clear it's gonna look like mud
And it reminds me of being waist deep in an unfamiliar body of water,
trying to sell pieces of my old self back to the new one,
like history doesn't repeat itself
and I wonder if you dream of burning family photos and wearing the ashes as perfume too
Like somehow my inner child isn't gonna drown within you,
like somehow this mess will mean something
Like somehow the fire will end and the sky will stop burning
kaylene- mary Jul 2018
i've got this new home now,
it's not really new
but it smells different.
and i'm sitting here in front my old home
like a smoke signal,
just a trail of grey,
trying to figure out when a home expands further than just a place to keep all my stuff.
my new home is where i'm living
so i guess that means my old home is where i died,
and i'm saying all of this
because i don't wanna say jumping off a bridge is easy,
to sink like a life raft
left out in the sun.
i don't wanna say that stealing a bunch of pills would be easy because it's too easy
to leave without saying goodbye.
you see,
people always say that you'll be missed
but if you've wanted to die for long enough
that loses its value,
cause it's too easy not to care, to just sink.
so i'm sitting here in my new home
and i don't know why i asked my phone how to get here,
maybe i just like it when something agrees with me,
and it doesn't feel like
the kind of home i used to know.
i feel like an actor in a poorly edited student film,
always looking directly into the camera,
like somehow the eye of the chaos will just dive out and grab me.
i don't really know what i mean by that
but i guess what i'm trying to say is;
home is where i have my most comfortable panic attacks,
it's a place that i never have to leave.
home is where i get to sleep,
if I want to,
wake up.
kaylene- mary Jul 2018
Some nights when I'm looking you right in the eyes, I can hear glass break in the backseat of my mind
Thinking, "this is it"
And when the engine finally starts I can't feel my own skin except the rambling in my veins knowing that somethings about to snap and I don't know what that means but you remind me of a pigeon trapped underground with no way to get out except straight through and maybe that's why they say you shouldn't bring a knife to a gun fight when you can't see the exit wounds
I know you're draining like a tub full of sand but you pulled your own plug and now I'm stuck sweeping up the floor
jess Mar 2018
bring out the ink, cover the page,
pools or creativity leak onto the desk.
you are incredible,
skill, abilities; boundless.
the sky's the limit and you’ve painted it with ten shades of blue.
brushes vary from size and shape,
pencils range in darkness and texture.
you create tones and shades,
different worlds, different beings present themselves;
bringing new things to existence,
making old things seem new.
you are an artist.
you create.
you, yourself, your art form,
a weapon.
skillful and sharp, utility.
along with your tools,
your training.
you too can become a weapon,
of mass creation.

wrote this for my writers craft class - I've hear the term "weapons for mass creation" and thought it was clever so I used it. I would give credit for that statement but I don't really know who said it.
Ashley Mellinger Sep 2016
tell me you love me.
say it louder.
convince me that you love me.

tell me you love me.
even when I'm screaming at you,
even when I'm crying in your arms,
even when I destroy myself before your very eyes.
tell me you love me.

tell me you love me.
even when my hair is a mess in the morning,
even when I haven't showered and I look like trash,
even when I'm still in my pajamas,
and it's three in the afternoon.
tell me you love me.

tell me you love me.
even when my eyes are bloodshot,
even when my voice is gone,
even when I lie straight to your face.
tell me you love me.

tell me you love me.
even when I don't know who I am,
even when I text you in the middle of the night,
even when I can't love myself.
tell me you love me.

tell me you love me.
even when I double, triple, quadruple text you,
even when I message you on every app,
even when I tell you my true feelings in between memes.
tell me you love me.

tell me you love me.
even when I can't process my thoughts,
even when I can't say what I mean,
even when I stutter when I talk.
tell me you love me.

tell me you love me.
say it louder.
convince me that you love me.
I was going to go scream at my boyfriend about how he's getting into a big mess by dating me, I'm not worth his time, he's just going to get hurt, blah blah blah. but instead, I wrote this because, quite frankly, it's what I need. I need him to tell me he loves me.
Ashley Mellinger Jun 2016
Hans Hubermann,
you had to love the man. (pg. 342)

he has soft, gentle eyes,
the color of melting silver, metallic. (pg. 34, 36)
a tired smile to match, (pg. 64)
but had a roaring laugh. (pg. 67)

his face wondered and traveled,
but disclosed no answers. (pg. 71)

always defends and protects,
even when angry or upset. (pg. 244)
his voice quiet and calm. (pg. 498)

escaped two deaths (pg. 34)
before dying in his sleep. (pg. 498)

kind, yet stupid
makes him an idiot,
but he's only a man. (pg. 204)

he never failed her. (pg. 493)
he was always there (pg. 34)
at least by midscream. (pg. 36)
he always knew what to say. (pg. 65)
"shh, it's alright. I'm here." (pg. 36, 37)
A found poem from "the Book Thief" by Markus Zusak.
Allen Ridge Aug 2015
Life is a culmination of good things and bad things, but sometimes it’s hard to tell the good from the bad.
The darkness and the light.
You were the light of my life, and I used to think that was a good thing.
But I think we overlook the fact that life isn’t that simple.
Things aren’t just good or bad, and things don’t always fit into the categories of light and dark.
You have to see the world in a different way every day.
You were the light of my life, but not all light is a good thing.
And not all darkness is a bad thing.
Light is like dancing with fire. If you get too close you burn yourself, but if you’re too far away you could freeze.
And I think I got burnt.
But the darkness.
It’s intoxicating and beautiful.
It’s intriguing and terrifying, but I think that’s something we all need in our lives.
We can’t always keep things safe.
And if you were the light of my life, I think darkness is exactly what I need.
I got too close to the fire.
I made the mistake and trusted the flame—something that is too erratic and unpredictable to be trusted.
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