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Brianna Mar 28
It was New York.
La vie en rose playing in the background as you read a script you wrote the morning before.
The way your blue eyes look so sad and yet so peaceful and you smirk for me and me alone.
The way your hands are rougher then they should be but touch me softer then they should as well.
We were passing cars in the night.
Looking for each other as destinations we would never get too.

It was North Carolina.
It was green. So much green.
It was airports that seemed to hold too many tears and not enough smiles.
It was road trips that blossomed into a never ending love and irrational  fear.
It was summer in July and the way your lips found mine in every moment of every time.
You were the light I had been searching for my whole life.
And you became the darkness that was always there under my skin.
You are my unfinished book and my unfinished heart.

It was California.
It was never enough and thoughts that don’t ever truly go away.
It was watching you leave.
Your fresh start, your growth.
My jealousy, my envy.
My wishful and spiteful thoughts of wanting to be in your shoes but not wanting you enough.

It was Nevada.
Damaged and  uncontrollable.
The never ending fighting and back and forth insecurities.
Your ability to make me swoon and cry in the one sitting was gold.
The unquestionable loyalty I had to ruining my own life.
The sadness and depression.
The love I had but never dared speak of.
The way you broke me down and don’t understand my feelings still to this day.
***** and *******.
Your true loves.

It was Me.
My will to love too much and yet not enough.
My hazel eyes and mismatched hair.
My gaze of sadness and darkness watching the men come and go from my life.
My inability to connect because of damaged heart strings.
It’s also my strength in finding my flaws.
The power I have to change.
The growth at self confidence and care I am working on.
It’s me.
It’s them.
It’s someday... someday finding someone who won’t leave.
Timmy Shanti Oct 2018
The sands of time,
Dripping like blood.
Free at last.
Willard May 2018
I want to be a crab cake
because I like tall buildings
perpendicular to highways,
penthouse balconies
thirty meter diving platforms.

whenever in San Fran,
i pancake my hands together
so i don't do impromptu Physics
eyeballing skyscrapers.

I want to be a crab cake
because I like tornado sirens
at two in the morning,
someone fetal position mouthwash drunk
in the bed next to me.

whenever in Birmingham,
i listen to my headphones;
tinnitus a siren wail
long after the flight home.

I want to be a crab cake
because I like bridge collapses;
infrastructure devastation
west of Florida,
killing all granola exports.

whenever in Portland,
i waitlist college signs
and estimate the weight limit
of a commuter bridge.

I want to be a crab cake
because the sunsets here
give me panic attacks.

it used to not,
but enough honey has built up
so bees swarm the bonnet
whenever there's a
blood orange tint.

I want to be a crab cake
because I don't like
the seafood here

or Sushi Pier discussions
of future trajectories
while rain pours on our
trout marinated in
Tahoe Tessie **** water.

I want to be a crab cake
because the mountains
bug me out.

i want flat land
where there are
blood prints on highways,
broken families in Tornado Valley,
and remains of promising bridges.

i want to be a crab cake
because i want the world
to eat me up.
um, yeah, poetry.
Willard May 2018
you told me you lactate,
but you bleed instead.

a stream leads
from lips to navel.

you busted them
with strangers,

with the pavement.
you aren't a mother.

you love.
i think you love me.

you ask for two hands
under your ribcage,

feel the cribs
we'll have to build.

this is how you love me.
this is how we'll love.

a nuclear family.
a nuclear husband

and nuclear wife
fusing legs-in-legs.

you whisper
i'll be perfect.

in your heart,
there's something

in your womb
resembling us.

but you tell me
when you ovulate

and when your
split lips drip.

"the future,
the future".

you paint my face
every word.

and you see it,
the hole in your stomach,

my hands
trying to hide it.

we'll love forever.

except for now,
you say.

but afterwards.

you hang on the but.

a sign of doubt.
no sign of motherhood.

we'll lay in your blood
until there's birth

for who knows how long.
The color of Vegas
Is the gradient of a fading sunset

The color of Vegas
Is neon signs and crackling smiles

The color of Vegas
Is grey smoke and three golden sevens

The color of Vegas
Is overpriced steak and wet sand

The color of Vegas
Is broken teeth
Grasping at a lover’s sleeve
Tears stained red
Flashes of blinding sound
Terror and screams

The color of Vegas
Is splashing in the streets

The color of Vegas
Is the color of you and me
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