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Gabs 2d
i think about you every day
it’s like your voice is on replay
but i’ll never get a chance to say
that which i wanted to relay

and it's okay
or at least i pray
my soul's at bay
it needs to stay

though to my dismay
i can’t look the other way
so in my heart, i will obey
and in my head, you’ll always stay
A tackle with the wind, a tackle with
these modern day kids. Good grief,
as I used to be; childish cares gone in the wind.

A mud crack on a leaf, to leave a
sound of mud cakes I'd make. Under the sun,
till dusk had set; using it's heat to bake.

A first kiss by a door, both parents a few
rooms away to get caught. Curiosity gained
from movie love scenes; tasting the worth.

A bicycle pedal, cycling carelessly. So freeing
to be allowed to ride up and down streets. But
we were young boys of trouble; disturbing the peace.

A stanza getting longer, words can't fit. And like
my mother buying oversize clothing. Barely fitting
in; whether in crowds or clothes in the surrounding.

A procrastinator, in doing first good. Lazy to decisions
of no self benefits. At a time only wanting a final gain
in rewards; you'd expect from growing a little penniless.

A grown boy now, a man faced in the mirror. A face of time
and the lessons experienced. Truly I've seen how much I've
grown; I've grown so much to shed a tear.

A story of growth as you read.
Elise Jackson Jun 10
you come around when i least expect it
or maybe when i need you the most and don't want to admit it
i miss you whether you're here or not

it's like you appear behind a passing citizen
and watch me look at you through a crowd of people
and i notice it faster than i should admit

and i want nothing more than for you to approach
to ask if i'd like a cup of coffee
to have a conversation

you disappear just as fast as you've arrived
already leaving me with finding the answers myself
my jaw aching with things i never got to tell you

your legacy is the only one i'd be willing to uphold if you leave
even if it's short notice
or something you've prepared for
i have a sinking feeling that it's something you've prepared for.
he may say
that all
is forgiven
but that
does not mean
he should
be held
to it

these days
it means
about as much
as when
   he says
"i'm fine"
der kuss May 27
it was a summertime dream
where you could be whoever you wished
where you could ask for whatever you wanted
warm white sun graced our dark world, shining
swimming pool was bright blue, glistening yellow and gold

cooling myself off from the amusing heatwave, i had the most fun
when was the last time i truly laughed and was joyous?
my heart sang and i was afraid for a moment–oh the weight to be happy!
i let go of the fear, and i hummed the tune to every boy i half-loved
in hope i could open up to life–a girl can’t be this wistful

and simon was hilarious, he was the bigger man,
he was the life i needed myself to open up to, his sunburnt arms around my waist,
and there’s a feeling of great loss in me i needed to bury deep
besides simon, the hollowness in me stayed–how do we bury a hollowness?
with diamonds and an innocent boy, and more diamonds, simon said

the pale blue dome was washed with gold crimson rays now
and summertime had to end eventually, with me stayed these memories to get by
when i was blue and cold and aching in my father’s misty, lush grave
simon too was vanished, his promises lingered on my fingertips sealed with his kisses
he loved me that summer and that summer only
Beautiful tragedy, a travesty of love brought by
things unspoken by the lips of so many few.
A honeydew sticky to my tongue, underneath the
fun of having someone to call, “my love”

Fields of maize rustling dry leaves in the tiniest
of breeze. Reminds me of the first time love had
shook me down in my knees.
Baobab trees of a swollen heart, packing luggage in
that African trunk. Under the tree kissing during lunch,
or in all of those lessons you and I would love to bunk.

Eversharp blue pens, drawing heart pictures on my wrist.
Bathroom breaks, and scandalous friends. Making sure
the memory of you, isn’t the one thing I rinse.
I’m convinced, with all the exercise books with tiny blocks,
I’d one day be boxed in by love.

With heavy weinbrenner shoes, walking around your entire
room to make them fit. I’d walk a thousand miles
to find a place in your heart, with my charms and wit.

Cascade diary drinks, cascading shadows of your
desires milked by the many ways you’ve lived.
I felt you heavily breathe, each time we kissed,
clutching my fingers to grab onto a time,
long before the low blows of love with a closed fist.

Must be nostalgia talking into my present days
and cares. A crush sweet as orange Mazoe,
you and I once would share.

I’ll take all the time to remember those lessons from old
things, and of course an old flame of love.
Trace my fingers along the scars, and the smiles
of memories we made out together.
Despite it being out of teenage peer pressure,
I’ve grown from it, to grow into something better.

I thank the nostalgia to my love. It’s worth the look back.
I'm making it neat and tidy.

The only way I've learned to get by:
The bits of you,
The pieces of me,
All of these cluttered things
That I don't know what to do with...

I'm at a point in my life
Where I don't want to hurt,
And I know that right now
It will only further stunt me --
I'm painfully aware that it's unhealthy.

But the more I sit with dusty trinkets,
Errant thoughts,
Half-forgotten memories --

I can't bear the thought
Of parting with them,
So I'll make them neat and tidy;

Give them a proper space to exist
But saving my stability
Jade Wright Apr 25
There was this cat-
before I was exclusively a dog person.
He lived in the house next to my Nan’s,
and she said he only ever came into her garden
when I was there-
he sensed me.

I used an old hairbrush
to caress his fur and I
pushed him up and down the warm
concrete in my purple pram.
‘August 1994’ is written on the
back of the clearest photograph of us.

My dungarees are bold
and brazen roses-
his patterns are tangible through
my chubby little hands
both of us have pride on our small faces.
I wish I remembered him.
I listened to a song
long forgotten
I felt as though I wanted to cry
what was it,
this sadness?
not solely though,
for I felt joy, and happiness
As always, this associative memory of mine,
it stung me
A beautiful melody to embrace
A cruel and perfect joke
it transports me from my banality
what is it,
about music
my associative memory.

I see now,
I'm six years younger
I've yet to make a choice
I have all my doors open
The taste of love,
it runs in my mouth
a freshness almost
I taste spearmint,
I feel a nice cool breeze,
I witness sundown
I was just heading out to town,
wondering what I'll get up to tonight
a certain youth to it,
a charm, more apt
I felt free.

it saddens me,
am I unsatisfied,
perhaps just bored
life gets dull,
it needs that, certain spice
no clue what terrors await?
no clue what I'll enjoy next
I know, the four years that follow,
will drill me into dirt
but right now,
the thought of going back,
perhaps feels
sweeter than nectar
and as the song ends,
so I stand, painstakingly trying,
for this associative memory of mine,
to fail me,
Music, memories and nostalgia are perhaps one of the most bittersweet combinations to experience. I can't exactly put my finger on it, but it gives me those certain, stinging butterflies
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