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maureen 1d
kumakaripas ang takbo ng hangin.
lumaho na ang kisap ng mga bituin.
marahil ganito talaga kapag sabik na sabik and damdamin -
kaluluwa ay tataas ngunit unti-unting bababa rin.
Kaitlin 1d
I'm sorry, Mom
The squirrel got the bowl of nuts.
I know you told me to watch.
To keep watch.
But how can it be the puppy
with the black tips
has turned all grey?
How can it be?
She smelled like milk,
now she smells like vet
and clean and dead.
And the brothers,
they were toothy and twelve
and now, somehow, they're men, Mom?
And me?  What about me?
How can it be these legs of mine
sprouted long ago,
and there are muscles now,
beneath the round?
So what I'm saying is,
I must have looked away
Missed a moment (or was it 16 years?)
And this is why
the squirrel has chewed
this tea-stained memory.

I'll say I looked away,
since even that feels nicer
than admitting it all happened,
that the squirrel stole and years stole more,
all while I was watching.
Reflecting on my earliest memories.
I was all by myself, when it dawn on me that I was too old for my age.

Too old to be older, even if that was all I wanted as a child.

Too old to be a lover, even if that was my must wanted fantasy.

Too old to heartbroken, if  when I did my best to avoid it happening.

Too old to be in another relationship,
After all the ones I try left me in pieces & ashes.

Too old to tell you how old you are in my heart for this short time together.

Am just too old to be here, too old to tell you, too old to agree with you, too old to let you go.

Am just too old to be older than am old to be.
I laugh at old people
        out the window.

Then realise I'm looking at a mirror
Maria Etre May 19
I do not want to confine myself to a cubicle
I do not want to type my way through a day
I do not want to bite my nails, fearing I ‘d fail
I do not want to smoke my anxiety, on a Thursday
I do not want to miss sunrise, in traffic
I do not want to train a fake smile
I do not want to mingle, even when I’m single
I do not want to leave quarantine, even if you call it a syndrome
I do not want to jump into busy, I do not miss it
I do not want to forget how to value
I do not want to rush, I like the pause
I do not want to live by time, I want to control time
I do not want to consume a designated lunch, I want to make lunch matter
I do not want lockdown to end
JB May 19
I’m going out.
It’s not too late.
Brianna’s house.
You know that’s safe.

Hey, I’m sorry I smell like cigarettes. I’m sorry my eyes are red. I know it’s later than we said and now you want me right now dead!

Hey, I’m sorry I went out. I wasn’t in my bed. You woke up in the middle of the night and thought that I was dead!!
Jace Joesph May 16
Still I think of an old habit, that I had once made to inhabit, it developed quick as a rabbit.
                              With how fast the crimson would flood, with mountain of tissues soaked in blood, as my body is tossed in the mud.
                                       In all honesty I still miss the rush, the gush,
                                                  That silent shush.
        But I'll keep my word,
Though i might be a flightless bird,
    I can still be beautiful even with the scars, is that so absurd?
Jack Jenkins May 16
I think its time to have a talk,
A walk over the rubble of once tall walls,
That held a heart so heartless captive,
Lost in halls of raw cobbled things,
That were never really feelings, just things,

Things I need to say, to go over,
All in the name of bless-ed closure,
So sorry that I drove her so far away,
These bereft words, scribbled on a digital page,

Will never convey the dismay of this shipwrecked man,
Who crafted an island by his own hands,
Where he made himself ******,
Where he made his last stand,

But no ending ever came,
Just waves upon waves,
Of drowned dreams and half dead sorrows,
Awaiting death on every tomorrow,
Death that never came,
//self reflection//

Three years is a long time. I think I'm ready to talk to her again.
Heidi Franke May 16
Feeling like a stylus on a premium LP
Can't lift up to slow or slide it
Be slow, be quick, be ready
Scratching is not an option

Feeling this way again
Second-hand turntable
Treated as a diamond or replaceable

The stylus feels old
Not sure if the sound is reaching you
Enough to bring you
Out alive
Scratching is not an option
He is admitted again. Suicidal last night. Waiting to hear back. This time, no visitation because of C19. Feeling so much on edge like the moment I would try to pick up the stylus arm from the turntable of my favorite vinyl LP
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