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Anais Vionet Apr 2022
My roommates and I congregated in our suite's great room and we’ll head out for dinner soon.

“Have you ever eaten dog food?” Leong asked Anna.
“No,” Anna answered, “it smells like chicken - it’s got chicken in it”
“OOO!” Leong pounces, “Busted!!”
“What?!” Anna reacts.  
“How would you know that then?” Leong asks, doubtfully.
“My mom told me!” Anna cries, in self defense. “She’s a vegetarian too.”
“Your mom told you.” Leong said, like a prosecutor raising an eyebrow for the jury.

“I just took my last English class,” I report, pony-tailing my hair, “my teacher told me - privately - that my writing destroys.”
“Nice,” Lisa says.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling and grooming with pride, “I thought that was a ballin’ complement and I’ve been riding that high.”
“No doubt,” Anna says and nods.
“My English professor..” Leong says, exasperated, “is driving me crazy, I’ve written three final papers so far and she’s rejected them ALL.”
“Huh?” I gasp, “Show me one!” I demand, wiggling gimmie-fingers at her laptop.

“Here’s a question,” Lisa asks the room, “What would you change about your childhood?”
“I would have never grown up.” Sophy said.
“When I was in third grade, in the UK, a girl in my elementary school, was murdered,” I reveal.
“What?!” Anna says.
“Oh, my GOD!” Lisa gasps.
“Spill” Leong demands.
“Her name was Kennedy,” I begin, “She was in another class, I didn’t know her but I started to imagine that I’d known her. I’d think of her playing on the swings in a yellow dress, in daydreams and in nightmares.”
“I can see that,” Leong said.
“I was flummoxed, at the time, how a family could lose a little girl and a president.” I added.
Anna looked confused.
“I was in third grade,” I replied, ”what did I know?”
“Go ON,” Lisa prompts.
“We heard that she was walking home and got snatched,” I continued.
“Jesus,” Lisa said, shaking her head.
“Although I never walked home, I was careful not to be snatched for a while,” I summarized.
“I bet,” Anna agreed.
“That’s what I’d change,” I said, “Poor Kennedy.”
“People ****,” Lisa pronounced, and there was general agreement to that.
BLT word of the day challenge: Flummox: "to confuse."
pcb Jun 2021

Paper scraps, paper love, paper folds.

All these adjectives written on papers—
and my thoughts remain scattered and perplexing.

Paper planes, paper boats, paper dreams.

I pour my true feelings
disguised in various linings
because, in the end,
even the most heartfelt words on papers are eventually scattered,
accidentally stepped on,
and, slowly,
Should I just let you know?
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2020

Papers on my desk
Pondering on past mistakes
White dreams turn into dust

Based on a lucid dream I had of being in a cottage somewhere.
I'm alone and in my writing room just lost in thought.
I have a few more heavy poems coming out today!
I hope y'all will enjoy them!
Be back soon with more
Much love,
Kairosclere May 2020
Pages hanging on
By a breadth of
A mere molecule
Paper hearts
And discarded minds
Holding on to life
By a brief tether
By auspicious grim.
Connect to me
Via Instagram @_kairosclere_
Via email
On Pinterest  @_kairosclere_
On hello poetry at
And my blog

Make sure to subscribe to get exclusive pieces.
Thank you for reading <3
Poetic T Apr 2020
It wasn't funny,
I'd used every spare sock.

Every newspaper that had past my letter box..

I couldn't use my ******* magazine
           as the pages had mysteriously

stuck together??

So I walked like a crab
         into my back garden..

My hose pipe connected,

I know how Sylvester Stallone felt
            In demolition man,
            three sea shells..

              F##k this S##t,
but no morality machine
for spare sheets....


Ok lets get the water pressure just right,

I turn it on and my ***** swing like a pendulum.
               dam that made my eyes water..

This time I put it in the right place,
a unique sensation,
                but just as I was clean,

my back porch light turned on..

All I heard was,

"Frank don't worry its cold,

As he laughed out loud.

I walked back in my ***** sore,
                                   but **** fresh clean,

even though embarrassed..
Cedric Oct 2019
I’ve submitted my applications.
To be the proxy if need be.
You’ve read my papers;
The clause of letting go,
It is set in stone hearts.

You’ve been left alone and hurting,
I’ve become the proxy for him.
The bandaid over your wound,
To be discarded once healed.

When will you fire me?
Setting me ablaze by losing my job?
When will I be thrown?
Discarded once my purpose is served?

I have had a premonition,
That things will slowly fall into place.
I will be left alone once more,
After my purpose is done.

I’ve served many masters,
All of which are of my choosing.
I’ve been let go before,
After my time has been reached.

It’s normal for me to be forgotten,
Left rotting six-feet beneath.
I have died a thousand deaths,
All to save those in need.

I am dedicated to this unlife,
Of sacrifice and giving everything.
It is my purpose and duty,
To give my life up for others.

Despite the pain and suffering,
Despite chipping away at my heart,
Despite depleting my soul,
I will give and give and give.

All in the spirit of love,
All in the hope of receiving it,
All in the faith of enduring it,
All in the love of sacrifice.

I’m just a proxy,
To replace those who’re lost.
My papers are here,
When will my contract end?
I think it will soon enough.
A poem of being the person that’s always there for others. For us who are left alone after being of no more use. We are the tools at your disposal, the means to an end. No longer human, dedicated to serve.
Ruby Tuck Nov 2018
dictionaries stacked on the shelf near the blackboard
papers i have lying on my desk
thoughts inside my head
people sitting around me
threads lying lonely on the floor
pencils scratching
florescent lights bearing down upon my weary eyes
i found the number 19 in the "words" section of the website and decided to write about my class. there are, in fact 19 people in my class, which is pretty cool.
Maxim Keyfman Oct 2018
and again salutes outside the window and again
they and they again and I still watch
on their old old lost
lost pieces of paper scruffy

battered by this time by these
over the years with these watches over the centuries
considerations all all all that
eat in this dark bright summer light

and again the window and again the walls and again
it and again it spun one in
huge terrible waltz since the soul
mine is yours and all this is one continuous howl

and since my truth is yours all that
was and always will be forever and how
all this huge dance dance dance
huge black man dance or

or what or and when or and whether
it or well anyway well anyway i
will utter this final word final
word word ending life is death

and only death in the world exists and
of course the birth though there are doubts
probably only death and she alone
and life and our life was not and never will

Maxim Keyfman Oct 2018
running notes fast fast
on fingers ran quickly
quickly walked along quickly
and be so quietly and quietly
quietly melody on the nose
slipped and sank into sleep

and there were white papers and will
black paper and torch burn and
notes will run again and all also
it is not known where and when to burn and
quickly run fast then
when I was five years old when I was

when i was six years old
I was seven years old and when I was
exactly eternity eternity one infinite
and when I was not a man but a piano
when I was just the keys and only
white and black black and white and all

Maxim Keyfman Jul 2018
crying was like rain
crying fell from the sky
and glass
and glass
tore up papers
tore hands

crying is unbearable
wailing tore my soul
and not mine and others
Chinese in one far country
somewhere in the future
or in the past

about crying
time you're crying
I'm you time
about crying

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