blue 38m
kiss me in your backseat
like nothing has ever been like this before
'cause you kiss like a promise
like you have never wanted anything more
than me

and just maybe, i'm crazy about you baby
and i guess it's a mess but i've always loved messy

and with your lips on my neck, i feel like the best is yet to come
and with my heart on my sleeve, i hope you can see it beats like a drum

and i'm wrapped around your finger and my gaze might just linger on your face
and i can't help but notice what we've made of this moment in this place

is beautiful
you're beautiful.

in the streetlights, with your brown eyes looking into my heart
hold me tighter, with your bright lights lighting up the dark
you're lighting up
i wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down
Janine 2d
I said no
Yet you marched on,
Trespassing my organs
Towards my beating heart.  

I lowered my defences
Hoping you would stay,
But infiltration lasts longer
More than a simple day.

I withstood the invasion
Knowing the pain would end,
But attacks upon my people
Took many weeks to mend.

I grew too attached
Under your dictatorship,
I bent my body
To serve your needy grip.

Unwilling to let go
When you were ready to leave,
Unable to understand
Your eagerness to concede.

Did I not give enough?
When you tore through my lands?
I will never be enough
For your greedy hands.
A very personal poem so please be gentle x
My mind has a love affair
With a constant force of nature.
Her love grew on me like wild ivy;
Our memories deepened tremendously.

I feel the ocean breeze around my feet
And running her fingers through my hair.
I feel her kiss me, and take away my longing
When my lover’s not here.

I travel back to my sandy toed days
And turn my face to the sun.
I’m surrounded by many entities
And I stay til the sun is gone.

The sea is a great comforter to me
Known by many names, but always amazing.
Her mind is full of rips and curls
Her body holds countless creatures below.

I can almost reach out to her
The one I fell for like no other
I sometimes wonder with shallow breaths
If I’d love to breathe easily in her depths.

The saltiness of her breath
Reminds me of my lover’s touch.
If no other being is besotted by me
I’d give myself to her willingly.

2nd April 2018
I wrote this while going through a tough time that became even tougher over a week later. It's meant to be very imaginative, yet realistic as the ocean has been part of my childhood and I still have both fond and bitter memories of her. I address these memories briefly in this poem.
Enjoy :)
Sam Apr 1
If there's any kind of normal anymore,
then it's you -- just you,
standing with a dish rag long after everyone else (your father)
has gone to bed, some point between 7:30 and 9:00 at night.

Things are better now,
(things are worse now)
your mother has been out of country for a week
(or 6 months and 5 days, excluding the handful of week long visits)
and you and your father are ready to leave, now,
crossed the last few items off your bucket list
(everything is the same as it was 6 months ago:
your mother is not sleeping,
your father is not sleeping,
you are both your parent's favorite confidant
for complaints against the other,
sole companion when drunk,
your mother hates her job (still),
your father is drowning in the wake
of your mother's misery (still),
and you are still (trying) failing
to hold the pieces together -
yours and theirs.)

It's March/April, so there are cherry blossoms (Sakura),
and your father says, they're beautiful
and your mother (from the video screen of your father's phone) says,
that's a lot of white (they're pink)
and you think, I guess this is the last time I will ever see this.

Your mother's been miserable for the past two and a half years, so you and your father were only half right when you figured giving her your blessing to get out of this
(god forsaken -- to your father)
(sexist, and karoshi-inducing -- to your mother)
(home, yet unaccepting and soul-crushing -- to you) country would help.
(And it did, but not enough and not for long.)

Your mother's world is work, new country, new culture, new language, new apartment, and talking to the two of you. (It's also sans furniture for the first three months, newly insulated heating, and living off takeout and on a futon.)

Your father's world is work, the English side of packing up and moving, you, figuring out his replacement, meeting friends for bike rides or dinner and drinks to say goodbye, and talking to your mother. (It's also figuring out how you'll all survive if this doesn't work out, making arrangements for everything his wife forgot in her hurry to leave, ensuring he and you make it until June.)

Your world is school, your father, the Japanese side of packing up and moving, your friends, stepping down and teaching others to replace you, and doing your part to keep your mother sane. (It's also hiding your own decent into misery, making friends just in time to lose them, and looking up the extra Japanese jargon that your father forgets he'll need.)

Your father has been wary of this country since the day he moved here - 14 days, 2 months, and 17 days ago; has hated it since the day after the final date of your expected stay, 12 years, 11 months, and 2 days past. The summer you are twelve it comes to a culmination, and your parents inhibit separate apartments for the next half-decade.

The conversation you overhear four years after the fact (a summer night when your bedroom window has been left open, near midnight, your parents talking on the balcony  it connects to) goes like this:
  You said you hated me. (Your mother.) You told me it was my fault we were stuck here.
  I have never hated you. (Your father.)
  You said I ruined your life. (Your mother, again. Voice raw, broken.)
  You didn't ruin my life, (Your father. Voice tired, like this is a recurring discussion.) you... (You can imagine your mother crying, your father wrapping his arms around her shoulders. The candle on the patio table flickering with surrounding city light, reflecting your mother's tears, the hint of silver in your father's ring.) I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I never should have said it, but you already know that. You didn't ruin my life.
  (Silence. Then your mother, again.) You said you hated me.
The conversation lasts well past 2:00 in the morning,
your parents none the wiser to your reluctant presence.
(It's not a conversation you ever wanted to hear.)

After the go-ahead for the move comes in very late August, everything ignites, speeds up to a ridiculous pace. You and your father box up the majority of your mother's apartment, and then it falls to the two of you to get rid of everything left when she leaves after another month. (It's that same month that she traverses three countries in two weeks, gets stuck in the midst of a hurricane warning- drives 10 hours across state borders to escape it, and spends her first week living in Germany forgetting most everything.)

Deciding to move and finding a school comes in October and November. You and your father miss a day of school to fly to Amsterdam and back, realize certain things are unfeasible, look at more schools, and begin to send letters. You miss a whole week by yourself in Germany, causing your mother to sleep, for once, and then catching only 2 hours yourself for a week straight (added onto panic attacks and dizzy spells) once you get back to Japan. (It’s mid-October when a school in Frankfurt indirectly says they’ll accept you, your father hands in his resignation the following week, then turns to you and asks are you sure you want to move your senior year? - and you think bit late to be asking now.)

Your mother calls everyday, and you make yourself present for it once or twice every week. (It’s mid-November before you realize that your father may miss her desperately, but you don’t. At all.) Sunday becomes packing day, and you and your father slowly pile up boxes while avoiding paperwork, accumulating trash runs to the apartment complex across the street. By March, there is a plan for getting rid of furniture in place, and most save bare essentials are packed.

I counted. Your mother starts, first to speak once the connection goes through. 80 days. So you have 80 days to go around the world and come see me.
Well, nowadays, it only takes 2 days to travel across,
you quip, as your father pulls out his calendar.
Looks like you won’t have to wait that long he says, pointing at your mother’s proposed date of contact - 6/13 - in contrast to his last day of work, a week behind your final day of school, your daughter might even make it at 70, he adds (and you silently say goodbye to spending any of the summer with your friends.)
Well, your deadline is 80. (She’s not sure she’ll make it if it’s any longer.) I miss you.
Miss you too.
Love you.
Love you.
Love you too.

Come evening, you will still be the last one standing, alone except for the cold water running across your fingers and the plates that will be labeled rubbish within 2 months, the wind if it decides to howl, the motor of a car if one chooses to pass your deserted street, your father if (when) he begins to shift and turn and give up on sleep. And this you can still say, is normalcy.
Evie 4d
whats cooking good lookin i ask
they smile a big smile and i see shark teeth
i look down and see a hole in my chest
i run as they chase me and jump out of the window
when i wake up it starts all over
best thing ive written but idc im drunk and truth is mine
And I'm sitting in my work parking lot, trying to remember why my headlights don't turn off on their own, I begin to cry.

Not because it's 10 PM in a town that sleeps at 8, or because no one is here to help me, but because I can't remember the last time I laughed.

I'm sitting here, my head low into the steering wheel, crying because I never got to say goodbye to the people who mattered most.

I'm crying because all around me are burnt bridges and broken promises, and my headlights never turn off.

My car is empty, depleted.
We commiserate for a moment, thinking of unblown candles on a death bed birthday. The last whisper of love as it fades behind a crooked smile, her strawberry lips pressed against your neck, you knowing this moment is finite.

The frost on the Windows threaten to give me cold comfort where there is none, I am wrapped in a blanket of empty sorrow and hopeful wishes that will never pan out.

The lights are still on around me, the music, faded in the background, and my broke down car resonates perfectly with the broke down me.
Oh boy, I screwed up last night. Had to get two coworkers to come jump my car in the middle of the night.
Jules M 7d
Do you remember that time of innocence?
When the horrors of the world were invisible,
and you were so much more than invincible?
Do you remember when you didn't doubt for a second that you were amazing?
When you wore those "crazy" things,
And sung at the top of your lungs, unashamed?
Do you remember when you raced outside at every opportunity?
When catching fireflies were the only thing you could think about in the summer,
Other than swimming in the open sea?
Do you remember when laughing came so easily?
When you didn't catch the naughty things in kids tv programs,
And when you had a million perfect life plans?
Do you remember when you woke up early, because you couldn't wait for the day?
When you spoke so fast, because there wasn't enough time,
And when you created a trillion random things, because you wanted to?
Do you remember dancing, or bobbing your head to some random tune in your head?
When you ran out into the rain, without shame,
And screamed until your lungs ached?
Do you remember when you learned everything, and wanted to still know more?
When you were so proud of getting one thing right,
And not caring if you weren't perfect?
Do you remember watching your older siblings, or grown-ups do things, that made you say "I can't wait until I grow up!"?
When you loved yourself, without a doubt,
And had the power to do anything, or be anyone?
I do.
And I wish I could have all of that innocence, and freedom back.
I wish that openness, and self-love had transferred into my more mature life.
I wish that nonchalant way of doing everything had stayed.
I wish that careless way of dancing and singing had tagged along.
I wish that I had stayed carefree for longer, instead of quickly becoming cynical, and depressed.
I wish that I had never pushed to be a part of the grown-up conversations.
I wish that I had never rushed into intimacy.
I wish that I had held onto my wildest dreams.  
Because, now,
I regret every time I said
"I can't wait until I grow up!",
Because each time I said those words aloud,
Its pushed me further away from my imagination and wilderness faster, and harsher.
Because each time I said those words, and every single adult around me said that I should hold on to my childhood,
I replied with anger and irritation, not knowing the hell that I was rushing into.
I want to go back,
Don't you?
Her 7d
that moment
when the worry
begins to seep into
my veins

that moment
when the pain
begins to play
tricks within
my brain

i feel my collarbones
and know i'll be

o k a y
Her 7d
they call it PTSD
but i call it
my own personal hell

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