Fumbling through a drawer my fingers brush against a familiar plastic object.
I grasp onto the tiny memory card and pluck it from the hiding place.
The card slides into the computer port with a satisfying click.
Click.
A window pops up with long lost folders.
All of the files unrecognizable, with icons indistinguishable from the rest.
I slide the cursor across the screen.
Hovering over a random folder.
Hovering.
Click.
As fast as I clicked the folder, my cursor flew towards the red “X”.
Click.
The folder closed.
My heart raced.
It had been a year.
One long year.
A face I had long tried to erase from my mind was now burned into its forefront.
My fingers pull out the drive.
I throw it into the trash.
Sadness fills my heart.
Her face.
Her smile.
Her eyes.
Those features of a ghost were now reborn in my mind.
A ghost.
My ghost.
Am I forever haunted?

Nobody could possibly remember
That awful horrible thing of the past
But I can recall last year's September
A new girl who dreadfully outcast
She stood way out far away from the crowd
No one around to even speak to her
She would never mutter a word aloud
So her years here went by as such a blurr
I can no longer speak on her behalf
It is her very own story to share
But here I can show you this photograph
Of her and her beautiful golden hair
But I am sure you will not forget
The time she gave you her blue barrette

Once upon a time
‘Expose’ was to absorb moments.
Word and deed
Are now adulterated.

I told you before
you are lovely
You said something like
no never not me

Well then maybe
I will take a photo
so you can know
how by this man's eyes
You are seen

A masterpiece of composition
Perfect like beautiful days

A song that maybe only
I will be humming
in all the loveliest
of lovely ways

Beauty is held
by the beholder
So that all might not
have to agree

Lovely is held
in a separate place
So that heartstrings
entwined believe

I will tell you again
You are lovely
Maybe you'll think
Then so you say

We will not need
to look at a photo
Yet you will know
You are truly lovely
In such a beautiful way.

-R.

6.21.17
-LA
-4S

I fell to my knees
while I had" danced in the dark."

I asked for "the light"

The sunlight beams warmed my back  
as I took a rest in their "park"

While I "took time" to "mend" all of my broken pieces"
I "stood tall..."
I kept in the "message" while I was at "my weakness"

I put my "pride asside" and asked for "simple peacefulness"
Even while I was rushed through this "simple task"

I "accepted what I had been guided through"
I refused to "see life" through a "watered down flask."

I "mended" my "mirrored visions"
as I did begin
I walked this  "new path to walk"
even though it felt as if  I was "still running through this process..."
"in place" to move "much more, "still, "forward."

As I took the" smiles of those who sent them to me"
in
"support..."

Now this "ship has set sail"
and you shall not see it
"set afloat ," next to such, "parked"
at this "warn out" and "out dated" "Dock."

Ambers neatly sparked....with hope's electric energies...
as I faced the "truth......"

A "snapshot of a brighter future"
as seen through a "lense" of a more "temporary"
and a much "foregiving" "future Picture's"
"Photo Booth."

Everyone thinks she’s beautiful
While she thinks she’s ugly
Everyone thinks she’s perfectly skinny
While she thinks she’s fat and
She’s always put a fake smile
Like in a photograph
Where a fake smile can hide a thousand tears
She’s the girl In the photograph
Her fake smile can hide a thousand tears

Honey vibes and honey eyes
Were my only compromise.
Now I see through hazel sky's.
Sunset dreams of my inner screams.
We'd live out my emerald schemes.
Photo in live to post the moments that will always survive.
What scares me most in this chemical high
Is that I know your memory will never die.

Photos of old,
Portals into a forgotten time.

Stomping feet upon fields of green,
Smiles and shining Eyes.

Where is the innocence?
Or the meaningless cares?

Here’s to all the people that photobomb my holiday pictures,
unsuspecting exhibitionists in my summer memories.
After a while, I become fonder of them than of the places I’ve visited.
They now seem to know me better than most of my friends and relatives,
we start sharing secrets and unspeakable thoughts,
we become connected by an invisible red line,
that passes through all the virtual mess
and intimate celluloid of our afterlife.

I’m sure that somewhere,
in Russia,
or maybe in the Czech Republic,
there’s some poor *** schmuck that’s working up the nerve
to ask me out for a drink
or for some pasta,
not caring that I’m rushing through his photo,
on my way to a public restroom,
or a bar that serves all you can eat, drink and love.

The photos holding the proof of my existence in a certain moment
are facing the ground,
while their owners rehearse their speech
in front of the mirror,
leaving me and all the other tourists through life
behind the black hole library shelf,
in perfect equilibrium,
not knowing if I’m coming or leaving -
an impersonal group of pixels and dots, on a white piece of character.

Here’s to all the strangers in my heart!
Here’s to all the hearts to whom I’m a stranger!