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Phi Kenzie Sep 2018
Rachel Ray was amazing
to the tot that watched
while grandparents talked
to the parent that brought me along

Sat hands in lap
on the living room floor
slowly arching back as each meal passed

We never made any recipe
though I'd thought a lot about it
and often wanted to
Yesterday

It's my 1st year
sitting in the wheelchair
after I've survived
in a car accident,
I am sitting at the front
door
looking at people passing
by,
The trees are shaking
while I'm in this windy
situation,
Feeling like the world
is fading
so slow like the moon,
As I am stuck in this
wheelchair,
But my hair
is still black.
But it all seem like
i'm getting older
sitting down there
in the wheelchair.

My life is standing
in one place,
I feel like I'm lost in a space
like an astronaut,
For things are moving
so slow,
Everything I touch
start to fall.

I am stuck in this wheelchair
with a lost of despair,
My legs are not moving
and I feel like a patient
that is waiting for death
to slip through the I.C.U
room.
For I am drowning
in the pool of depression
and every one
is happy
and breathing,
While I'm suffocating
inside the glass of cold water.

People treat me like
a useless piece of paper,
Because I am sitting in
this chair of perseverance
for healing
will be the best success.
No one take me serious.

By Lewis DaLyricist
Yesterday was better than today
Elijah Nicholas Jul 2016
I asked for the moon,
He gave me the sun.

I wanted a kiss,
and I tasted the galaxies in her lips.

I asked her for love,
and she gave me her heart.
Thank you for being much and more.
Elijah Nicholas Apr 2015
I'd rather have bad days with you,
Than good days without you.
Elijah Nicholas Mar 2015
We'll turn this world upside
down.
We'll dance with the stars
and sing with the moon.
We'll jump from galaxy to galaxy
with the world
looking up
and watching
**us
It's been about a year
since I've known you.
A long ******* year,
but we are here.
We are here,
we are here,
and I love you.
Elijah Nicholas Jan 2015
The night sky above us was splattered with stars.
Millions of them.
Galaxies and constellations right before our eyes.
The universe was dancing and rejoicing
To a cadence that could not be heard, but only felt.
Married?
Barely.
To her own op-shop brand of boyfriend.
Hunkered down in a grit-dust apartment with crystals in the bed.
A bra tangled artfully around a broken comb, arranged on a book of poems no publisher would see.
There’s a cat somewhere, dragging life through the stale rooms.
White hair, a 60s carpet that comes away when scratched with idle fingernails digging for a gauze.
Glamorise the dirt, darling.
Wait till you’re 40 and the dim light and smoked mirrors have left you, Instagrammed out, with the awkward orphan escaping as the fridge door opens.
Do we have any eggs, he’ll say.
And you’ll feel empty.
When I wrote this, I thought it was about a writer I admire called Rachel R. White, but it was actually about me and how I have always over-glamorised the Dostoyevskian/Nabokovian/Chekhovian/RUSSIAN beauty of desolation.

It was clearly (in retrospect) a 'Pull your socks up kid, you ain't no broken princess' lecture to myself hidden behind a sarcastic literary diatribe. Aiming my bitter pretension at someone else. Or maybe even imagining I was her?
AJ Mayfield Aug 2014
I was given, at my first birthday party,
a gift sublime, a lovely, lush garden
I played among its fonts and flowers,
traded baseball cards with Atlas and Athena,
rolled in high grass with iridescent dragons

Then one fine day through leaflets high,
I spied a fat juicy fig, haloed by Summer sun
The tree was poison, I knew, its sweet fruit
most likely bad as well, but in my arrogance
I climbed the trunk, got tangled in its branches

I lost control, lost something never truly held,
and fell, through viney snarls and vicious thorns
Fell farther than I ever rose, to putrid death,
moldered slime beneath the canopy
of verdant paradise on gentle hillside above

I crawled about in mud and earthen warrens
Slowly, year by year, learned to walk again
But arrogant I remained—had not my
lesson learned, and so I doubled-down,
made mockery of this chance for redemption

All the sweet virgins did I ****, and teach
our children sin, in crystalline waters
I did shat on mulched fields, amber and green,
with cigarette butts and baggies blowing
listless on Autumn winds

When Winter finally came, as winters must,
to **** off weakened souls, and make
the garden ready for new attendants,
I did not learn, I did not take the blame...
It's Him, I cried, I have not power to do this!

But then my youngest daughter sobbed
She watched, sadly, out clouded, grimy windows
and, looking up at my limpid, sullen eyes
crawled into my arms one last, lonely time
to face what I could not...

Behold, the Silent Spring
wehttam May 2014
She held it
all of the feathers;
all of the hell
that ever mattered.

The curse
thee accused
the allegations
of a child abused.

Sry, cold, nightmares
of the very old.
In a pen, in embrace
all of the fear
all of the hate.

"Right, with me!"
"Write, with me!"
Every new dream,
write with me
using the dragons flame.

Red, blue, green,
the very chartruse color
of fame.  No swords, no
hard words, no martyers
do we stir.  

And mask all of the dead,
with the life of every word.
Left unsaid,  He alleged
that I had proved luster
to remove his head.  

And the mask stays
as a true love of words
wonderful words we shared
in stead of our lovers bed.
Thanks again for your sympathy.

— The End —