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Mallory Nov 27
Listen to them individually,
Hear them beat
Against black pavement.
They fall hard, helplessly.
And softly. Drops of pure *** touch skin, relentlessly.

Wet and uninviting.
Fluidity in surviving.  
Crystal clear
And so inciting,
Ecstasy for the ear.

Smothers, and screams.
A necessary, tenderness.
Tenaciously
bleeding open hearts.
Time stops.
Release is here.

A validity for sadness
It’s okay to come clean.
To hold still, in your brokenness
To know this darkness
And accept that it is dark, and dreary, and deafening.
To bask in your defeats.

You have not realized
How dry;
how thirsty you have been.
You wait and wait and wait and remember why
you needed this again.
R T Dawn Nov 1
You will always get to know someone more from a single rainy night than from years of bright sunshiny days.
Inkheart Oct 31
I was thunder and rain
And I watched people shiver in my gray
Haze, like I was only there
To take away their sun

But you came without an umbrella

And you dipped your fingers
Into my bluish solitude
And painted the sea
The heavens and my eyes

And you told me that
The rain always makes
Your coffee taste better
zb Oct 22
the air, cold in the bottom of my lungs,
calls me out to face the chill,
let raindrops bless my skin,
gaze up, squinting into the sky,
and feel tiny droplets scatter on my cheeks like freckles

i love rainy, cold weather,
i love letting my sleeves fall down over my hands
i love too-wide smiles and wet toes from splashing
in puddles full of mud and hazy reflections of people i love

i love the shiver down my spine
whenever i step out the door,
walking between school buildings with friends,
laughing as loudly as we can
tucking strands of wet hair behind our ears,
checking everyone's backpacks are closed
to protect english papers and math homework

i breathe deeper in the autumn
because the bite of the cold at the sides of my lungs
gives a high i can't replicate
any other time of year
Isla Oct 10
the bell jingles as she steps into the holiday stationstore
on the corner of two discarded streets, signs too battered to read
there was free hot chocolate on tuesdays
it was always a little too sweet
the cream-colored tile is stained by thousands of half-cleaned messes
the faint squeak of the roller grill complimenting
cheesy pop music
bright packages scream brand names she never buys
she picks a cup, the smallest size
and fills it
ignoring the drips of pumpkin spice on the counter,
left by a hurried predecessor
she adds cream
she doesn't think about the calories
she doesn't think about what her friends are up to
she doesn't think about how much she hates hearing this **** song
she thinks about grabbing a snickers for the road
shredded black combat boots thump to the register
she sets her snickers bar on the counter
paying the cashier (jeremy) with a crumpled dollar bill
his gray eyes brim with something like pity, like they do every week
she pretends not to see
he says something
she pretends not to hear
he says something else
she walks out
icy rain makes her pull her hood tighter
she sips the cocoa
it always was a little too sweet
yes, there is free cocoa at the holiday stationstore, if anyone was wondering
The rain came down
The river rushed,
as was warranted for flooding.
Jenny Gordon Sep 30
...want M&M's right now!


(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXIX)


Out where a fragile silence listens, pale
Sweet minutes on their honour as suspense
Hangs like the rick'ty signboard of what hence
Shall cough ere giving voice, yes, in that frail
Calm rain does not quite tiptoe through t'avail,
The voiceless naught is keenly for intents
Half harking to what we don't hear from thence
In all our haste to be, I search for bail.
Old pools of water, silver-faced, don't stir,
And crickets gently fiddle; cars pass through,
Truck sans a care, weeds look too yellow to
Be ransomed, and the eaves drip.  Oh, what were
We thinking, really?  Death knocks 'gain in tour
Yet we feign not to notice.  Ah, what's new?

30Sep18a
I forget what else to add after that.
madyson shaye Sep 19
I pull into my driveway and my neighbor is standing in front of his door wearing a wife beater, basketball shorts that go to his mid calf and his bare feet shoved into too small slides most likely from 2005.
Nearly every part of him is large, outside of the fact that he’s 5’7”: his beer belly protrudes from his ribbed cotton shirt, his ego escapes from his messy house (his door is wide open, all the cold air is escaping),
He watches me park.
His woman, for lack of a better term, stands up straight at right underneath his eyebrow, and she glares at me too.
I let my hand trace the chair sitting on my front porch for a few seconds and wonder why I’ve never sat here before.
Residue rain falls from the outside banister and I feel as at home as I’ve ever felt in this ****** little *** forsaken studio.
My neighbors are still watching me and I realize it’s because they don’t recognize me. I’m rarely here.  
With the hair on my arms all standing up in unison, I unlock my door and step inside,
drop my keys and count my money.
My knees are rusty, I feel small.
There’s only so many times you can do this, and only so many times I can too.
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