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Just Maria Apr 2
Spring is in the air
Flowers are in bloom
Birds are singing everywhere
And the sun hides the winter gloom

We tend to forget our troubles
As we enjoy the spring
Kids run thru the puddles
That April showers bring

Spring is only three months long
And that's a real ******
But it can't really be to wrong
If we're springing into summer
In April,
Our together was cut short,
I couldn't look you in the eyes.
The second our words fleeted,
We were drowning in butterflies.

A story they will never know,
Only for our hearts to see.
The showers of April,
The deaths of you and me.
Gabriel Girault Dec 2020
Picture this,
It’s April, the world is moving forward as you are inside a coffee shop.
You went to be at peace, your home has felt like an enclosure.
Although it is most definitely your home there seems to be something always missing.
So you head to your second home, a coffee shop a few blocks away.
They all know you by name, and the inside jokes you all have fills the store with a warm laughter that can be felt even before anyone opens the door.
You have your bag, within it is two notebooks and a laptop. One notebook for any ideas you want to write down, and the other just in case. You have your laptop, because you said you will write on it, but you end up looking up random thoughts in your head.
You seem to not be able to focus, but that’s fine because you’re having better thoughts then when you were at home.
You spend a few hours there before you pack your bag, you get up, say your goodbyes, you look outside, the rain is pouring.
You remember you didn’t bring a coat, you couldn’t wait to leave the obstacle you call home that you never looked outside at the clouds that loomed overhead.
But in your defense you felt that same feeling for weeks now, the way those dark clouds in the sky look is how you’ve felt for most of your life now.
But as you’re walking out of this coffeeshop, someone stops you and asks why you didn’t bring a coat.
Without thinking nor without a hesitation you say, “I’m wearing one can’t you see.”, and before they can say anything else, “I wear my heart not on my sleeve, I wear it as a coat.”.
They look at you and say, “Hopefully next month I will grow from the concrete”.
Erian Rose May 2020
Under the streetlights
on the corner of 11th
autumn turned into showers
your pupils reflected
seasons becoming racing beats
hours stumbling out of reach
Sadie Grace Apr 2020
Winds blow trees back and forth
Thunder booms, rain pelts my face
Call it harsh but I love it
Call it dark but I live for this
Nature demonstrates exactly how my soul is feeling  
I’m a spring storm, longing for a sunny summer
Colm Jan 2020
Short wet hair in wild sheets
With seeping eyebrows bent with dew
Tired breath, warm chest
And memory foam
Soft cotton sleeves layered like carved stone
And quiet cold from windows still
Our heads beneath these pair of sills
With heaving breaths in unison bound
Our heartbeat drums the only sound
Amidst these vibrant warms around
Mere unity I'm pleased
Surrounds
Showers before bed
Ki Danshaku Sep 2019
She...she responds to a soothing bath.
He...he prefers a different path.

They each disrobe from the day's affairs,
the formal restraints they each do share.

Their clothes lay scattered about the floor,
both stand naked at a tiled shore.

She eases herself into this sleeve,
a temperate knitted liquid weave.

He guides the stream from it’s perched spout,
the water finding the perfect route.

His face is wet, his eyes are shut tight.
She prefers ambient candle-light.

She gently sponges her supple skin.
He grips the soap...oh, so masculine.

She contemplates his rugged terrain,
he puts his hands out to feel the rain.

His caress yields a lathery foam,
her fingers begin a downward roam.

He too diverges, or so rather,
deviates from the task to lather.

Much attention in just one region,
cleaning can’t motivate this legion.

His thoughts of her, and her thoughts of him,
nothing stops what’s about to begin.

Tremors start from her head to her toes,
a smile blossoms as she plateaus.

He feels the pressure stiffly increase,
it brings to him an immense release.

She savours the last rippling quiver.
His knees weak from such an endeavour.

They catch their breath, and resume their chores,
have they been remiss in these detours?

Excuse the news they misuse shampoos,
they choose to amuse with such taboos.

One can’t ignore in the aftermath: he takes showers
... and she takes a bath.
Written by request for an anthology of like-topic stories.
This poem is dedicated to the molar mass of 18, and is 18 syllables wide and 18 sentences tall.
This is my one and only poem.

'One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
Two can be as bad as one
It's the loneliest number since the number one'
ALesiach Jul 2019
Warm days
Heavy nights
Lemonade
Mosquito bites

Dancing bees
Delicious honey
Sweet tea,
Yummy, yummy

Swimming pools
Shade trees
Staying cool
Ice cream

Summer showers
Juicy peaches
Budding flowers
Warm beaches

Vacation's over
School begins
Time's slower
Summer ends

ALesiach © 8/2016
The plastic mat that my mother placed on the bottom of the bathtub
To keep my brother and I from slipping in the shower
Prints circular patterns into my shins as I force up the first
Home cooked meal she’s made in months.
The music plays at full volume and the vent hums its disheartening song,
Drowning out the retching sounds coming from my lungs, and I start to shiver beneath
The river of steaming water drumming against my back.
Water is infinitely more comforting than any human touch has ever been.
The heat on my back sends goosebumps down my arms and I think about
How it would feel to be held by something other than
Warm water and moonlight.
Am I so damaged that the only sensations I would feel are
My heart in my throat and a tsunami of fear that would rush over me
Like the water washes over my back?
I sit in the bottom of the tub staring into my ***** as it stares up at me.
The pattering of the water hitting my flesh whispers softly
You are not enough.
You will never
Be enough.
I rest my head against the chilling tiles of the wall
And the words soak into my skin before I can think to wash them away.
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