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monique ezeh Aug 13
spilled butane from a refilled lighter
heat lightning in the humid air
cigarette butts in a ***** cupholder

— not sure if this is still your number. part of me hopes it isn’t.

hand-me-down jeans that don’t fit anymore
bleach fume-induced headaches
burnt plastic setting off the fire alarm

— i’m leaving soon. i won’t promise i’ll be back.

overgrown grass from 8 days of rain
singed skin over a candle’s flame
rotting meat at the bottom a trash can

— death doesn’t discriminate. i know that now.

Anne Apr 22
You were already dead
by the time
I was planted in your soil.
Your story is one told to me
through grainy photographs.
Echoed whispers of
peripheral port cities.
Somewhere lovingly untouchable.
My home was once alive.

My stomach lurches
while picturing these
hollow streets,
once filled with laughter.
The harbour
bursting with smiles.
Each neighbour,
a family or friend,
usually both.

How I love this island!
The salted summer's breeze,
hand woven scarlet autumns.
Wild flowers dancing
atop cliff-sides,
free for us
to admire and absorb.
Absorb we did.

I swear my bones
are made of sea-glass.
How could they be
made of anything less?

In their stories,
you are a fairyland.
A cosmically unified olden wood,
dipped in Scotch
and swaddled in wool.

Yet your branches rot,
thinner and damper each year.
Soon the whispers
will be stale air.
No one will be left
to tell tales
of your beautiful youth.

Everything dies.
How I once wished to see
you in your prime.
Even in your postmortem existence,
you've given me
mud to stick my toes into.

I see you
melting into the sea.
I smell your flesh
being swallowed
by bottom feeders.
You are a wonder to me
all the same.
I can't imagine growing up somewhere more beautiful.
femininefiction Dec 2020
In twenty days I will be back in Georgia

and I will feel the cold air pierce through my lungs as I stroll through the streets of downtown Atlanta

I will hear the sound of thick, southern drawls singing country songs by a diminished campfire, releasing the smell of burning leaves and Tennessee whiskey

I will see my grandmamas gaze as she welcomes me home with a *** of steaming Jambalaya and White Diamonds perfume

And my sweet souls will smile at me with their crooked teeth that look like mine
They will approach me with their fast paced walks that move like mine
They will laugh at me with innocence, light, and love

Their simple love  
their pure, loyal love
The kind of love that liberates
The kind of love that frees me
from the solitude I hold
So deeply within myself

And I will return to my little apartment
on the eastside of the city

with a memory of enlightenment
With a memory of gratitude
With a memory of grace

To shower you in
To nurture you with
To guide you to
The clear light of day
Abner Ros Nov 2020
The red stained concrete often intrigued the neighbours, though they unanimously agreed to never bring it up with the Atkinsons.
colette alexia Nov 2020
Two world travelers, one small town
Unfinished people, unfinished house
More thoughts in my head than I should probably say out loud

Sitting there at your kitchen table
Writing backstories for all your neighbors
Talking about the things that we want to be famous for

Funny how I barely know ya
Sitting there in your Patagonia
Envisioning a world with the both of us
10.2020
Gwendolyn Alaine Sep 2020
Cottonwood the summer snow
Spanish moss on light wind blows
The grass grows fast and life is slow
Lightning bugs our cinema show

Beale Street Memphis and New Orleans
Where your conversation topic “Are you with the Baptists or Presbyterians?”
Take you for real barbecue
Tiny places I’ve poured my heart into

Family owned coffee shops and downtown streets
Lyrics we scream in crowded backseats
The familiar scent of summer chlorine
Grandmother’s homemade sweet tea

Thick but sweet like honey, a southern accent sings
A porch swing hangs by boots and miscellaneous things
Hydrangea tips and cobbler recipes the women’s book club’s fuss
A piercing pinch from a mother's hand if she ever hears you cuss

Rivers and forests that hold my childhood
Moss soaked in fairies and knighthood
Fishing spots and four wheel drives
Sunset skies the color of your eyes

Run barefoot in tall “feather” grass
“Not-for-nighttime” narrow paths
White washed bricks older than the magnolias
Ladies with pearls, hairspray, and strollers

Football games with roaring joy
It’s an experience that makes you want to join
Red, black and white; 90 degrees
A mid-fall breeze, its nights like these

Spring Green Markets on a freshly cut lawn
Candles and jams and fresh kettle corn
Homecoming and Christmas parades you just can’t miss
Lights strung downtown in the winter

It doesn’t get much better than this...
I wrote this about my little small town I still like to call home. There’s a lot of it that also just represents my love and comfort of the south in general. There’s nothing else like it; it really doesn’t get much better than that and I truly believe that. The people around me that I love, remind me of home. People and home give me the same feeling and I truly believe that there’s a fine line to separate the two. You can travel anywhere in the world to exotic beaches and castles in Europe, but you’re never going to get that same feeling that you would in a small southern town...
Flint Holcomb Apr 2020
The heat is becoming unbearable.
[average repair cost $488]
I'm manually cranking the window
[1998 Chevy S-10]
While Dad drives me to the store.

I'm craving Nutella
[Great Value Hazelnut Spread]
And pomegranates seeds.
[only one container without mold]
I hope Mom doesn't mind the price.

Turning 22 this year;
[also a model from 1998]
I hope to start on Testosterone
[again]
And maybe learn to drive
This was written in January 2020.
Zack Ripley Jul 2019
you say the cost of living keeps rising so people keep dying.
if that's true, then why should we bother trying?
growing up in small town usa,
the only opportunities for work are dangerous
and offer very little pay.
if you dont have thick skin,
you won't be able to make it through the day.
I need you to say that you believe I have a choice.
that you think people will listen to what i have to say
if i raise my voice.
I don't want to leave, but i know i can't stay.
if i want a chance to live, i'll need to live life my way
Zack Ripley Mar 2020
I'm not here for the silver and gold.
I am here to find somebody to hold.
Someone to wrap their arms around me tight
And make me forget it's a cold winter night.
It's been ten years since you stole my heart.
Now look where we are.
We've come so far from the start.
As you lie with me, watching the fire glow,
I still can't believe I'm the one that you chose.
We were friends in a small town,
Then we became something more.
I can't believe i never knew it was you I was waiting for.
We were friends in a small town,
Then you said "I do."
Because of you, I believe that dreams can come true.
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