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Jillian Jesser Oct 2018
Boo
Sunday morning,
and the sun is peaking through the blinds
after a long sleepless night.

The monster that hung over my head all night
is sticking around for the light, it seems,
and it is scaring my Pothos'.

As they wilt,
I am changing the song that's playing,
It's too haunting, too obvious.

An old friend, this specter has become.
I laugh as he spills my coffee.
Stygian Oct 2018
I am alone.
Personal. My humble abode.
Only with my permission to enter my home.
I am lonely.
I like to be lonely, be one and only.
Company is hard to come by unless you show me.
I am alone.
Always fighting demons, and secrets.
When I say I'm tired, I mean it.
I don't want to entertain anymore.
My energy needs to be restored.
Let me sleep, please.
Just let me sleep.
I'd rather be alone.
I'd rather be lonely.
Then be with someone who makes me die slowly.
Jenny Gordon Oct 2018
...or--what?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXXXII)


Rain trips so lightly in the hallowed sense
Of keener silence listning to that frail
Step traffic rushes heedless through.  Birds hail
With merry notes and fragile, as from hence
Lo, crickets murmer like for all intents
The solemn ghost of patience walks here, pale
As Sunday's dimmer eye.  Clouds' masque the veil
Oer all, an airplane's voice sifts through, and whence?
Oh! how the maples' boughs rock, tinged as twere
By orange' first warnings of that rendezvous
With Death.  Winds caller as they whisper through
This calm, wool, tights, and tweed now, are not poor.
And if I mourn that I've ne lover fer
Whatever, somehow even that's not new.

07Oct18a
Titles, as all know, are rather tricky things.  And when I finished this particular stanza I drew a blank, then...presto?
Laura Sep 2018
We're both sweating
As the fan blows over
Our naked bodies
The air conditioner is broken
And we can't beat the heat
So we create our own

Passion between the sheets
"I love you so much"
You whisper in my ear
I close my eyes
To prevent the tears
But bring you closer
As we ******
And try to breathe
While I gasp,
"I love you too"

I hold your stomach
Hugging you tight
Kissing your belly button
Looking up into your eyes
You sit down and hold me
So I can bury my head
Into your stubbly, curly chest

"It's okay,"
"You can cry if you want to,"
You tell me
As I breathe heavily
Unsure of why
I'm even crying in the first place
You kiss my cheeks
After wiping away my tears
With your beautiful brown thumbs
I can't help but cry more
With every peck from your lips

You pour me sparkling cider
And kiss the raspberry apple bubbles
Off my lips
I try to stop crying
As I tell you
I love you
As I tell you
How important you are to me
But I'm drunk in love
And the tears keep falling
So you keep kissing them away
As you tell me it's okay to cry
Laura Sep 2018
Who am I?
What makes me so special?
To be loved in this world
To be loved in a time like this
When everyone is full of hate
And nobody can find it
In their black hearts
To be kind to anyone?
Who am I?
What makes me so special?
So worthy of love
When I'm just a nobody
Just a small speck of dust
In an endless wave of sand
A little pebble
On the bottom of the ocean
A tiny snowflake
In a blinding blizzard
Who am I?
What makes me so ******* special?
When nothing in this world
Seems special at all
Except the concept of love itself
Because it's so rare
Rohan P Sep 2018
red-breasted swallows chase
love on our
grave. She piles the earth, spoonful
by spoonful—

I see a torrent of brown
in her hair,
I see her dancing in the early
morning light.
i found something when we were apart.
pri Sep 2018
have i ever told you how your music sounds
-on soft sunday september mornings?
my apologies.

i imagine the world wakes up,
and expects there to be soft frost on the windows.
in reality, the leaves have barely begun to turn sunset colored.

we play soft jazz, something like, and waltz around the room.
we wrap our hair above our heads,
watching it droop ever so slightly until it’s puff is silken soft and messy.

and wait, until it comes time to run to school,
in those sweaters and jackets, to feel so a part of life,
jumping and dancing on cold aluminum bleachers.

the strangest thing is that i feel so close to you
-we can become the girls of dances and games and skates,
highschool sweethearts.

idly, i wonder if this strange sunday september morning
has made me wonder this,
because the music that plays in my ears seems to say yes.

it’s an ode to these girls of legend, the ones we define our lives by,
come together to watch, and slowly,
dance to the music and twirl.

also, did i mention, it’s a little dark,
because those sun rays i used to so love have truly run out and become outdated,
and the music becomes slower and turns into bright friday night lights in the dark.
inspired by the brobecks (check them out!!) and the coming of fall.
I died on a Sunday.
My body numb from her words
Punctured in my heart .
Breathless. I could not inhale the change . I buried the pain and turned the page .
My life was traded with the unknown.
I mourned the loss of the future and not the past. Everything I had hoped for was ripped from my grasp .
That was the end of me .
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