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Andrew Rueter Nov 19
Standing on a narrow bridge
above heavy waters
holding a bag of rocks in my hand
rocks collected during vacations and at bus stations
are dropped to see the splash they make
for a moment, there is peace and stillness in the chaotic maelstrom
as the water separates to avoid impact
like Moses parting the Sea of Reads
the rocks only feel air on the way to the ground
the satisfying splash turns out to be a disappointing thud.
mint Jan 2018
We lay on our beds facing each other
Millions of miles apart

“It hurts.” She says, a tear slipping down the bridge of her nose and trailing against the seams of her other eye before finally landing on her pillow.


“I know.” I reply.

And I turn away from her.
Alicia Oct 2017
I had taken two steps farther again hoping you would notice the distance, but this time I fell off a cliff screaming for you to ask me to stay . I was floating, wondering, “if I died when I hit the ground would the bruises of my past hurt more than being gone?” I couldn’t decide so I just let myself fall. I was looking up to every sharp edge of my life that I had created as my body twirled through the air. I’m not sure why I couldn’t form any thought but “I wish I would have worn shoes, I always hated that my second toe was longer than my first”. Next thing I could remember was you shaking me. I could not figure out when I had reached the ground. You kept saying “please stay”, it was as if your voice was on some sort of prerecord loop. I had needed to hear those words for so long that when you finally spoke them I didn’t understand. How could you not keep your eyes open long enough to see I had been slowly walking away for quite some time. Why did it take the distant thud of my body hitting the ground to catch your attention? You had to realize; you are my only home. I had hoped for so long that you would remember to repair the roof and paint the walls that shade of yellow we loved. But the only bedroom that wasn’t falling apart was the one where you laid your head as you dreamt, and I wept.
not poetry just some words on my brain
Patrick H Aug 2014
you said to me
“Put the potato down”.
I examined the raw tuber,
clenched tightly in my hand,
like the first man
on a distant continent
to discover
this strange and ugly meteor,
with earthen smell
and cold rough skin;
it’s dead eyes staring back at me.
“Please, put down the potato”
I glanced at you,
unfurling my fingers
the potato fell to the ground
in an unceremonious

— The End —