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LC Apr 24
the minutes roll past her like tumbleweeds
as her eyes meet the melting, setting sun.
but in the blink of an eye, the night falls
and the hour wraps its arms around her,
keeping her warm and safe in time's embrace.
#escapril day 23!
Dominique Apr 19
then from the grimy floor
of the lavender fields' portaloo swells
an endless summer, and it creeps
up the blood orange walls;
each time i take a breath,
the plastic warbles like an underwater thing
we make little whooshes together  
it swells up and leaks out yellow

like i fear the girl's head will,
across the road,
all shaved and shiny like a soft boiled egg
fit to crack if the wrong car swerves
the wrong way...
anyway,
cancer?
at such a young age?

or the bees outside
springing up cushions,
decorative soaps, honey,
chocolate even out there from the earth
and i can't kick back and laugh
at how much they must be worth
because my god-

i'm scared of bees-

especially with the lavender
mingling with the sweat
in the soft part behind my knees
because what if they chose to stick there
and build empires from my flesh instead?

i'd be like that little girl;
as good as

anyway
sometimes my thighs conduct
like they're made of brass
and there's hail marys in the dust
tiny earthquakes caused by trucks
the tip of an ice cream cone
that isn't soggy

that's good enough

i stayed a little longer
than the trickle did
and you were sort of like the sun under a toilet door
and more importantly you get it

(this is partly meant as a joke- it's a stream of consciousness thing
although that moment really was some type of special)
LC Apr 14
at the end of the afterlife,
when the dust finally settles,
she climbs into a warm bed
made of soft, wispy clouds,
listening to lilting melodies,
from her childhood memories,
falling into a peaceful slumber.
#escapril day 13!
the sun beams down from the sky,
her golden rays begging for attention
of course i look, how could i not?
the sun is too stunning to never look at her
to never wish to hold her
she carries the warmth of a thousand kisses
in her stare
but it burns to gaze upon her for too long
she knows just how to hurt me
just how to make it feel like love when she does
if her love doesn’t burn, is it even real?
does she even care?
would you not burn for her love,
her unwavering presence and unending warmth
she is what keeps me alive,
so how could i not love her?
how could anyone not love her?
Lucy Apr 9
It was sunny today and I felt good,
It was weird cause I didn’t think that I should.
But the sun gave me hope - it made me feel warm,
What a lovely release from my inner storm.
Brendann Apr 8
There are approximately 470,000 words in the English language

4 syllables in “Hey, How are you?”

9 letters in “Beautiful”

3 words in “I love you”

And still

I can’t find a single thing to say

When your smile accidentally makes my day.
Free Verse.
I do not have to meet you
so I can say that you're beautiful.
I know that you are,
and I know that you are gentle,
I know that you are kind,
welcoming, and forgiving.

I do not know but one day,
maybe I'll meet you on a busy day
as a patient or as a doctor,
or maybe on a warm Saturday,
as you call my name
written on a venti frappuccino.

All these uncertainties
will eventually lead me to that one moment
where I can say, "it makes sense now."
Why I had to hold the wrong hands,
why I had to lie in wrong rooms.

One day, I'll wake up and look,
there's the warmest smile in the world,
with the softest eyes and gentlest touch.
And he'll be angry at me sometimes,
but never disrespectful, never violent.

I will hold on to the many years
that I will spend not knowing you.
Until then, I will let everything
to not make sense yet,
and ready myself for the perfect moment.
one day, I will read my poems to you.
Charlotte T Apr 2
Tender, outstretched hands — a gentle invitation for the touch of acceptance, of which I have waited patiently for. I now not only hear affirmations of growth; I feel them too. Through the blessings of beautiful opportunities, I have grown fruitful, which I pay for in eternal gratitude. I seep into the earth, the trees, wind and sun, and slowly slip into a warm oblivion.
J Apr 1
blaring down at me
sinking me with fired density
the Sun
against watercolored galaxies
I lift a hand
to keep me afloat?
To block out the rays.
I stare up into the cup of my fingers
the background makes it as though I
somehow
left fingerprint molds into the view
I lower my hand to admire the work
but it is not my hand, only birds
scattering in uniform
soft raven and charcoal against ripped blue paper
broad of daylight, I
stand in the middle of the world
every inch of skin
goosebumps rise
to greet the warmth with a kiss.
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