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Rebecca Gismondi Feb 2017
my atoms

have always loved your atoms.

you caught me off guard
like a subway pulling too
quickly

out of Ossington Station

(I couldn’t ground myself)

you remind me of my last breath:
taut, slight but necessary

stay

with me

I still feel your words
growing up my spine
there are dead roses
covering my sheets from you

and although he picked them up
and wrapped new vines
around my front door
and gifted me jars filled with conversation

the tattooed pilot wings on his chest
are reminiscent of yours flying above me
Anna Skinner Feb 2017
a ceremonial silence fills the space next to me,
the exact width of your chest
a spectrum of sweat-stained sheets
and thick air
a heavy fan thrumming --
it can't replace the lack of breath sounds.

blast the hot water,
let the droplets sear my skin
marking countless valleys where your fingers should be
instead, i'm covered in minor burns,
heart chock-full of sadness

i search for you, but all i get is
a ceremonial silence
and a ****** fan
Sajeer Shaikh Feb 2017
The snakes sent by Satan,
Slither past our skin.
But you and I are special -
You and I are beyond sin.

The apple is forbidden,
But you and I have set our eyes,
On something that is much beyond
The realm of Paradise.
We met at the bar
No, I was way too young
We met at school
No, you were way too old
We met at 7/11
No, you wouldn’t have stayed and talked to me
We met taking a cigarette break outside the 7/11
No, you would smoke in your car
We met at a bar I was too young to be in
No, I didn’t go out like that when I was young
We met at the library
No, you don’t read
We met at the grocery store
No, you live a town away from me
We met at the Christmas concert
No, you hate organized functions
We met at Barnes and Noble
No, you still don’t read
We met at an underground music show
No, I wasn’t that cool
We met at the park
Maybe, but why were you at a park?
We met at a family party
No, it was a secret from them all alone
We met at an alumni thing
No, I wasn’t an alumni yet

Rewriting our history
To make art
Seems a little too much
Like lying

And fiction never
Really was
My thing.
Sajeer Shaikh Feb 2017
They gazed in wonder at the sky -
Colors splashed across the canvas;
Violet, blue, indigo,
Green, orange, red, yellow.
They called it picturesque, and then,
Went home to appreciate,
A man who had closed all gates,
On groups of people
Based on race,
Based on color,
Based on faith.
The hues of their skin were not
Enough to secure a place,
Within a world they sought to start
A new life, but they forgot -
The darker shades of their skin,
Made them kindred
To all sin,
Made it fair
To prevent
Any soul from stepping in.

Color, now, is an abuse,
If your skin,
Is all the wrong hues.
Phillip Knight Jan 2017
I caught a solar flare

It tore somewhere between your words
And my impending despair

You see I was taught to watch the world in three dimensions
To view life in bold colour

Yet sometimes
All I need are your black and white letters upon a flat page

I was the only challenge I really needed
It was you who told me;
I didn't have to be what they want.

I saw a star burst behind that flare,
Its silent explosion was beautiful within its destruction
And I questioned whether life ended there;
Or whether it was creation.

It turns out that I am lost without you.

There was an astronaut
...I believe
Caught between the flare and his own implosion on the outskirts of the explosion.
I watched him disintegrate,
His dust formed its own miniature universe
And when everything settled down
He was still there.

I thought about you
As the stardust in my eyes

As the droplets of ink

As the correlation of all the far reaches

We are three dimensional.
We are colour
Riding the cusp of a solar flare
On the verge of destruction
Yet,
At the birth of creation.

We are the stardust that lingers in the eyes of life.

I fail to see any other reality than us.
Maria Etre Jan 2017
Leave me
basking in the chaos
of my unstable mind
drunk on my fantastical thoughts
high on my imagination
and slowly tripping
into feelings
I know I can
pin down
to reality
with the tip of my
pencil
Michael Rucker Jan 2017
I lose myself when in the rain, closing my eyes to wake. Water pushing against my blood vessels, crying for the pressure to cease. Black rings surrounding my ocular cavity, collapsing in the sand. Waves crashing, clouds rolling. The oracle speaks a message...
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