cherry-red pout
of cherry-red doubt
glazed over dirt
sickened stains on new white shirt
acting so hurt
nothing could never come worse

trace circles in the sand
the triangle of hands
secrets in the breeze
newfound ease

always waiting
fate keeps baiting
wander like you’re lost
not waiting to be found

It would be me to drag you onto the dance floor not knowing how to actually dance-
Resorting to kissing instead.
Things work differently in my head and you are living proof that
They always work out in the end
(More or less.)

You are my dream but like none I have ever had before,
Or indeed could ever dream of having;
You are incredible and make me
Unbelievably happy.

There is just something about you.
And by something I mean everything but
'Something' is one of your favourite songs so I thought I had better put that in for the sentiment.
I am nowhere near as clever as you and
I am trying to keep up:
One poem at a time.

Are we underneath a diamond sky
Or simply in the sky with diamonds?
No matter.
     (Stuff like that does not matter.)
It is a beautiful notion, but unbearably quaint,
Just like the idea of making Love wait.

If your sweetness could be poured into a glass,
I would drink every last drop of it and be rid of
This bitter taste in my mouth- the very same that
Taints the buds of youth to misconstrue my perception of:
'What is hazard and
What is beauty?'

Each thought of you releases a butterfly from its golden cocoon and
Every time one lands on my skin, I invite it to drink nectar deep from within.
In other words:
I no longer reach for the leeches as soon as I wake up- I no longer feel the need to bleed-
Because I have been sleeping on a bed of daisies ever since we met and,
Even as I continue to fall,
It does not hurt.
You are my dream.

Thank you
Patrick 1d

Summer nights, wind combing thu
Our hair, shitty stereos pounding
Hard as our hearts the first time
We sucked on a damp joint

Wandering the haze of adolescence
Nothing looked right, high school divas
Drank from our veins like vampires
All for a soulless ten minute fuck
     In her Dad’s Sequoia

Eight to three learning for learning’s sake
Friday nights swaying drunk in the stands
A section over from our parents who
Drank away the same problems

Kindergarten sorted us by height
Now the oligarchs send us on our
Way with a two-digit destiny and
A rock to roll up our hill  

Empires rise and crumble to dust
But just as the seasons are such
The cycle of vanquished youth
Blooms and dies evermore

tamia 1d

Such a fool, I once was,
to even dare to think of us!
But still I don't regret a thing,
for you once made my dear heart sing.

Carmen 3d

I was 6 years old and my mother
said I had words in my mouth
that came from an old woman's tongue.
Words and letters came to me
before I knew how to
open my unripe jaw

I was 8 years old and my teacher
told me to speak more
that the words I had on paper
were too grand to be ignored.
- but I was too silent and too afraid
of all the mouths that would open
before I could whisper "Just wait."

I was 11 years old and my brain
spoke so loud it was screaming
at my tongue to move
but before I formed a syllable
but before my jaw opened
my raised hand was ignored.

I am 18 now and my heart
finds comfort in the secret familiarity
of bleeding what my brain cannot
release onto pages and pages
of blood
of sweat
of tears
of poems that mark the place of a girl
well beyond her years.

tamia 5d

loveliness in all you do
rhyme and rhythm in every move
a heart of gold, a heart so true
the universe lives in you

i love you more, each day goes by
and there are countless reasons why
i'll never let them pin your wings
so i can watch you fly

This pillow, my pillow,
smells of many young women,
but of no one I’ve loved,
or can even remember,
except for you.

Written a lifetime ago!

black skirt climbing up her shining thighs…
she pulls it down and the excitement dies

from the men around her: “damn, she’s fine!”
looking up from her phone- she’s next in line.

“may i see your id?” asks the giant,
she shows it to him- acting compliant.

female, black hair, brown eyes, twenty-one.
everything checks out- “stay safe, have fun.”

once she steps through those guarded doors,
she puts her pvc plastic back inside her michael kors.

no ‘x’ on her hand, but an ex on her mind-
she steps onto the dance floor and begins to grind.

many men manage to embrace her swaying hips,
bite her beautiful neck, and kiss her thirsty lips.

from their mouths flows a river of lies,
while hands below swim up sweating thighs.

she’s feeling ecstatic, but he wants more,
her “friends” watch as he carries her out the door.

to say “yes,” she’s in no position,
so he advances without a proposition.

the next morning when she wakes,
in funny places her body aches.

next to her he’s fast asleep,
her phone rings: bleep, bleep!

texts from her “friends” fill her screen-
things they typed, they did not mean.

“we’re worried…  where are you? text me the address!”
she gathers her things and pulls down her black dress.

tiptoeing through his apartment, she quietly closes the door.
she’s quiet in the car still, afraid of being called a “whore.”

when they asked her to come out that night, she said: “i don’t like partying anymore.”

Connie Lee Jan 10

How long has it been since they were last together?
She remembers the first rainy dinner and the soggy bread.
She remembers the road trip to California, lost on the road forever.
The first picture taken of them embracing hasn’t left her mind.
After they hugged, she snuck a peck and he turned Venetian red.
She remembers the way he sang out on the streets for change.
His voice, only one of its kind.
What she’ll always remember is how he started acting strange
and how the little blue pill box wasn’t what she thought.
Struggling, he had one foot in adulthood,
the other fighting to keep him in his youth.
She remembers even though they were so in love,
she couldn’t see and misunderstood.
She shook those thoughts away
and got her head down from above.
35 and now just seeing the truth
of how a little blue pill box can cause a strife.
She knew now, for the rest of her life
he would always be the angel-faced boy and nothing more
because he would forever stay 24.

chloe fleming Jan 10

He was youth-
Undeniably naive in the way he looked at me,
Like I could build skyscrapers with trailer park hands.
His smile was sweet,
Like frosted cupcakes and sugary lips that only spoke delicate words.

He was youth-
In the way he laughed, tossing his head back with ignorant bliss.
In his eyes that lit up with the sight of stars,
And him imagining me as one of those beautiful, perfect stars.
Ignorant in the way he loved so carelessly and so freely.

He was the youthful gust of air that blew straight into me.
So childlike in the way he told me sweet nothings like they were law,
And I was a citizen inside of his arms.
He was the youth I needed at a time when I was too old to fight it.
The youthful facade that only lasted while feeling it.

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