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 Apr 2019 JMB
Every time the sirens scream,
the blood in my hands grows colder the usual.
My chest aches in such a way I must hold myself
back from clutching it.
I breathe steadily- or as steadily as I can
as to not create a fit of panic.
But it’s terrifying.
Send a prayer to anyone whose
willing to listen and it goes:
Heavy brown eyes and a glinting smile saying hello
in a way that makes me want to cry tears of
Memories- innocent and pure with the wind in your hair.
And the siren continues to wail.
Being terrified that those firetrucks and ambulances are for the dangerous people you know and love.
 Apr 2019 JMB
When I press broken fingernails deep inside the
fleshy surface that is an anemic palm,
I am reminded-
I am real.
This is real.
Fourteen years old.
I remember the first time I got high
like it was yesterday,
but I can’t for the life of me
remember who am I.
Close-set eyes like brown almond paste-
(no my eyes are blue.)
This ****** body stripped of sin
only to mess it up again.
But I'm fine-
Everyone says so.
Fine like the wind in summer
blowing round and round cotton fairies.
And I press broken nails sharp like glass
into frail skin
if only to feel something.
But it never lasts long enough
to count.
 Apr 2019 JMB
my mother
 Apr 2019 JMB
My mother loves me like she loves the
rain when it pours and
pours and
joints that
curl ‘round their suppor-
-ting bones mercilessly.
And the pebble in her shoe
that makes blistering wounds;
She loves me like she loves my
Lack of Drive.
Determining how much the woman
loves me
is but a test untaken.
As without the rain
green drys black.
Even if
she only shows
the smallest
 Apr 2019 JMB
 Apr 2019 JMB
Every time I try,
I get this feeling in my stomach.
Some say they're butterflies.

But if you would call them butterflies,
They must be malicious ones,
Swarming and making me feel sick.

They're trying to **** me,
Sometimes I think.
Maybe it's for the best.

Maybe the butterflies are right,
And I should stop trying
But I hope they aren't.

The sweetest butterflies,
The ones that flutter and glitter,
They come when I'm around you.
 Apr 2019 JMB
I like who I am with you.

I like to laugh.

And I like your laugh.

I like being nerdy.

And I like how nerdy you are.

I like being happier

And I like seeing you happy.

I like being myself.

And I really like you.
 Apr 2019 JMB
 Apr 2019 JMB
Maybe that silence seems awkward.
Maybe it's not.

Maybe it's just empty space.
Maybe it's devoid of everything that could fill it.

Maybe it's just lacking sound.
Maybe the wanting to speak is still there.

Silence isn't always empty space.
 Feb 2019 JMB
Hannah Christina
Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?
Problems only We True Artists face.
 Feb 2019 JMB
Amanda Kay Burke
If I could turn back time
I would hit Backspace all day,
Id put on Caps Lock
and SHOUT what I say.

I'd use the whole Alphabet
To tell you hello,
Press seven Numbers
Til you picked up the phone.

I'd Tab through the comments
I didn't want to hear,
And use the Arrow Keys
To drag your body near.

I would Delete the harsh words
I didn't mean to speak,
And Insert the "I love yous"
I before couldn't leak.

I would use Ctrl to
Keep reigns over my heart,
And I would Escape lies
That tore us apart.

I'd Print out your photo
And kiss it goodnight,
Use the Calculator
To check that we were right.

I'd Paint you a picture
of us, you and me,
Then I'd hit Enter
Just so you would see.

Those are the things
I would do in my strife,
If only Backspace
worked in real life.
This is the first poem (that I have a copy of) i wrote that I actually thought was good. I was in seventh grade, twelve years old, and I wrote it for a newspaper competition. I knew it was really great but I didn't think I would beat all other applicants in the state in my age group. So you can imagine my surprise I'm sure when I DID win! That is the first time I was proud of my writing. So this one has a lot of special sentimental value. Thanks for reading.
Sorry to bother you
but I just have to say,
you bear a striking resemblance
to someone I knew once...

Were you there?

Were you there?
Probably not, but I confess

that it's refreshing to see
such familiar eyes on a strange face.
I'd drink it all in
if it wasn't probably laced.

Give it time.

I'll build up an immunity,
maybe even an affinity.
I'll drink your poison,
convince myself it's medicine,

If I could only get a proper dose.
A spontaneous poem I threw together off the top of my head.

Trying to work on not thinking so much about what I write and just tapping into the stream of consciousness.
 Feb 2019 JMB
personal hell
 Feb 2019 JMB
hell is a place where
you constantly love those that
do not love you back.
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