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My words in writing will sit with you, and
They will not judge.  

They listen when no one else listens.
They will hear what you wanted them to say.

Then speak them to your heart.
Your black, you’re a democrat
Those are white are not quite
So they say, we must pray
to stay away
From the decisions that lead to racism

So they say
it was our very first meeting
but i already imagined,
how we’ll be cuddling
in years we won’t be counting
for himaru (suki na hito)
I’m so busted I can’t be trusted,
I’ve been stealing from myself
just to get high.
All the karma I’ve been making
is barely enough to keep me alive.
My account is in the negative,
my credit is a peace of mind.
I need a loan,
I need to borrow,
I need to find myself a wife.
Traveler Tim

Or get up off my ***!!
 4d CE Uptain
alia
Step 1: Smile.
Step 2: Forget why.
Step 3: Keep your voice steady
when your soul is not.
Step 4: Pretend it’s fine.
(Everyone else is.)

Step 5: Fold your feelings
into paper birds.
Set them loose.
Watch them burn mid-air.
Clap softly.
Repeat.

There is no final step.
You just keep going
until you don’t know
what breaking feels like anymore.
There is nothing more utterly heartbreaking than living a life unexpressed, a life without art.
We all carry art within us; truly, we are living art.
May your expression exist in its truest form.

-Rhia Clay
I

She exits herself on the
Sofa. Blanket, dog, and bits
Of a poem on a pad of paper

On the table, like a half-eaten
Piece of homework.
Shades of wine on her sleeping

Lips. Exits herself; space-walks
Outside that frame of mind she's
Been expected to hang herself

On the wall within; she knows
There is more.
There has to be more.

II

She has to be more.
Like so many writers, she falls
Asleep working. Sometimes

Works to fall asleep.
Digging her way through
Herself, mining for words,

Hacking away at painful pasts,
Gathering emerald experiences.  
Diamond doubts and ruby

Regrets all fuel her poetry.
And she reads, spotlight kissed;  
Audience adored,

Goosebump summoning; hairs
On arms and necks stand up as
She whispers directly to me.

About me. Because of me.
In front of everybody.
To music, and I've brought a box

Of pins, and between each of her
Every word, I drop one. And I
Swear to the gods, you can hear

Them all. Like the unsteady
Ticking of a clock too cool to
Care.

III

Poetry jewelry; set with stones
From her innermost. Chips of
Gold from her heart melted

Down to a key pendant she
Holds in her hand; chain dangling,
Eyes closed, forehead resting

Against a door she knows it is
Time to open. Key in one hand,
Pen in the other,

She
Enters
Herself.
Why do people,
give to you a compliment,
take back with next breath
Sometimes I cry.
With no reason to at all.
Yet the tears they fall.
Sometimes I think I'm dying,
to just get out of myself.
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