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 Dec 2015 woelita
i am 18 years old and i've kissed 17 boys. i've passed 16 classes, and cried at school 15 times. sophomore year i missed 14 days of school. i've figured out 13 ways to say "i didn't do my homework," and i am halfway through the 12th grade. my longest relationship lasted 11 months. i once left a picture up for 10 minutes, and received 9 comments about how unacceptable my shirt was. i have gone through 8 best friends and 7 phones. i've gotten lost on the road 6 times and i have 5 friends i plan to keep in touch with for the rest of my life. at my first job, i made $4 an hour. i've fallen in love 3 times, i've seen two therapists and i'm still holding on to this one thought that everything is going to be okay.
everything is going to be okay.
 Jun 2015 woelita
I spent
my life
designing a
between myself
and the
world of
But the
border was
breached by
a world
so sick,
with hearts
of stone
and minds
of brick.
You like my bird-sung gardens: wings and flowers;
Calm landscapes for emotion; star-lit lawns;
And Youth against the sun-rise ... ‘Not profound;
‘But such a haunting music in the sound:
‘Do it once more; it helps us to forget’.

Last night I dreamt an old recurring scene—
Some complex out of childhood; (***, of course!)
I can’t remember how the trouble starts;
And then I’m running blindly in the sun
Down the old orchard, and there’s something cruel
Chasing me; someone roused to a grim pursuit
Of clumsy anger ... Crash! I’m through the fence
And thrusting wildly down the wood that’s dense
With woven green of safety; paths that wind
Moss-grown from glade to glade; and far behind,
One thwarted yell; then silence. I’ve escaped.

That’s where it used to stop. Last night I went
Onward until the trees were dark and huge,
And I was lost, cut off from all return
By swamps and birdless jungles. I’d no chance
Of getting home for tea. I woke with shivers,
And thought of crocodiles in crawling rivers.

Some day I’ll build (more ruggedly than Doughty)
A dark tremendous song you’ll never hear.
My beard will be a snow-storm, drifting whiter
On bowed, prophetic shoulders, year by year.
And some will say, ‘His work has grown so dreary.’
Others, ‘He used to be a charming writer’.
And you, my friend, will query—
‘Why can’t you cut it short, you pompous blighter?’
 Aug 2014 woelita
Maggie Emmett
Underwater light faceted
in the enormous aquamarine
set in bronzed stones.
A pale green mist lifts from the pool
follows the lantern lit pathways
back to the dark and shady places
edging to the olive grove
and the blackness
of the wych elms
and the limes
enclosing the garden
like impenetrable walls.

Here, on a very warm night
with a honeysuckle, jasmine breeze
heady, rich and almost liquid
You can stand on the sun-filled stones
stretch and hold
the heart-breaking sweetness
of the night.
let’s sit down and have a talk
i want you to know i took a walk
alongside the river

i looked upon the moonlight
reflecting off the lake that night
thinking about this issue

i think it’s time i’m going to say no
to myself and let this go
because i’m so tired

tired of how i’m getting hurt
seeing you being a flirt
what am a man to do

stand by and do nothing?
this feeling i have is so disgusting
i just want to walk away from all this

i cherish the friendship
but i can’t stand the tension
the love that burns in my heart

the pain, i can’t take any more
in this darkness, the love i’m groping for
it’s not going to be there when i fall

this my dear, i bid you adieu
good bye is what i will wish you
and all the love you will find
As the flowers bow their heavy heads at the cusp of early winter,
In such a way do I withdraw, as freezing rains begin to fall.
When the dew becomes the frost, summer's grass recedes into the earth.
So do I surrender, stumble, and finally retreat within myself.
When the rain begins to pour upon the sand, it seeps between the grains and soaks into the ground
And in this way, my musings dissolve into the ocean of my mind.
The leaves of trees have long since fallen, trodden underfoot
As have my aspirations, love, and longing for the warmth.
Budding bushes, noting winter's cue, fall into their dormancy
As I close my eyes, let out a sigh, and lurch into a snowy sleep.
This sounds a little glum, but in all actuality I love winter and snow. In fact, if it wasn't 1:45 AM and I didn't have a cold I'd be sledding in it right now.
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