English Jam May 30
Boredom on a Sunday is inescapable
I try to hide it behind playing my musical instrument
Trumpeting with my trumpet - blowing my own horn -
I'm praying no one interprets that last sentence as an innuendo
Anyway, I'm nodding off, signing out of reality
The world goes hazy in a second
And I'm sucked into the vortex of a dream

Weird how when a dream begins, we immediately understand the situation
For this scene, I'm spewing blood from my spleen like a bottle of sauce squeezed too hard
It stains the leather of my vehicle
My foot is compressing the pedal practically to the floor, and the speedometer is twinged in half from all the pressure
The monolith of a highway I'm speeding on shakes as though giants stomp upon it
And the wail of a siren drives me into a frenzy as I try to escape the inevitable
Their polychromatic lights dance at the edges of my eyes, spurring rhythm into action
Even though they must be aeons behind, my heart melodramatically pumps in my chest as though the police are in the backseat
Blood bursting through my temple, thoughts wheezing by like someone's let go of hundreds of balloons  
Up ahead, the road twists itself into a knot of nothingness
My hands are wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly, I fear I might never be able to release them
It's a slight movement: right hand goes down, left goes up, but it kicks the vehicle sideways
My body slams into the car with a satisfying crunch and my mind spirals to spaghetti strands
Oddly enough, the world becomes rinsed with blue wash and I'm underwater

My train of thought becomes peaceful, melodic
I float about, running on the inverse of the waves
Here, even a scream is joyous as it sounds all bubbly and childish
Suddenly, a red streak runs across the ocean, chilling me to the bone and erasing all my bubbles
The sea becomes glittered with red and blue streaks, a warning
Bullets stab at my spleen, reminding me of the pain that was, and still is
And my body gears into a full 360, concluding my return to the real world
Or is it the dream world?
Oh well
Either way, I'm back in my car
Carelessly freefalling from nowhere
Weapons, glass, blood droplets, pocket change, pedestrians...all breeze around slowly
Pleading with me to wake up
Then

Everything crumbles, and I smack my ugly head against the window, splattering my brains everywhere
My car flew from the sudden turn and I crashed, I think
Now I lay, grasping onto consciousness while pedagogues staple me to the ground
The Lawman towers over me, grinning madly at my defeat
The most barbaric insult, however, comes from the radio, still magically working
"I fought the law and the law won," The Clash idly sing
One of my favourite songs turned into dark irony
The last I remember before blacking out is the scarlet and marine lights clashing forevermore

When I wake up, I'm face-down on the stony and icy floor
The cold burns me enough to wake me from la la land
The iron grip of the handcuffs feels very real
Words are forced into my head, not by my own design, but sort of like they've been placed there
An argument as to whether existence has a meaning is taking place in my head, and I can't stop it
Sort of like how in a dream, you can't control your thoughts or actions
Wait
This is still a dream, right?
Right?
Jay 5d
I woke up to a checkered reality
and the absolutes of abandonment
three-hundred miles from a meal
From the red velvet love I craved

From cream cheese acceptance
and everything bagels with
horseradish guidance, the kind that
Stings in your nostrils and
goes down sour, but resurfaces years
later. With sweetness like ice cream

I woke up to empty pantry lies
The kind to which self authenticity dies
and I fought on, hungrier than I’ve ever been
Skinnier than I’ve ever been
I woke up lying in bed, puking on myself, and lying
to everyone around me
“I’m fine,” I say
and it’s true as long
as the bile stays in my insides

I choked down the bitter pill
Choked on a bitter hand
Bruised myself on a baseball
one I had to throw and catch and
catch and throw
Alone for hours
before I could come inside

I licked my sweat and bile
from my face.
Swallowing my dried tongue,
I ran until I couldn’t breathe
for the father who told me to
for a glass of water
And last night,
I choked down a bitter bottle
to feel something a little sweeter

All the while, I dreamed
strawberry milk dreams of
a future, spinning like blue cotton candy
the blank, white canvas of a life to live
of your lips, stained blue with frosting
and bubblegum, passed from your mouth
to mine.
This is a poem about my journey, I guess. I had a pretty dysfunctional life growing up, and it's about fighting through stuff and coming out the other side. The last stanza is the trans pride colors. Because escaping from my reality and becoming the girl I felt like I was is the thing that gets me through all the other stuff.
elaine May 12
It took 15 years,
to realize
the hopeless nights I spent drowning myself with bottle
after bottle,
Was slowly rotting my body inside and out.

It took me 15 years,
To realize that
No one should have experience
your children  watch over you as you throw up leftover booze,
Being held up by little hands as I stumble around looking for the bedroom,
or slowly watching yourself tear apart a family because you are too full with the fact that you are the victim here in this situation.

It took me 15 years,
To realize,
I can never replace the moments I spent unconscious
Barely surviving a morning
Without a shot to get threw the day.

It took me 15 years,
To realize,
The pain I caused,
The hurt I felt,
The sorrow I provided,
And the hearts of loved ones I shattered.

It took me 15 years,
To realize
That I could live without a bottle in hand.

In that time,
I lost trust in many.
I messed up the family I loved.
I lost 15 years of life
But this wasn’t a message of my nightmare,
It’s a story of me
Finally
Waking
Up.
Brooke White Nov 2017
We were both in between romantic partners
& had had too much wine
en route to the Midtown Showroom of Alton Lane.
Two cut-glass tumblers were set out for us
And an open bottle of bourbon.
His hair closely cropped, worthy of a Kennedy
against an extraordinary array of classic fabrics.
Skirts floated like islands of shredded tulle under oversized jackets.
He’d come for the $595 option & left with the $895.
Kwa 2d
Inside the bottle are the voices.
Trapped and confined, 
she covered her ears and her eyes. 
Paralysed by the silent voices, 
she could only cry.

There she is,
just sitting there.
With her knees to her chin,
and her head down,
waiting for someone to hear her cry.
This is a poem about how we get haunted by the voices in our heads.
Forgotten bottle sits upon
chilled coster so long ago
in a couple of hours
Radio still plays hits
circulating through a long-dead heart
VIII, so it seems.
Key clicks,
five soldiers fall
into pre-drilled foxholes,
letting their guard down for only a second
to long,
just like any day though not
so much
head wrapped in a cocoon
never opening
to let the butterfly emerge,
more like suffocating it.
The very thing bringing new life
dies
Hoping for a new day of sunshine and rain
and telling my left from my right


...

wait,
foot or hand?


...
frogot my water bottle on my dresser.
radio playing tunes that I LIKE.
yep,
sounds about right.
;P
jas 16h
-it's the end-


it was the end of a heartache
it was the end of a nightmare
it was the end of one world
but not of the girl

never knew she was strong
for holding on for so long

heart at the end of the brink
she can barely breathe
trying to escape
aching to be free

-it's the end-

when is the end
and here she's begging
for the message
at the bottom of a bottle
can't find the answers
that's the problem

the end of beginning
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