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Illya Oz Apr 2018
The insomniatic somnolence coats me.
16kHz of sound running through my eardrums.
Empty words written on the walls of bathroom cubicals.
The lifes of people who come and go,
Snagged on the emtpy soap dispensers.

***** lino floors folded at the edges.
The rattling sounds of doors locking around me.
Plastic seats flipped down to carry weights,
Of the people who come to just sit down.
The rusted hinges on doors I can't seem to leave through.

This is both my prison and my safety.
I'm sitting in cubical of my school bathrooms because I'm too anxious and depressed to go to class. The door to the bathrooms gets locked during class time so now I'm stuck in here
Lilly Gibbons Dec 2014
Not knowing where I belong; 
Here, at home or beyond?
Spreading thin, cut in quarters,
What became of the unity we fought for?

Afraid of the landscapes built upon
We paint over lived canvases,
Struggling to focus for too long,
Looking for the creative thread among the masses.

Saying we will settle in years to come,
Waiting for a moment telling us its time,
"Don't you know that settling isn't for some",
They shout as they search for a place to call "mine".

Firstly perched close to the shore,
Seagulls as a waking call,
Horizons as signs of furthermores,
Avoiding any reminder of the restricting city wall.

Secondly a little closer,
To those who we hold in our hearts,
Greeting mornings with a train tracks murmur,
What an adventurous start.

Then wishes slowly lost their power,
Landscape stretch to resemble concrete cubicals,
Lighting up in the midnight hours
Yet another sign of the lost will.

Third is when we return to where it all started,
A full circle without filling the core,
Was this what all the searching led too?
Is home where I began reaching for?

It doesn't need an ending, 
just a beginning and middle,
Endings are the one sure thing,
In life's great sodden riddle.

— The End —