Binx 5d
like the shoulder blades of a panther
my attention slowly rises and falls
you think you are special baby
but your name I can’t recall

you’re lost within the Amazon
away from everything you have ever known
as the rain fills the river violently
you're scared to be alone

the world doesn't seem so friendly
when surrounded by every language but your own
suddenly the things you loved the most
will shred you to the bone
tragedies Oct 2017
Happy anniversary.

Can you believe
That it’s been a year?
I can still feel the first time,
Your hands danced on mine,
A soft presence, almost shy.
I could barely pay attention
To the film playing on television
Because there, right beside me,
A story was already unfolding,
One that was far more fascinating
Than any other mystery.

And it was.
Here we are, a year later,
The story continues to be
The most gruelling mystery
Of two people ceasing to be,
Of you & I never becoming we,
Instead, a strange, foreign word
To each other’s vocabulary.
I thought we both saw ourselves
In this picture perfect future:
Lying together on crumpled sheets,
Watching Sherlock on repeat,
Reading poetry and drinking coffee,
A state of being indescribably
Happy.

We were never meant to be that.
Only a manuscript tossed in the trash.
We loved too little, and bled too much,
Too proud to break the silence.
Too scared to end the sentence.
So let’s scrap the ending,
And go back to the beginning:

Happy anniversary.
10.14.17
j.h
my first crush committed suicide.
i remember the hurt at a young age
from chasing him around his living room
begging him for a kiss.
from my young age i knew i wanted him
in my life forever.
through his weaves and gagging
running around the furniture and up the stairs,
losing him sounded foreign then
and having lost him now, still feels the same.
our fathers drank and our mothers giggled
born three months apart
our future planned together
both saying "i do"
uniting us all together.
life flew on by
us both fighting with ourselves
and downing the bottles underneath the bed
loaded and silenced
family portraits painted in red
long life memories all put to rest.
only one made it out alive
but it's hard to breathe
out of us how was it me
and you in a little box
where a diamond ring should be.
my mind keeps wondering
when will i stop chasing you
then my heart replays
every time you turned a corner
you looked over your shoulder
and how you smiled at me.
i miss you
Lynnie Defelice Dec 2017
My eyes are worn, my mind is torn;
taken by my swollen, mourning heart.
Love has become foreign, unfortunately,
I wasn't warned this would happen.
I'm left with unfocused vision,
frozen from being soaked in my
own tears. All I am is unnoticed,
broken. Taken at 2:00
from my own fears.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
I'm in Japan
With a
Cherry blossomed
Heart
And a sake
Breath

I see her every day
We talk
Sometimes
Most times

After

I find myself
Daydreaming
In high-corporate
Smoking rooms
And on
Tangerine rooftops
Looking at signs that
I can't read

Maybe

I can't read her signs
Speaking
Smiling
And waving too
I'm caught up in a shitty
Lost in translation-cliche
But I'm not really
Bill Murray

I'm just whatever
The day paints me as
In love
With a girl
That takes too much
Color from
My palette
And paints herself
As foreign as this sun

As beautiful as she
Knows
She
Is
Going away for a while.
kk Jun 27
words.
nomadic in nature. traveling across cities and states and countries and continents fluidly like liquid. the translation from lead to lips, however, may be the most arduous travel yet.
words.
lost. wan white against the black backdrop of my mind.
when my jaw unhinges, the magic is lost and those little travelers
stumble, crash,
drown in foreign ears.
consonants
plummet from my teeth
and lose their serrated
edges, crumbling like pliant cakes
under eager fingertips
vowels become
clipped
once they've rolled
down my tongue, their once sweet melodies
sharper
than a shiv-
words.
home. they're a broken kaleidoscope
against a canvas. so
jaggedly beautiful, interchanging hope
and anguish and no
anxious eye or mental interloper
can steal away my unaligned shine.
the pen and paper are my saviors,
the destination of my pilgrimage from foreign lands
where I come to terms with words
and worship them
once again.
i sure do suck at speaking. i suck at writing too, but at least i get to think about it first.
edit: changed some enjambment so that it was more meaningful
They told me Daddy went
to some Foreign fields
a nasty war to fight
for all that our Country stands for
Our Parents and Churches and Schools
that teach us wrong from right
When he went I tried to write a letter
but I couldn’t quite find the words
I prayed to God for
my Daddy to come back home
but I  do not think God heard
for my Mother answered
a knock at our door
and a telegram to her was given
It said instead of being
in those Foreign Fields
that my Daddy had gone to Heaven
I miss my Daddy terribly now
but I know when I am gray and old
that I shall one day go to Heaven
and will see my Daddy’s face
and his hand once again I shall hold
for all of the children who saw their Fathers go to War
Next page