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Francie Lynch Mar 2017
The children would be packed and ready days in advance.
At first, we packed for them, but as the years passed,
They were experts at rolling clothes for twice the space,
Using laundry baskets rather than luggage tripled our carriage.
We'd leave early Saturday morning, almost night,
Departing from the Ontario weather like a bad odour.
Kathleen was away at school.
Mags and Andrea were in their teens now.
Ten years of March madness was terminating.

Herself would sit shotgun with Triptik and thermos.
The kids would awaken south of the Ohio,
Hungry, grumpy, and eager.
She had it all planned out.
Crosswords, colouring, wordfinds, books, Gameboys, lace,
Sandwiches, juice boxes, treats of all sorts,
For another twenty hours on the road.

I invariably imagined our Mini in the return lane
As we crossed the Bluewater Bridge into Michigan;
Trip over, kids exhausted, us, quiet, subdued,
Just wanting our own bed.
But twenty hours on the I-75 lay ahead,
Turn left at Knoxville
For Myrtle Beach, sun, tennis, seafood,
Separation.

I found no peace in our final escape.
Conversation with her had halted.
A round-trip of dialogue in my head.
She'd said, I bought a house.
Words wrapped like an egg-salad sandwich.
It was our March break.
Enjoy your holiday.
Andres Mar 2019
my head could last for days
my head could think up a hole
It would take me a minute to try to distinguish a cold shoulder from cold
or maybe I’m something nice looking to ****
With men, that just be my luck,
Never know if it’s something to fear or if it’s truly something to trust,
but baby, you should stay, my head told me you wanted to go
I can’t take another heart break, so my heart, let’s just take it slow
Do you mind just actually leaving,
It would hurt less without an explanation
I’ve never felt worthy of one longer than a couple words,
Lonely and broken in the heated train station
my feelings and ego go away as soon as i look at your eyes
But come right back up on late night train rides
I wanna text you, but you’ll probably be suffocated
don’t expect gifts on my birthday unless it’s belated
momma reminds me to not settle for less than I’m worth
but momma don’t know that for love I’m a serf, for love, I’ll rebirth
But no worries, the couch is super comfy tonight
Your quickest replies are the ones that say goodbye, or so it seems,
My head is spinning like carousels after hours and behind the scenes
Shoot my heart like you on a dolly, got every angle
Hold my hand like you know who i am, baby, what can you handle?
I’m a mess inside and when I’m without you it spews
So doctors resort to telling me
“Honey, go sit in the pews”
But prayer to god, pray to allah and mami, nada me sirve
Y mami, con este dolor, amor nunca me hace libre
So anxious, and nervous, with no repercussions
So baby hit hard, slept w several concussions
Not the ones you think you got
But the ones that hit you in parking lots
You thought he would love you, but you can’t be loved
You thought it was his treat, end nights in Hyatt’s
Rent out a Beamer, **** it, a fiat
And baby you got me
Baby you got me

I wish i could see you and look in your eyes
I’ll sing some long and distracting lullabies
Don’t focus on the man you never signed up for, hes been through it all
You really wanna find a place with some privacy when weather gets cold in the fall?
his sisters running his life
And his parents not fit for the world
and if these planets don’t stop ******* moving, i swear I’m just gonna hurl
My body is broken in all the right places
if i don’t leave, he’s smashing all the glass vases
I should relax, pay attention to what makes sense
I’m over here in round two with my brain, playing chess
If you have hidden motives, would you promise to reveal?
If i had all these scars, would you help me to heal?
I have important questions to the subjects that matter
if something doesn’t go my way, it’s mind over the latter
My feelings are unattached, it’s my brain getting it twisted
So i think I’ll just go home and get myself lifted
blowing through cartridges like my gameboys too brolic
Can’t go a day without it, like a ****** alcoholic
I like you a lot, but my feelings won’t grow
I stress you a lot, but only on the low
I **** with you heavy, but my body’s too light
we could share stories in a dark room restricted of sight
Maybe you could feel what i feel and see what i see
I learn thrown in the deep end, but forget all out in sea
i added some Spanish in there.
I’m trying to be vulnerable with you. Spanish is my family’s language, and it’s my family. To speak to and about you in Spanish is to do it fearlessly. Challenge your language.
I learned that as opposed to living a life that is full of prediction and control, you could live a more fulfilling life of vulnerability. Risk your emotions, be the first one to take that step. Life rewards those with growth.
rhbee Feb 2014
Robert Ardrey posed the question for the ages
When he offered up his treatise on rats in cages.
As space recedes, said he, the pace of life leaves us no
Time to breathe, crowds in, forces us to cross against
The yellow to red light, doesn’t wait nor hesitate.
While the breath of fresh air becomes the fetid exhale,
Heat, the result of speed,
Expands each encounter’s
Press
Sure as a cavein cuts off
Light
Turns day into night, begins the claustrophobic’s fright.
Crushed against each other, each instant seems longer and so the
Press
Sure grows – We move – Race against
The red light or even more (maddeningly)
Cruise through it at the end of the line obdurately refusing to look left or Right.
You know this truth even as you sit in denial waiting for the last car to
Hurtle
Past and the cars behind you begin their honking cry
All ready to race to where the next lights lie. And even each recognition of this act of speed compressing,
Instead of giving us peace,
Becomes another form of the press
Sure to push us even faster.
Ever closer to the edge that’s despair. Consumed, subsumed . . .
Our terror turning ist.
And meanwhile, there it is blinking, the cursor light winking,
With it’s only eye – telling us
That it’s Pentium (TM) process can take us there,
Race us there out into inner space,
Our gameboys palmpiloted.
Our implanted synapses
Imploding at Warp 8.
Which seems great, until
We realize like the Star Trekkers we so wish we were
That that is the speed at which our universe begins to disintegrate,
Begins to un relate.
And only Super (the person that is) man can reverse our fate,
Can retract the boarding gate,
Can reinvent the late great time when we all had a little  SPACE . . .
Kenzie Cox Jul 2018
Over generations we’ve become a broken society
In the 50’s we had Elvis and Poodle Skirts
In the 60’s we had Grease and Viewfinders
In the 70’s we had Dancing Queen and Jumpsuits
In the 80’s we had Billie Jean and Leg Warmers
In the 90’s we had Beanie Babies and Gameboys
Now we have people who run into fountains while on their phones
Now we have people scared for their life because of gangs and guns
Now we have people being shamed for their bodies and the number of suicides are awful
Now we have a society that expects us to be perfect...when really we just need to go back to the times where people got along better and have fun
Thomas Wood Jan 2020
It used to be simpler.
Workloads were lego
and gameboys were bigger.
The world was greater
when rainbows were an end
to be followed, by the intrepid
and yelling storm-chaser.

How to spend my gains,
when youth drifts further
and further away?
On more lego? The toyseller
would laugh and say
I was mad. So I shall show
to the world that I am old-
Swear on my quietly thinning soul,
at rainbow's end I found no gold.

— The End —