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Logan Robertson Aug 2018
Stuffed seals.
Sits shelf,
soaking sunshine,
standing sentry,
soliciting smiles.
Shoppers smitten,
strike smiles,
spending silver.
Storied seals,
send shoppers shrilling.
Somewhere,
seamstresses
stitch supplementary shipments,
shaking store,
sustaining sales.
Sales staff splendidly stock shelf.
Seamlessly.
Such salvation, seals seeks.
Successfully, seashells.

Logan Robertson

8/1/2018
JustHayy Oct 2018
December 7th

It was the seventh of December. The coldness and bitterness of winter, I could never forget. I sat on the floor of my still apartment, remembering the times we had spent here on the carpet. Speaking only with our eyes; our souls tangled tightly together, as if we were only one existence. I was reminiscing on the way you once fit so seamlessly between my thighs. My brain was racing at the memory of you’re fingers tracing my skin and hair. All the while, we stayed awake for hours watching for the sun to rise. I kept those feelings in a pretty Rx bottle, and on the days they flooded in, they weren’t so hard to swallow. The Notebook whispered quietly on the flatscreen, serving as a poor distraction while I sat and waited. I stared at my blank notebook page. I wanted to write you one last time. I wanted to write something beautiful, Incase you ever needed reminded. The same way I wrote you in the beginning. At the start of this journey, when you were freshly released from prison. When you had hopes of a new life you picked to spend with me. I thought it was story of love that we were writing. My anticipation grew as minutes were passing.My heart had been racing but it started collapsing. You said you were walking over, “See you in a bit.” I was already nervous, anxiously trying, but failing to hide it. Feeling an array of emotion, not one of them I was content with. My heart ache was raining, pouring from my eyes. Before our last encounter, I used to think I was good at goodbyes. I knew it was the end but I never really meant it. I tasted your lips one last time, they were flavored of sadness, regret, and resentment. I guess, I knew things were changing, transitioning with time, but the depth, the gravity I couldn’t fathom in my mind. Those drugs hit your veins instantly holding you a familiar captive. I’m jealous of the substances. I’m jealous of way they dwell  inside you. I envy the way your warm, soft lips invite them. They caress all your darkness and whisper to your demons. They get to trace along the cut outs of your skin and dance along the structure of your bones. They get to be where I should be, where I once called home. They get to be what I only dreamed to be for you. They get to finish the story I had only started writing with you. I hadn’t scribbled out one word, as I heard the twist of the **** on the door. As soon as our eyes met, on the very last one, of our just one mores. I saw what used to be you, the phantom of the man I fell into. I saw what looked like you, but was nothing more than the shadow that drowned me in a dark downpour.

-JustHayy
Probably needs proofread and edited but my laptop wasn’t working so I used my phone.. :) deal with it.
ryn Aug 2014
There are many different masks that adorn my wall
Always at the ready for such time they would be needed
Each one of them summoned to answer a specific call
Each one of them used so that the truth can't be uncovered

With time and wear these masks grow all the more necessary
They protect me from situations that render me vulnerable
Kept contained all the emotions that I wish to bury
Kept in check all of my thoughts so I stay capable

I've had these masks for as long as I can remember
Afraid if they have begun to redefine the true me
They assume their roles seamlessly as if it's second nature
Their roles they would assume without fail, ever so diligently

But as much as they would protect from my own naivety
They also would protect others from the words that I wield
These poison-laden words fueled by my poor misguided sanity
Could easily stab and wound if not for the masks that shield

Often wondered these masks if I've ever taken them off
And function as is without hiding behind bolted doors
Would I be able to walk the line without temptation to scoff
Will I be compassionate yet honest; without causing new-found sores

Such a tough questions to which the answers I know not
Despite having pondered till my head grew sore and weary
Something I should have done before delving in deep thought
Is to now remove the mask that my face does carry
Chrissy Nov 2017
Your clothes,
my back.
Your scent
entangled in every inch
of the fabic.
It was my favorite part
of being drowned
in your clothing.
Your scent.
Your safe presence.
No longer.
On the ground, drowning in your clothes
after you promised
it’d never happen again.
Round number 8 now.
Tears seamlessly running
down my face. Drowning.
Your scent, a reminder of each broken promise.
A prisoner of your love.
Chained by your clothing.
Drowning.
Held captive by your scent.
ryn Sep 2014
Fetch me out of my case
Handle with care my prized lacquered face
Rest gently my wooden veneered base
Cradle my neck and prepare to lace

Wipe off my fret with a towel
Gift to me your first string
Fasten one end with a dowel
More to do before I sing

Other end, goes into my head
Through one pinhole, allow some slack
Remaining strings, the same you will thread
Strung side by side, along their tracks

Now tighten, wind them taut
Work away the looseness
Stash aside all other thoughts
My voice almost heard albeit tuneless

Here I lay; quiet and strung
You'd have to give me my voice
Then I'd speak but only in your tongue
Then I'd sing only if it's your choice

Prop me up, caress my earthy spine
I'd mouth your words according to pitch
United through movement, manipulate my lines
Your script; my mouth, seamlessly we'd stitch

Your fingers, they twitch and flick
Willing the most lifelike of gestures
Rising and falling of my strings you'd pick
Whimsical dance between slaves and masters

My body over which I have no control
Helplessness overcome my entire being
In my fibres, grains and knots, bore no soul
Without you I lay limp; close to nothing

You need me to project your speech
I need you to make me feel alive
Off of each other, we'd feed and leech
As both hosts and parasites, together we'd thrive

I am one of yours but not the favourite pet
I am just an extension of your unfortunate self
I am wood, dead and lifeless; a strung up marionette
Not a guitar but your fancy puppet sitting on the shelf
Amanda Nov 2018
We once fit together seamlessly
Somewhere along our route we began unraveling
Memories of us became clouded with betrayal
Sometimes I have to ask myself Why?
I guess every good thing comes undone eventually
Another ****** attempt at freeverse. I'm trying to expand my horizons.
Saint Audrey Jan 2018
The softest whispers of
Past ideas, and inclinations
Postulating long ignored dreams
Of long dried progenitors
Upon which we now look down

From the mouths that pour out banal well wishes
To the frozen digits, attached to architects and engineers

Most come to understand the past lies in fragments

Crucial details overlooked, time and time again
Lost amid a sea of bleak optimism
Futurism has its place, along side the winds
The ones that bring the same tired tides

I've drawn myself yet another line in the sand
The definition is as lucid as I could possibly be
Maybe a reflection of identity
It keeps shifting

Stepping forward, though unsure why
Commandeering tidal waves
Building bridges between figments in the skies
Attention drawn
To the edges of half way signs

"Onward and forward", the dead still proclaim
Long after the earth is packed
After death, so many still remain, if for the moment
Apparitions, spiritual possession of discourse
Tearing away from the pale, and digging deep into the fresh crop

You'll be gone soon enough
Into the standstill, though
The dead see it differently

Cosmic mistrust, a classic case
To free yourself from the very shackles
Blood had prepared you for, oxygen raised you for
Natural order now spurned
Floor to ceiling, ceiling to walls
Connected them seamlessly

What are you still fighting for, now?
Noah Sep 2018
Beauty of this effortless.
I did not come to swallow of guilty tongue,
Though rightfully, it has been made done.
Having been I to pronounce in unrightful bearing,
Brought down in redeeming unveil in the turning toward you.
My eyes were told to ration my love in foreign experiences,
Such a time that I couldn’t hold back.
Time ran like a moment of memory,
Which was the cause for all motion to remain.
Your defining passerby moment made me consume silence,
Unfolded your presence, expressed your moment to not forget.
Showing guiltiness of my dissonant mind.
Beauty of not any effort, I became an atonement and could not say.
Forthwith that moment, this stride, yours.
To glimpse what I became aware.
Seamlessly this path was made more.
Evermore I mourn to relive it.
So there’s a girl across the street
A girl to whom he’s grown accrete
A girl he’s just to scared to greet
But yet still he sits and hopes

You see she’s in love with Darren
However Darren’s in love with Karen
And Karen sits and stares at Bob, who’s probably ***, probably not,
But still he drools over Linda,
Who’s stare is blank and barren,
Pointed at the anti-nerd, football loving, guru Darren.

Yes it’s really that simple,
Forget love triangle, more love enneadecagon,
Gone,
That reminds him, as it hits his head like a hadron,
Gone,
Are his hopes of him and the girl across the street.

Her features to him, were long developed similes,
They came to his brain, seamlessly, chemically,
Of course he’s never express these feelings formally,
But to him they acted as a soothing love remedy.

Her eyes were golden like caramelised sugar,
Or the enticing qualities of slowly melting butter,
Each eye, a galaxy waiting to be discovered,
And yes he means the chocolate bar.

Her hair is crimson like strawberry laces,
Which reminds him of the disadvantages of having braces,
But he braces himself as though it’s his duty,
Braces himself for an overwhelming amount of beauty.

She talks to him about all the awful things that guys do,
She then says she wishes that more guys were like you,
She says she wants that guy to show up this year,
But what she doesn’t see, is that that he’s standing right here.

So there’s a guy across the street
A guy to whom she’s grown accrete
A guy she’s just to scared to greet
But yet still she sits and hopes

You see he’s in love with her neighbour,
A chore that she knows can be a labour,
Yet she knows she can be the saviour,
Because she is even greater

So one day to no surprise, he’s looking out with eager eyes, they lock eyes, butterflies, quite surprised, more butterflies, they remain like that til sunrise, emotions start to normalise, then fluctuate because of those **** butterflies.

So there’s a girl across the street
A girl to whom he’s grown accrete
A girl he wasn’t scared to meet
And now they live and bond

Because that girls in love with Darren,
However Darren’s in love with Karen,
But who cares,
They have each other for the rest of their days

And beyond.
imai Feb 22
She controls her laughter,
lets it slip from the edge of her mouth,
the corners of her lips lift ever so slightly,
then, she makes a sound,
seamlessly, her fingers graze my thighs,
smoothly, her eyes meet mine,
and in her eyes, I see my reflection—
aflame, abashed, and fiery,

She is the answer I’ve scoured the world for,
and yet, she, herself, remains a mystery,

Ah, I see,
She controls her laughter
as easily as she controls me.
Inday Mar 15
She wakes up with a shock, feeling the blood boil from her head down to her toes, its the sound of that door.

The repetitive sound of that door slamming is a reminder of the poison in her life who seamlessly seeps into her heart continuing to infuse her mind with hate.

That door is used for a swinging entrance into her soul leaving it with touches of darkness until she simply can't understand how to love another person; how to empathize with another's time of distress. She loses touch, suffering to understand what love is.

The life who uses that door brought her into this world and smothers their existence with cold truths, lies, neglect, and stories of their past; inflicting damaging images and thoughts that cannot be unheard.

She's a fighter and won't give up but they persist to acknowledge their unreceptive response to her cry's for help, it destroys her light, leading her down the path where the poison starts to consume all her thoughts and distorts her rights to express herself or any emotions, with the constant feeling of never being heard.

You built the darkness in her with every layer effecting even the smallest of challenges in life, however, you ignited the fire inside her for her to continue....
Abby M Nov 2018
Threads of people winding by each other, clumping and then seamlessly slipping past.
I try to blend in but I feel like I’m too slow or too fast.
My skills at reading crowds are on the lower side.
Yet I love being in crowds, amongst so many you can hide.

People running everywhere, and I’ve nowhere to go
But that’s fine with me if these are people I don’t know
Their eyes slipping right past me, neither towards or away,
They simply disregard me, nothing warrants naught to say.

This is how I want it, yet I can’t help feeling that
It’s hard sometimes to be the one that everyone forgets
I don’t want that at all, now that I think about it more
For how could they forget me if they’d not seen me before?
Aimin Dec 2018
My mind feels
As though it
Flickers.
“Tick,
Tic,
Ti,
T.”

To experience ADD
is to have your brain
Switch between
Six different channels,
Six different themes.
It will always feel like you are
Rocketing between things.

In the span of a second,
Your mind will explore the dying children
In Mozambique.
In the next ponder,
Your mind indulges in the roleplay of
Naruto and the pink-haired chick.

I have no power over
Who dances in my play.
I know they bring flames,
But I’m uncertain as to
Who is managing the stage.
I am the director of this show, yet
I was banned to say.

The show has no ending, no beginning,
My life didn't come with instructions.
So I ****** it up and just lived with it.

In the moments that I daydream,
I always force myself to be in the present.
In fear that the world will think
I'm too dumb or complacent.
But that's just how my brain works.

Ten seconds gone,
I am travelling across the pool.
A red bruise on my lips and
A ***** on my tooth.
I ask myself again,
Then and there,
How and when
Did I get this bruise?

It can be such a disadvantage,
It can be such a gift.
To be wholesome in a way,
But to also lack the basics.

I feel like I’m constantly living between
The two binary opposites.
As regulating emotions
can become a huge problem
I  may have creativity and the sway,
But I'm also managing my impulsivity every day.

Do you know
Why I zone out
And lose focus?
My world inside
Can just be too chaotic.
But trust that I'm working on it.

Regardless,
I know this faucet will flow seamlessly
And being more aware of this condition
Will only help me manage it.

So what have I to lose,
In the midst of this plight?
I’ve been writing a lot of poetry,
Haven’t I?

AOA
Zoe G Feb 14
The way it goes is as so

Time is given to be dragged out
sometimes you have
nothing
to talk about
and time goes on
with meaningless
phrases
as silence has
always captivated the ages

Or when you have something
meaningful to say
to someone who's  
purpose is beyond
your vocabulary
somehow
in
someway
time seems to
seamlessly
slip
away
Bella 4d
Still yet still in motion.
I lay here ever questioning.
How we all came to be?
Why have we encountered certain  tragedies?
Must I love all the things I see?
Are you and I supposed to be?
Is it all a dream?
I slowly forget that I’m spinning.
Laying here focused on my ceiling.
Dreaming about all the possibilities.
Every thought that seamlessly traces my mind is divine.
May we all be dreamers.
In the day.
In the night.
Wide awake.
Fast asleep.
There’s always a new dream.

— The End —