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Willard May 2018
I want to be a crab cake
because I like tall buildings
perpendicular to highways,
penthouse balconies
thirty meter diving platforms.

whenever in San Fran,
i pancake my hands together
so i don't do impromptu Physics
eyeballing skyscrapers.

I want to be a crab cake
because I like tornado sirens
at two in the morning,
someone fetal position mouthwash drunk
in the bed next to me.

whenever in Birmingham,
i listen to my headphones;
tinnitus a siren wail
long after the flight home.

I want to be a crab cake
because I like bridge collapses;
infrastructure devastation
west of Florida,
killing all granola exports.

whenever in Portland,
i waitlist college signs
and estimate the weight limit
of a commuter bridge.

I want to be a crab cake
because the sunsets here
give me panic attacks.

it used to not,
but enough honey has built up
so bees swarm the bonnet
whenever there's a
blood orange tint.

I want to be a crab cake
because I don't like
the seafood here

or Sushi Pier discussions
of future trajectories
while rain pours on our
trout marinated in
Tahoe Tessie **** water.

I want to be a crab cake
because the mountains
bug me out.

i want flat land
where there are
blood prints on highways,
broken families in Tornado Valley,
and remains of promising bridges.

i want to be a crab cake
because i want the world
to eat me up.
um, yeah, poetry.
The Jolteon Feb 2019
Drag around this weight
With nowhere to drop it
Telling myself stop it
Don’t focus on your worst times
I’m just scared
For the people I love
I don’t want to slip
And crush them
It’s too much to carry everything on your own. My insurance rejected my request for coverage of therapy, and ive been on a waitlist for a clinic for 3+ months. Trying to heal myself but I need different kinds of help, I need help unloading all my thoughts.
Elena Mazhuha Jan 2021
It was a dream, a moment of weakness,
A tiny trifle in the sea of salt;
The time and space were put on a waitlist
By our drunk and wandering souls.

The people beyond our timeless bubble
Didn’t exist that cold winter night,
They vanished to let us get in trouble
And those who remained became blind.

Warm sand of your sensitive fingers
Warmed up my hands, slipping away
To become gentle breeze, selective and teasing,
Exploring my dress and touching hair.

The words lost meaning, became empty,
We talked with gestures and our foggy eyes.
The silence and dim light became tempting
To make us believe and tell lies.

The music stopped, leaving us sober,
The people returned to watching us,
Preventing us from getting in trouble
And let us go on with boring lives.
The poem is dedicated to a good dream, which was just a dream.
Not Patty Sep 2016
Where has magic gone?
Not a person, not a man
My father taught me young, that there were very few men I could trust
That it was better to sit pretty, to smile; this would be a weapon later
But he was right, it was one of the few things he taught me
Through example, through bared teeth laughter despite anger
I think he was the one who showed me how to pray even though this faith didn't quite fit him either
I wish I could remember what God felt like back then
If it made suffering easier
If there was ever a day where I didn't feel like I had my name on a waitlist for hell
I know I never hoped for angels
I've been waiting for the evil witch instead
I'm sorry. For the truth I'm to tell.
Please. This is hard for me to say.
But. I looked at my life tonight.
I couldn't find the goodness inside.

I carved fresh pain on my skin again.
Looking for some sort of release.
Searching for some sort of relief.
Not sure if life's worth fighting for.

You're probably disappointed in me.
Angry even.
I can't feel anything right now.
You could strike me and I'd take it.

I called the hotline tonight.
The waitlist was too long.
Instead of waiting, I relapsed.
Ashamed, I'd rather hide my despair.

I'm not sure if I can do this.
I hurt. Everywhere ripples with hurt.

Freedom sought
Without knowing how and what it looked like and was
Every breath visibly free
Yet never owned
In the distance
Grew a voice bold
You knew
You knew
With your every breath
And chose it well
Yet lost
Freedom is sought
Never free
On a waitlist
It rides rent free

— The End —