"waterworks" poems
all the tangled veins broke
and the waterworks started.
little firework drops
colored my skin on the surface.
and you took this all in
watching me barely breathing,
my soggy heart hardly beating
in the palm of your hand.
i've never wanted anything
more than i wanted this:
my life in your hands,
my DNA in your fingerprints.
this is the only way to die-
at the hands of a stranger i wanted so much,
who could see my entire life at once
by reading my heart's pulp like tea leaves.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
Occasionally, I feel like,
I’m being buried by a landslide,
So I go into my room and turn off the lights,
Play music to drown out my plights.
Suddenly, I feel a bubbling,
Deep inside my soul.
It’s been bottled up,
My dam isn’t enough,
And I’m about to lose control.
The truth is,
Sometimes I cry.
When I’m tired of bottling it up inside.
A deconstruction of pride,
Fractured fragments left behind.
My dam can’t hold back,
The tsunami that’s on the attack.
Sometimes, it’s overwhelming,
It can feel like I’m drowning,
In a pool of sorrow,
Of my own making.
It’s hard to stop it,
So methodic,
It keeps on coming back.
Pathetic, sympathetic,
It’s difficult to control it.
Cathartic, ironic,
How do people deal with this?
The waterworks are a virus,
That everyone’s contaminated with.
Can’t show weakness,
Got to keep a straight face,
A mask from the pain.
Let the pillow be the bucket for my sorrows.
Let the tears dampen the fabric of the case.
Let my blankets cool me off, calm me down,
And help me change my frown.
Sometimes all we need,
Is an emotional release.
Perhaps, that’s the way,
To inner peace.
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 9:42 PM UTC
The only role I ever land is "outcast tortured by the cruelty and pain of his past" I sure didn't choose this path, feels more as though I've been typecast, or maybe I am a ********* holding out for every last ounce of pain before I blast this trader living in my head for the last 30 years off my shoulders, through a window pane, then, just as fast, turn to the vast hole in my chest that once held my heart and press the cold steel to it with the mass of my dread firmly in my grasp, gun fire drowned out by echoing laughs, fulfilling a prophecy of my future while neglecting lessons from my past, the game of life feels less like a game of chance and more like a test that's harder to advance than all the rest and wouldn't you know it, I fell asleep in class and didn't pass, apparently I even tuned out the emergency broadcast. Went and amassed a losing record that'd be impressive if not for the direct contrast the win column presents and the enormous shadow my downfall casts. Harassed by the devil on each shoulder, I thought that maybe once I got older, if I could just stay on task and remain steadfast, I would be able to open a can of whoop a$$ and trespass the evil within this house of glass but alas I must telegraph my every move or they've seen a future telecast because they lambast each strike and I'm not sure I'll outlast these issues, I'm gassed, plus, problems have started showing up in mass from a much higher weight class, they must have bypassed the weigh in process but I've always known who the deck was stacked against, hence why I never win, I only survive and my methods would flabbergast most, the truth finds it's way to the surface and I find myself aghast, crying like I've been teargassed with no gas mask but I've surpassed the point where waterworks will bring forth empathy, gotta own my involvement in the crash, volunteer to take out my own trash and this time I'll throw my pain out with the bath water and be free at last...free at last, free at last, no thanks to god almighty I'll be free at last
©2021
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 5:10 AM UTC
Words of mystery,
have became known.
Words of disguise,
were rightly shown.
Hidden no more,
under the brush they lay.
For everyone knew,
what they planned to say.
Words scribbled down,
on piles of paper.
Every single one,
would diminish and taper.
You call that poetry?
they say with a frown.
*Classified as a poet,
you're only a let down.*
Words of mystery,
kept concealed.
Words of disguise,
not tightly sealed.
Scribbling away,
at the endless works.
Never moving past,
the broken waterworks.
Here I write away,
those silly old scraps.
And pray dear god,
that I'll never relapse.
Done with the pointlessness
Done with the wrath,
I'm ready to move on,
to journey on the path.
Words of mystery,
closed once more,
Words of disguise,
never like before.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 2:24 PM UTC
when I was five, my parents gave me a book about a rainbow fish instead of the princess one I wanted. waterworks began.
when I was six, I checked out a book from the school library about the tooth fairy. I read it over and over again because I was too nervous to return it.
when I was seven, I started taking dance lessons. my teacher had bright blonde hair that she always kept in a ponytail. I wanted to be exactly like her.
when I was eight, I learned how to write in cursive. I made a point of showing my teacher how the lowercase 's' looked like a Hershey's Kiss.
when I was nine, I wrote an essay for school about a cat. my teacher told me I didn't have to revise like the other kids because I had already written it so well. I was ecstatic.
when I was ten, my best friend moved away and I cut my hair short. it was the first time I had to learn how to start over.
when I was eleven, I argued myself to tears on the playground, thus discovering passion.
when I was twelve, I almost tripped down the stairs after school every day because I refused to put my book down.
when I was thirteen, I made my way into a group of friends that had hearts of gold and eyes of steel. we felt invincible.
when I was fourteen, I watched as by best friend silently collapsed into a heap of tiny, broken pieces. I learned that the nicest people can be incredibly hard headed.
now I'm fifteen. I don't know everything, but I do understand that life never goes as planned. I understand that we are wonderfully accustomed to adapting to unprecedented circumstances. I understand that picking yourself up off the bathroom floor time and time again takes strength and resilience. I understand that you're good at being you, and that is always a compliment.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
Use to despise birthdays *** all it brought was disappointment
I would get irritated from lack of attention and my bed was my only Ointment
One day out of the year
and did u use the opportunity?
no u miss ur appointment
And you do so continually
Never had a party to myself
Because my parents didn't care enough
Had to share birthdays with Em and the child was ungrateful she always received stuff
And when they sang happy birthday they sang her name so yes it was tough
I only have 5 birthday cards to my name
And Out of the 5
only 1 person played their part
only one person gave me something from the heart
Used to think its a shame
I never got anything because They said my brown skin tone was lame
My ignorant outside family wouldn't give me their claim
Tried To stop the waterworks but a dam can only last for so long
Had to finally realize I was looking at it all wrong
Used to think that because no one told me happy birthday
and no one gave me gifts to my dismay
That I wasn't ****
but now I see it
Finally realize it
They did give me something
At the time it seemed like nothin
But They gave me the clay That molded me into the person I am today
Would I go back and change it?
No I'm okay
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 3:36 AM UTC
let your waterworks flow
your wall have held longer than expected
the cracks are visible while the pressure grow
your disguise was maintained and almost perfected
Now the imperfections are exhibited
subsequently and perfectly
attention to your cracks was prohibited
as the weeds in them grew abundantly
on demand when lovers need wall to lean on
but you had pain that demanded to be felt
crumbling walls is something you dream of
but you kept hope for others like church bells
its time to let your walls weep and plummet
its your turn to release pain and fears
remember this and keep these tears in a bucket
its turn to shed your tears
-t.m & mcdonald tsiie
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
I could kid myself
and say that you are in me
but really
I am just trying
to force the issue by attempting
to conjure you
as well as delay the inevitable
waterworks the aching
sickness
and the pain
so with that said
it is time to give you
and me the much needed
punctuation
we deserve
and just
end this!
whit howland © 2021
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 10:55 AM UTC
insert body here
it was not you
that told me to
that wanted me to
but i did
i let you go
simultaneously seizing you
you belong to me
and i
well i
belong to the abyss
once upon a time
i gave myself to you
whole heartedly
like the hearth to a cold room
an incessant addition
to an empty craving space
crazed by desire
inspired by devotion
alone within ourselves
and i digress
only to weep
endless puddles of hope
empty holes of common space
my eyes burn
vision blurs
you know its' at its worst
when your hope is for tears
pull (pool) back the waterworks
spare the salty sea
mimic the madness
otherwise
you're falling to fate
i bide time
reproach destiny
(ir)rationally regress
something that should have never been
the fallacy that is not reality
takes hold
my throat is bruising
as i gasp for air
suffocation struggles
and then
well then
i realize
suffocation doesn't seem so shabby
the perfection of peace perceived through peril
freedom is like my ears
it rings
like a ******* headache
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
We were on our way back from the movie theater. "Star Wars: The Force Awakens" was all anyone could talk about, and I went to see it with you for the second time. It was during our drive home when I realized that our timing was off.
We tried to make things work. We tried to make them work twice. But you and I were like messy children wreaking havoc into each other's lives, only to leave the place in a furry. We were the storm and the storm chasers. We were something chaotic and we loved to rival in the disarray.
Again, I knew our timing was off. I knew it when you kissed me goodnight. I knew it when Han Solo was killed by his own son. I knew it when you put me on hold for the next two weeks. I knew our timing was off when I looked at you and came to terms with breaking things off.
Really, looking at you was like seeing myself, but only in a more masculine form. We were each other's reflection in many areas of life. Some sections were good... others were flawed. But, when I looked at the scruff on your chin and realized that I didn't know if I wanted this to be my "forever", I knew we were off.
There was a lot going into this whole "timing" thing. I was almost finished with my Bachelors, while you were just getting back into school. You were struggling with a dead-end job, and I was well on my way to the workplace. I was ready to settle down. You were getting ready to figure out who you were. I knew what it took to build a healthy relationship, but you weren't willing to put the time and effort into it. You see? Everything was... off.
That didn't mean I wanted to be like ships passing in the night. I didn't want a few months of your company to end nowhere. I sure as hell didn't want us to turn into some sort of "life lesson" I would teach my kids about one day. I was willing to work on things. That is, until you didn't make me a priority... of any sort.
And, we ended on a good note. At least, I like to consider it good. There wasn't any yelling or waterworks. We talked as we always did. We agreed to staying friends. As cliche as that sounds, I'm hoping it'll stay true.
I hope you remember the good we had. Remember how it felt to hold someone and know that they understood you. Remember how it felt to laugh over mindless jokes once more. If anything, reminisce on the "sunshine" I was within the short span of our meeting. We both agreed that there was something or Someone pulling us together. There had to be some sort of meaning behind all of this.
Recalling how it felt to wake up next to you was a dream in and of itself; one that may swing back around in a year or two. Part of me hopes that you will return a changed man. But... only time will tell.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
May 2, 2015
Saturday
What are figures anyway?
Are they accurate
Or simply just a mere calculation,
Converted from Fahrenheit to Celsius?
And as this infernal summer sun
Blasts itself high in the noon,
What are figures really?
What are figures anyway?
Let the waterworks fall,
Those cumulonimbus clouds cry
Tears crash upon the asphalt;
Nevermind that it’s summer,
Just let it rain.
And all would be well
If you just let the love flow,
Regardless of the statistics
Of the population of broken hearts
That fall in love
In the cascades and ruins of untimely rain.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
some sort of rough chaos dictates the following...
can't bleat
a swallowing
thin crease
a minor alteration
the seventh year
twitch
& sprung is my fink
making demands
a tinker in his eye
& the waterworks hailing
from his rapid claws
commands much work
spun nylon from my whipped flaws
destruct the family plans
its for a wick lit cause
fist the winnings up your purse
spill the prophecy
hail a taxi
& concrete the curse
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 7:24 AM UTC
When you pressed your lips to mine
That was the first time I ever felt sparks fly.
I was a stable pile of gunpowder waiting to be ignited
And I finally found my lighter
It’s you.
I felt every corner of my body be lit inside.
I never felt more alive.
Kiss me again so those flames never die.
Let’s make one thing clear though
It wasn’t like the movies
I didn’t see any fireworks
Instead I felt them inside of me
I felt my nerves explode with feeling
I felt the gunpowder in my body start sparking
I didn’t think anyone could make me feel this way just by kissing
But apparently I underestimated you.
I started sweating because of the heat my body was emitting
If you took my temperature, than you’d think of me sick
In a way, I guess I am
Although it has nothing to do with germs or my body temperature
And everything to do with my feelings for you.
I didn't think I could ever become this head over heels for someone
But then again I never thought that I would feel fireworks
I don't think I'll ever step foot into any waterworks
Because I never want to stop feeling those fireworks.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
There's a pill for almost everything these days.
For instance there are many pills designed to off the waterworks long enough to please those thinking types. Need energy? There's a pill for that, now you need to sleep so there's a pill for that. There's even a pill to keep you from thinking too much! There's pills for your skin and pills for your teeth. Pills for your ills.
The irony is, in the end, cancer is the reward.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
And if I became a rapper, I probably wouldn't rap long (True)
Being known for writing out another sad song
As they say, 'choose your poison—my poison is life
'Choose your weapon—my pen is a ****** knife
Flavour your values, my character is a little bit of spice
A mix of overly nice, I tried to grow some ice
But the soft waters remain still warm from my eyes
Working harder when I cry, those waterworks are real
Tried to help people out of some good sense of will
But all the investments in people hasn't paid me still
(Still broke)
We built our reality on some broken dreams
Thought we would be married around twenty three
I know I've disappointed you kid, promising to achieve our dreams
Now I'd hate for myself to look for achievements inside of me
We don't know what it feels like to be truly happy
And I know our biggest fear is to disappoint the entire family (Woah)
We're not done with the disappointing jobs
We got a couple more years of time to sob
They don't think you're much of a man
And being a writer doesn't fit well with their logical plan
You still **** at being a good man of his romance
You never even got the chance to own that collection of Vans
The suicidal thoughts are still lurking in your mind
And you've dreamt up so many ways of how to die
At the funerals still refusing to show emotion and cry
You still make up ninety percent of all your smiles (Sigh)
As we're currently still going through those constant trials
Hey younger me, welcome to hell of this adult life
We built our reality on some broken dreams
Thought we would be married around twenty three
I know I've disappointed you kid, promising to achieve our dreams
Now I'd hate for myself to look for achievements inside of me
We don't know what it feels like to be truly happy
And I know our biggest fear is to disappoint the entire family (Woah)
Sep 1, 2022
Sep 1, 2022 at 3:05 PM UTC
did you know youre translucent?
When you look at yourself do you see the phony that i do?
do you have any recollection?
of the digs youve taken at people who only pretend to care about you?
but we're all so nice, we fake it.
you know all about that don't you?
but when we try to be frank, we're just outrageous.
and then you let the waterworks carry you out.
we all see you for who you are.
so what that we can put on a pretty face and smile, even if we don't want to.
and you can hurt everyone that circles you, but when the punch comes back, you put on an act,
like you're the victim here, and youve been so sincere, and we've been so very unkind.
we're two steps ahead, youre a step behind.
i can't even pretend that it's alright.
i've always been an actress, or so it seemed.
but i cant seem to grin beneath these clenching teeth.
cause all i want is to lash out.
but i know to win is to watch and smile and see.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 9:45 PM UTC
"Then spake Haggai the Lord's messenger in the Lord's
message
unto the people, saying, I am with you, saith the Lord."
- Haggai 1:13
On the fifth day (fifth child) = Errors 500-500 (all boys) and 4 (Respond 4) / (3 Events) ≈1.26 house the homeless 1 40 1, 500 Albums: 18:18 Women another way. Clinical boat in the desert. Turbo. The new memory remembers his bear's footprint in the Italian music skills. The women, cars and customized cars, but the flesh, John and John Pride and new products, fish etc. 0000 0000 (3) cannot be irritated. it can be. The rate of four a long time. Black FORMULA 1 at noon. Press the button to change the values, such as the freedom of man. 1 do not have any weaknesses. Hausdorff = 500 (memories) = (4 names) / (3) / (3 dead) 1 ≈ found [1] 3) three points (page 12), the second 1 18x18 streaming control? On September 8, a Nigerian that could be a visionary. By John Bruce Jan, 00 Black Black Black Black movies and music. The tree, and Paul said: "John the Baptist, 4,000 and 1 second, the third and the fight if he does not fight." And another who chose 1, 500 = (infection), 18 (18), John Bruce, Thomas, 18, 00, except for very few (four errors) / (lost) ≈ 1 [3] Husdorf 3. (4) days / 3 days / Cholesterol (Direct) house consuming 4 N / a minimum of three: 26 ___ [2.1 postures taken up Mr. Robert H. out 13 13 40 1 Hebrew, and there is John Ward, terrorism parts Ulet (3) and PG 8. 0000 = 500 00 00 Hausdorff maintain gloomy 00:00 00:00 (4 and 5) 3) Polyester, Mark, Luke and John, and standards have a new and fresh products such as Game 00: (missing 3) ≈ 1 [1] 3) one (1 part 2) in the average 18 18 * 1 to 3 clinic is not seen? UNPREDICTABLES are very small, and John Tele wolf did not want to be in the house 4) In this example, 18 x 18 Hospital 1 power = 500 (error) t = (four) / (3) Reports / (3 objects) ≈ 1 [1] 3 Husdorf) Officials of the new cooling Manager John Bruce, the primary effect of this is John 00. (4) 500 (4) / (at least 3) 26 1 __ [from 1 to 40 to fracture KLM 500 Admin. 13 13 18 1 part of New Jersey, black, red, black? And what is your wife? Gen 18:18 What is the guardian? John, or John Doe, Mark, is not the same. night. Windows (3) and Applications: September 8 00 00 Catadi (s) 1. Today from books and evening. Very good and a very popular black and white in the desert American desired weight belt and short skirts. 4,000 relay 4 and the hymns and prayers, and (4) St. John of the waterworks. This is incorrect. First error = 500 (registered) = (4 items) / (last 3) / (a 3) ≈ 1 [1] in the hotspot 3) in the three sections. 18 18 18 Clinics Hospital! 1 power? December and another man, John the Baptist who does not speak. The founder of a child, John Bruce, John, 00, is a simple example. (4) Fourth day (four places) and 4 (four applications) 4 (at least 3) 1.26 ≈ [Fast 40 1, 2, and N = 500 Haggai 1:13, 13 and 18 A New Jersey, black, black?
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
Needle pierced hide
A necessary pain to stand whole
As the Thread passes through my skin,
holding together the bruised, ****** falling pieces
A single drop of blood drops to stain the ground
These dark tendrils claw at my feet
They demand retribution
They split the skin so that the Red Sea may flow
But the stitches close the abyss, saving the crimson elixir of life
A clear tear drop stains my mask, cracking it
As each glass shard of lies falls, the face beneath is revealed
A barren wasteland eroded from the waterworks
And dull dull black orbs lay there staring straight ahead
With a sliver of light in the sea of black
The silver scars glow with anger,
demanding to be let free and opened for the Red Sea
But the stitches keep them closed and keep me alive
Battle scars and Thread dominate my body
The silver lines, the signs of a great battle
The zig zags of the thread, a sign of the will to live
I'm broken, bleeding, and marred
Held together with a thin silver Thread
A silver Thread of hope
I may be hideous and deformed from the damage done
But my silver stitching keeps me together and going
For the day when I'll be strong enough to not rely on my silver Thread
When I too, will be beautiful
Like my silver Threads of hope
The silver Threads of hope that have kept me alive
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
We gathered round the baker's corpse
when he fell off of his flat.
Waterworks came shortly after.
Blood was pouring from his broken body,
nauseating the entire crowd.
We heard a crack coming from the asphalt prior,
which we thought to be him breaking all at once.
Some say that someone pushed him,
some say it was his job.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
I once had a hope
That would never become
A true wish of mine...
I once hoped
That I had the strength
To get back up
When I'm being pushed
when I am already down
On the ground
But I knew
That my hope
would never become
A true wish of mine
I once hoped
That I had the mental strength
For when I am sitting
On a peachy colored
Chair
I wouldn't break
The waterworks in my eyes
For people to label me
As weak
But I knew
That my hope
would never become
A true wish of mine
I once hoped
That my dear brother
Would come back
From that dark and
Wretched place
That humans call
Prison
So that the pang
In my chest
Would leave me
But I knew
That my hope
would never become
a true wish of mine
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 6:20 PM UTC
Have you ever had a dream that takes up twenty-three hours
Of your daily twenty-four?
And it follows you to work, to get-togethers, to school,
All the way back home.
You want it so badly, would give your heart and mind and
Your uppermost third of your leg on the left side.
And it makes you smile when you think about it because it's amazing.
And you think, you hope, you know you'll make it happen.
And then you come down and remember who and what and why you are.
And that dream is mocking and jeering at you.
That dream is picking at you and you don't have the energy to bat it away
So you let it and it picks away more than you would have given.
You wake up in the morning thinking your whole life's been wasted and,
From the other side of the bed, that dream agrees.
You look at all the people who did it and have it and made it and,
From the other side of the bed, that dream is still mocking you.
When you go to work the dream drapes itself over you, broken and nasty
And no one mentions it because they all have their own dreams
That are doing the exact same thing.
Neither do your friends, or strangers, or family.
When you go home some indeterminable amount of time after that dream
Broke you,
You wrestle it to the floor and fold it three hundred times until it's barely a
Speck.
And you pop it into your mouth and swallow it whole
Pretending you can't hear it screaming and fighting all the way down.
You digest that dream but it's still there, ready to be taken up again but you won't
Because you won't get it now and you won't have it later.
On your way to wherever and whenever you see children laughing
And they hold their dreams up high. They love those dreams and those dreams love them.
And your stomach twists and turns as your dream beats at it
But you keep walking. Keep driving. Keep moving.
You close your eyes and scream and cry but you don't get your dream back
Because it hurt you before and you're not fool enough to try again.
When you go to sleep, it will haunt you.
When you're home alone, it will torture you. You know this.
You go home anyway and it stabs a knife through your abdomen and
You don't flinch at all, it was expected.
And you go to your room and lay down to stare at nothing for an hour or two
Until you think that, maybe, crying will ease the emptiness.
So you think of the saddest things that would send the hardest heart into waterworks
And you wait because, two hundred and eighty-eight hours later
Because one million three hundred and sixty-eight thousand seconds later
You still haven't shed a tear.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
if i write you a poem
i write validity across walls that do not warrant it
writing this poem, this confession of consciousness regarding a matter that makes my bones ache
is like sending you the letter you weren't supposed to have received
my dear i am sorry
that my heart is so prone to being broken that i know by now how to make art with its pieces while being blinded by my own waterworks
i am writing this poem
and you will be on the receiving end of it, oblivious to everything that is bad in this world prior to reading this maybe
i know i haven't lost you yet but i know i will eventually
and when i do
you will not hear my cries nor will you see the glistening droplets slide from my eyes like you did the one time i let you in
my dear i've always worked to shield you from the malice this world is capable of
loss is not malicious
yet it is and i hope you never have to live through losing someone who loved so much it hurt
i know i'm rambling now my dear
i'm sorry we ran out of time
you are so special
i know you're not gone yet
but soon
you will be
so this poem is a testament to you
i love you so ******* much
i'm not sorry for that how could i be sorry for loving you
my dear
i'll see you soon or
something
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC
The air is thick with tension
Limpid red rimmed eyes, ready
for waterworks at a moment’s notice
Hands repeatedly
Clenching and unclenching
Feet drumming
Lips pursed, turning white
Stomach clenched
Wound up
Like a spring
Permeating sense of foreboding
...
As the teacher hands out our history test
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 10:53 AM UTC
The waterworks of my eyes
Perform regularly;
Filling every pore in my cheeks.
With a simple sentiment
A tear will shed
And another, and another.
Provoke my inner sensitivities,
And more rivers will flow
Until they reach the ocean of my lips.
With blunt scrutiny too,
My eye will hasten
To water the flowers on my neck.
And love, and love,
And hurt, and pain
All like a citric juice in one’s eyes,
Or the sharp sting of onion,
But not a sad film,
For it should caress the heart
To destroy the stability
And bring forth rain and thunder.
The waterworks of my eyes
Perform regularly;
Filling every pore in my cheeks.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC