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 Mar 2015 TINA
tee2emm
My Best Trade
 Mar 2015 TINA
tee2emm
I'm trading sticks of cigarette for a poem
Bottles of beer for a few more
Whiskeys make me forlorn
Why not a few more poems
So I scribble and scribble some more

I'm trading my loneliness for lines
Rhymed or rhymeless, why should I mind
When the please the eyes and tickles the mind
I sure will memorize and mimic them like a mime
So I'm still scribbling on this torn paper of mine

I'm trading my hearts pain
Trading it for a paper and a pen
Like a painter ready to paint
I deep my petite paint brush in a bowl of paint
Dap dap, little dots, strokes and dashes as I dare to paint
Little by little the whole picture is becoming plain

I'm trading all love's tears
Tears shade in secrecy for a poem shared publicly
Though seemingly absurd but poems brings this inconceivable peace.
So I'm scribbling and scribbling my way to serenity.

I trade it all for a piece of poem
I may not have made the point
But I've washed clean my plough
And starring at this beautiful not-so-beautiful poem
I have read and reread it that it is starting to sound like a song.
Reading one last time, "my best trade ever".
I have had more lovers than winter jackets
and maybe that's why I'm never cold.
x
 Mar 2015 TINA
Monika
In the light, he no longer calls you "baby." He no longer thinks it's cute that you can't stop your hands from shaking. He no longer tells you it's okay to stay in bed; he starts pulling the sheets off of you, yelling "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET BETTER." In the light, you can see the outlines of his cheeks and the way his eyes look down at you and you can tell he never really loved you. In the light, he's packing his bags and driving his car away. Things aren't as simple when the sun is shining through your window - everything is so much clearer. In the dark, you could pretend you were okay because he couldn't quite make out the frown on your face or your shaky hands or what those prescription bottles read. Now he can look at you clearly and he doesn't like what he sees.
 Mar 2015 TINA
bones
Pathways..
 Mar 2015 TINA
bones
There's a forest
inside her
as thick as
the night
and no-one
to guide her
and no
guiding light
no-one
to remind her
that just
out of sight
is a path
she could make
of her own
so she waits
and she ages
like stone...
 Mar 2015 TINA
Josh Allen
let's build a real cool fort and turn on the 1975 while we make out.
with all the experience
of tying friendship bracelets,
i would've thought that by now,
you would know a lot about "tying the knot".
but my favorite love song never sounded like "commitment"
(yours even less so), and the best romance i've had were always
tinged with confusion and regret
that bled like paper cuts.
maybe there's a reason
my fingers were always too small
to hold on to rings (they inevitably fell off).
maybe there's a reason
my hands were never strong enough to hold on to
another person's grasp, but strong enough to break hearts.
maybe there's a reason i am more inclined to want something
temporary and fleeting;
i live like i'm a vehicular accident waiting to happen
and love like i'm already in my coffin.

rejection tastes similar to second chances, and i guess that's
why you want to kiss me so badly, to maybe try and
rid yourself of her mournful eyes, or the look she gave you
when she said "let's just be friends."
oh.
 Mar 2015 TINA
Liz And Lilacs
I am a figment of your imagination.
A product of your creation,
a mere fabrication,
your own fantastic notion.

I'm not real,
I'm not real,
I'm not real.

I felt so real, so live.
I just wanted to survive.
Let me come alive,
something for which to strive.

I'm not real.
I'm not real.
I am real.
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