y i k e s: Favorites

Mar 2014 y i k e s

James

Mar 2014 y i k e s

Ellie Stelter

James

I'm writing this because I have to, James.
It's not you it's me, it's not me it's you.
Or something like that.

We shared a conversation, a few words
Traded back and forth through the air.
Didn't mean anything.
Didn't have to.

We're not friends, we're strangers, James,
Something which I don't think we'll ever fix, or resolve, or whatever.
Point is we're not even going to try.
Point is we don't have to.

But it didn't have to be like this, James.
It could have been so much less.
There could have been no spark in your eyes.
There didn't have to.

I'm writing this because I have to, James.
Because it's not either of our faults, the apathy we share
Is just human nature. When you see someone who isn't
Really suffering, you don't stop to care.

Someone asked me who James is. He's just someone I talked to once, then never saw again. I decided to call this poem James after him because it sounds better than the original title, Letter to the Strangers.

Mar 2014 y i k e s

is this a love poem?

Mar 2014 y i k e s

madeleine brand

is this a love poem?

you told me you don’t drink coffee
because it’s a reminder that you are cold in comparison
i laughed and placed my hand on your cheek
i said that you don’t feel cold to me
i’m not sure if i believed you were joking
or just hoped you were
because when you smiled in response
i felt those same insidious currents of warmth
that synapse through every one of my raw nerve endings
            when you mouthed that one line in your favorite song
            when you traced concentric circles on my bare skin with your fingertips
            when you compared my eyes to the color of chocolate chips
            when we sat on that frozen iron bench at the park and you held my hand
were you a fiction that i crafted
to ignore some truth i could not handle
i blame myself for letting my self-indulgence
evolve into an aching addiction

my nerve endings have fizzled and popped like burnt out light bulbs
no electric voltages runs through my filaments
because i am numb and cold again.
your frostbite was inevitable
and for a while, i must have been so cold
i felt white hot.

oh,
and *******,
i don’t drink coffee anymore.

idk man haven't written a poem in a long time

Mar 2014 y i k e s

I Never Saw It Before

Mar 2014 y i k e s

Savannah Charlish

I Never Saw It Before

I walked back into the room
Exhausted
Ready to fall apart
And there you were
Simply cleaning
And all of a sudden it occurred to me
That that is how you love
Little acts of kindness
When I'm ready to break down
Not by loud actions
Or soft touches
Just by doing the little things
That never get done
And you do them
Because you love me
And I wonder how
I ever doubted your love before

Mar 2014 y i k e s

Twenty-One

Mar 2014 y i k e s

rj

Twenty-One

One cut feel some pain
Two cuts to hit a vein
Three cuts you're feeling okay
Four cuts for the ****** day
Five cuts your blood flows like a river
Six cuts you shake and quiver
Seven cuts 'what's one more'?
Eight cuts there's a puddle on the floor
Nine cuts you've got a huge ****
Ten cuts you think it's just another cut
Eleven cuts when you get you're relief
Twelve cuts this one extra deep
Thirteen cuts you think you should be done
Fourteen cuts you will make another one
Fifteen cuts for being a failure
Sixteen cuts you still go deeper
Seventeen cuts you can't feel
Eighteen cuts the blood doesn't seem real
Nineteen cuts tears fall as your body does too
Twenty cuts your lips start to turn blue
Twenty-one cuts your mission is finally complete
You're laying in blood as you fall asleep.

Mar 2014 y i k e s

Shit-for-brains

Mar 2014 y i k e s

Haley Rezac

****-for-brains

I could lay out all of my thoughts
on a rusty wire
for you:
all aligned,
waiting to be picked
poked
prodded
examined
rummaged through;
I could even give you a
magnifying glass
free of charge
to discard the remote possibility
that my thoughts aren't what they seem,
but what ******* good would that do?

I'll be exposed,
my thoughts will be torn and hanging
with only the remnants of who I believed
you were,
and who's going to collect the scraps
after you've gone?

I'll be a thoughtless vegetable,
after all.

Mar 2014 y i k e s

fears

Mar 2014 y i k e s

Zella

fears

I am scared
of so many things
in this scary
world
one of them
being the fact
that you wont always
be mine.