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 Sep 2017 Yazzie Burdick
Nathan
You're a dream
That crawled into my bed
And never came true

You're a laugh
          About to burst into tears

What you are
          Is vague
                And beautiful
 Sep 2017 Yazzie Burdick
Jose H
In the darkest of nights
Your body pressed against the wall
Hands held high above
Let me slide my hands down your body
To feel every sensual curve
Let me kiss you as if it were the last time I were able
Sliding my tongue softly against your lips
Let me kiss your neck softly in this night
Sliding my tongue up your neck upon your ear
Down further to explore your body. Tearing off one piece of clothing as a am to uncover what my tongue seeks Watch me as I kiss down your bare body
Watch me as I spread your legs and slide between.
Watch me tear your underwear off
Let me slide my velvet tongue
Watch me explore your insides
Until I find the path that brings you to your limitations
Watch me climb up your body kissing every inch with wet lips
Kiss me so you taste what your inner being is
Open your legs and wrap them around my waist
Pull me closer so our bodies may collide
Pull me deeper so I may further explore your inner being
My hips bucking
Yours following in motion
This pleasure we share
In my life's fantasy.


“It was fun while it lasted” they said

“It was painful when it ended” was my reply.
I know right...
You're too emotional.
I'm emotionless.
Together, we're human.
© Crestfall
© I Barker
For the Catan to my Miran.
Being suicidal doesn't mean i'm going to **** myself

Being suicidal is having this unexplicable ache while you're living

It's waiting for your life to end, and wishing you didn't have to carry on

Having this ache, an incapability to feel happy living, doesn't mean that I am going to **** myself -

It just means I wouldn't mind dying.
I can't write poems.
I know I can't. Everybody knows.

Poetry is for the soft ones.
For the hurt ones.
For the broken ones.
For the talented ones.
For the edgy ones.

For the special ones.

And I am certainly none of those.

Pretty **** sad, huh?

Yet, poetry is for everyone.
Because... Art is for everyone,
right?
Because you're supposed to feel comfortable while writing it. While creating it.

Art is for everyone.

But not
me.

I know I **** at this.
I must admit I enjoy writing down my feels.
I must admit poetry is one of my favorite types of therapy.
But I also must admit I **** at this.

I'm not going anywhere with this poem, to be honest.
I'm just wasting your time.
I'm just wasting my time.

I'm a waste of time.

And I am so
sorry.
Knowing you, as I do, in cyber-space,
not in the world that we consider "real,"
I have no way of knowing how I'd feel,
if I should chance to meet you face-to-face.

Looking at you, I wonder would I be
embarrassed, mute, uncertain what to say,
and end up wondering why I'd come this way,
not really sure if this was right for me?

Or would we hit it off right from the start?
Two minds that share their innermost ideas
of poetry and life, their hopes and fears,
like two souls with one single beating heart?

(In case you think by cyber-love I'm smitten,
I'll make it clear - it's fantasy I've written.)
 Sep 2017 Yazzie Burdick
Dori
I just want to know if you remember... 


That night I got high for the first time and we sat on cloud nine together. We were sitting in the back seat of your best friends car and you leaned in and kissed me. You kissed me with a vengeance. It was like all the passion you were trying to feel left your heart the minute our lips touched. I felt like I was flying, but the only problem was that you pulled away first. I was in the air and your feet were planted on the ground. I think you stopped loving me that night, and I think I became addicted to the clouds because you always said I looked prettier than any sunset you’ve ever seen.

But I think you stopped loving me that night because I think you saw the moon and pictured stars on your skin. Getting high used to take me to your world but I think you stopped loving me that night because I’m not sure where my home is anymore.

I just wanna know if you remember when I love you stopped meaning something to you.
First love..

— The End —