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 Feb 2013 Becca
jeffrey robin
Blood drunk
Face down on the floor

Yea you!

Jesus Christ
--
Give me a f--king break!
---
I loved the girl with the big *****
But she's gone
...
I loved the Street 'fore the tanks came
(Can you remember?)
///
I loved making love
On the beach

I loved to be 'hind the barricades
Knowing that you would
----
----
Stand there
With me
///
///
The hell with the grand old images
..
The hell with it all
-
Face down on the floor
---
YEA
BUT IT'S A GOOD PLACE TO
DREAM AGAIN

That true

AND I KNOW WHERE'S THE GIRL
WITH THE BIG *****

You do!?

SHE WAITIN' FOR YOU
HIND THE BARRICADES

Let's go!
---
Let's die like men
Or win with grace

And free the street
For the child's sake

Our vision it ain't no mistake

And we will do what ever it takes
Whatever
It takes

Oh God!!

Whatever it takes

Let us do whatever it takes
 Jan 2013 Becca
Krusty Aranda
Beauty is all I see in her.
The little spark in her eyes,
the subtle wickedness of her smile,
the frailty of her white skin,
and, yes, even her scars.

"What's beautiful about her scars?"- you ask.
Well, what's beautiful about them is the story they tell.

A story of a little girl stricken by misfortune.
Uncapable of looking out for herself,
growing away from the ones who should protect her.
Hit by the alcoholism of her mother, and the drug abuse of her father.
Forced to live in a home where love was scarcely seen.

She couldn't see an exit. She couldn't find a friend.
All she had was the pain in her heart, and a rusty blade in her hand.
Pressed it against her skin, drawing a line of blood.
Relief.
Freedom.

But time passed by, and she learned about her mistake.
She found a better way. She found a better friend.
This expierence left something behind though.
Something she now lives by everyday.
A humble heart, capable of loving and forgiving,
and the lust for life she had seeked for too long.

So go ahead, point your finger at me, and yell "There's the guy with the girl full of scars!".
I won't mind for I see beyond these scars.
Memories of a battle fought and won.
Forget about the past, but remember where you're from.
Even though I'm against self harm, don't judge a person for how he/she looks like. You never know what's behind his/her appearance.
 Dec 2012 Becca
Leah Rae
I Decided That I'm Going To Write A Love Poem About You.*

Something I've Been Battling With For A Long Time, Like A Empty War In My Chest.
I'm Not Sure Who Brought The Trojan Horse Into My Heart And Defiled Me From The Inside Out,

But I Know That I've Decided On The Final Solution..

Some Nuclear Weaponry To End This Once And For All.

I Had This Idea In My Head That Writing A Love Poem About You Would Somehow Make Me Less Of A Poet. Instead Two Quarters Sell-Out, One Half Wannabe, One Seventh Cop-Out, And Now You're Probably Laughing At Me Because There Is No Way That Adds Up To One Whole Of Anything.

But This Is What You've Made Me Into.

We Used To Make Fun of The Girls With Their Boyfriend's Name Tattooed Across Their Collarbones, But Now I'm Sketching Out Your Initials On The Cover Of Every One Of My Notebooks, Wishing It Was My Skin.

And When I Can't Answer The Next Question In Class Because Of You, I Can't Help But Laugh, Because Suddenly I'm The Ridiculous One Now.

And That Makes Me Love You Like I Love Concerts. Being Smashed Against Seven Hundred Screaming Bodies, To Get A Glimpse At The Heartbroken Hero Who Is Singing Just For Me. The Next Morning, Every Single Part Of My Body Is On Fire, And I'd Tell Myself It Was Somehow All Worth It.

Because You See, You're  Somehow All Worth It.

Worth Being Called Every Single Cliche I've Been Battling.

I Pledged When I Was Twelve Years Old That I Would Never Cry Over A Boy. But I've Shed More Tears Between Us Then I'm Capable Of Counting. And Even Openly In Front Of You, Which Is Something I've Never Been Very Good At.

And I've Written Apologies Letters To The Both Of Us, For Not Being Everything I Could Be.

And You've Made Me Want To Make A List Of Our Every Occurrence, July Seventh, 2010,  August 14th 7:53pm, January 19th, October 29th 3:14pm, March 10th, Like A Date Book Of Every Important Moment Because I'm Afraid I Might File Them Away In The Back Of My Mind

And Then Forget Where I Put Them.  

And By Now You've Probably Noticed That I Haven't Been Able To Stick With One Single Metaphor During This Entire Poem And I'm Several Shades Of Scarlet, Because Somehow You Make It Impossible To Be Anything Except A Mess.

And That's Coming From The Girl Who Color Coordinates Her Underwear Drawer.*

You've Also Probably Noticed That My Usual Over Emotional, Polished And Perfect Poetry Of Pretty Words Has Completely Gone Missing In This Piece. And Instead All I'm Left With Is This Awkward Imagery Of Something Much Less Honorable Then What I'm Usually Referencing.

But Somehow I'm Still Smiling.

And I've Been Wearing My Heart On My Sleeve For So Long Now That I Can't Remember What Part Of My Body It Belongs In Anymore. I've Been Listening To Your Voice On Repeat So Often That It Has Became My Soundtrack.

I've Decided To Give My Empty Parts, My Fingertips, My Shoulder Blades To You As Gifts, Make-Shift Wrapped In Newspaper, Because I Didn't Have Anything Else Left.

You Took Them As Yours
Took Me As Yours

Now I Spend Every Night Connecting The Constellations In The Spackle Patterns Of The Ceiling Above My Bed, Wondering What Stars You're Staring At.

And Suddenly This Love Poem Doesn't Feel So Terrifying Anymore.

Because You've Scared Away The Sorrow, Put Hello-Kitty Band-Aids On All My Old Scars.
You Make Me Want To Make You Chocolate Chip Pancakes In Bed And, And, Read Shakespeare For Fun!
Because If I'm Sally, Then You're Jack, Rodger To My Mimi, Princess Buttercup And Wesley, Hermione Granger And Ron Weasley, Allie And Noah..

And Now I'm Rambling.

And You're Probably Smiling Again.

What I'm Trying To Say Is That I Want You To Know That I Will Spend The Rest Of The Forever You Give Me Listening To Your Voice.

Singing In The Shower, Humming In The Back Of My Mind, Whispering It To Me Late At Night, All Those Songs Of Longing.

I'll Lay Wide Awake And Listen, Repeating It Myself How Incredibly Deep You Are.

So Deep I Could Throw Myself Into You And Drown Inside You, Before I Ever Have The Chance To Come Up For Air.

And That Aching In My Chest Would Somehow Make Me Feel Like I Was Finally Home.
 Dec 2012 Becca
J Holloway
I could tell you how to think.
I could repeat the words
of Old Masters to try to sound profound
and aloof with some sort of higher knowledge than you.
I might recount the pain of a child starving,
trying to get your heart to bleed, or race
to flutter, fly or fall. I could try
to compose my thoughts on paper, but even
from lips to ears their meaning is lost
so on paper they would have even less power.
I could try to change your life. The way you think
about an apple blossom or how you speak
with luring words to a potential mate.
I could weave you a story to keep you on the edge of your seat
or mind; in your lovers arms, or all alone.
I could try to detach myself,
attempting omnipotence compared to you.
Even trying to speak to you through words would
be an empty effort, though.
For who wants to listen to a stranger
and have them tell you how to think
how to breathe and let loose;
dance to the rhythm of life setting your mind on a new beat?
Who will read these words and be affected?
Would it help then, if I made myself known?
If we were related, or entangled or embraced
would these words be more than words to you?
Would you listen if I told you why the sky was blue
or your eyes were gray or why the world turns
in a specific rhythmic patterned way?
I could try to tame the storm of English to tame the storm of your mind.
I could attempt to write a world for you:
an escape
or a solitude. I could write my heart on paper for you.
Open it up: it’s secrets and it’s thump-thump reasoning.
I could convince you it beat for you and only you, but really
it is just science.
I could tell you how to be happy, but happy is relative.
I could try to describe the feeling I get when I am not alone,
the breath of another mingled with mine,
but experiences are experienced individually and I am not in your mind.
I cannot think the way you do nor affect people the way you can.
You may be a pilot bringing people across the globe into each other’s arms;
or an artist painting the portrait of a dying girl;
or an engineer building bridges between hearts.
But I am a poet, and all I have are words.
But who will listen to a stranger?
What would it take for these words to be more than words to you?
I do not know for I am no philosopher or doctor. I don’t know
who you are or how you work, so trying to convince you
that I am all-knowing
is pointless and painful. So many of us suffer because of that vain effort.
I could try to write you a companion but the comfort we each desire
is unique.
Your dreams are not my dreams, and my dreams perhaps,
would not make sense to you.
My happiness is not yours. Nor is my favorite flavor ice-cream
yours. If I were to write you the feeling I get from smelling daisies
it might mean nothing to you
because it is not in your vocabulary, or doesn’t bring you my peace.
I could write my breath and it’s puff-puffing from running
but then I’d have to detail how the oxygen works it’s way into my lungs.
I could say that he is my oxygen, but what does he mean to you?
I could tell you not to be scared of the dark, but
darkness, too, is relative. For inside a lit room at night,
the window is stark in contrast. But stand outside for awhile,
and your eyes will adjust like getting used to the pain if it is incessant
and everlasting.
And who wants to listen to a stranger?
Who wants to know the inside of my mind when they have their own
to figure out? The maze of synapses that only make sense to you
and to me they are indeed a maze.
I could tell you that when I see rain I think of cobblestone streets in London,
but who, besides me, would connect those things?
And who wants to listen to a stranger?
The only thing I may attempt is to bring myself closer to you
through words.
Because they are all I have
and with them, I can tell you anything.
Words raise empires and level universes.
 Dec 2012 Becca
J Holloway
I want to breathe you in
Feel your skin upon mine
In
Simplistic satisfaction

I want to hear your heartbeat
And feel your hot breath
On the back
Of my neck as I fall
Asleep

I want to live in the afterglow of nothing
Of Pure happiness
And lazy content

I want to see your smile
At every stage
And have your laugh on repeat
Next to me

I want to see your face
At two in the morning
As you let your dreams
Take you away
And I want to know
That I am part of them

I want you to let down your
Iron-clad
Walls
And let me in

I want to be
So very selfish

I want to know your
Memories and
Pain and
Triumphs and
Falls and
Every little thing that can make
You smile

I want to record every second
I spend with you
To watch again
When we are apart

I want to see you grow
To see the sun bathing your
Skin
And it's warm, sandy texture
To be pressed against mine

I want to soar with you
Over all of the hate
And misery
And corruption
In the world

"I can take on the world with
One hand
So long as you
Hold the other"

I want to love you
In the childish
Pure
Fresh and simple
Sense of the world

I want to explore you
And everything
That you are built from

I want to know every
Twist
And turn
That makes up your soul

I want to be
So very selfish

I want to brace you to
The storms
And inevitable pain
You will face

I want to kiss away every tear
And memorize every contour
Of your face

I want to laugh with you
I want to laugh for you
Because of you

I want to invite you into my world
And my heart
I want to share with you
Everything that can be shared

I want to feel your muscles
Ripple and contract
Underneath me
As your mind disconnects
From this world

I want to discover with you
Every part of yourself
You haven't yet explored

I want our breath to mingle
In and ever-present
Greeting
Of hello
And "I love you"

With you I want to reach the end of
The rainbow

Share in disappointment
And bliss
Misery and
Ecstasy

I want to hear you call my name
Everyday
So I won't be forgotten

I want to watch you
Break apart
And lose your way
And
I want
To be there
To help you Re
Discover Yourself

I want to hold you in my
Arms
And run my hands all
Across you

I want to be
So very selfish

I want to give you back rubs
When you've had a
Stressful day

I want to get lost with you
I want to explore with you
I want to ignore the world
With you

I want to watch the
Sunset'~'Moonrise'~'Moonset'~'Sunrise
With you huddled by me

I want to know everything that
Bothers you
Everything that makes you angry
Everything that makes you cry out
In anguish
Or defeat

I want to share a lazy morning
Cup of tea
Or slice of toast
With you

I want to face the darkness
So long as
Your eyes will guide me

I want to sit on a dirt road
In the middle of nowhere
Curled tight against you
Under a blanket
And watch a campfire burn out
And the stars replace the flames
As our light source

But being with you makes me
Shine so very bright
Anyways

I want to be
So very selfish

And have you by my side
 Dec 2012 Becca
PK Wakefield
love (notlove)

i think you cruelly

i think you distinctly perfumed of hair

lavendermint (jasmine) stars and night                       think

you smell like cheap, cigarettes, coffee                        think

and you taste like cardboard dust and                         think

(linger ultimately fatally clinging) smoke                   think

lovenot love you i                                                            thin­k

but so comely smooth olive (skin)                                think

unthink             ­                                                                 ­drink
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