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 Mar 2018
Genesee
dew drops in the spring  
the sun is shining
I'm running towards my mom even though the time has come for me to say goodbye for graduation
I try to focus on the day that is graduation
But everything is a blur
I zone out until my name is called
I walk across the field
feeling proud, accomplished
But I can't help but cry
as I try and not trip on my small gown
I spot you in the crowd
All I can think of at that moment is the memories that we've created
and the way we're all huddled up
I cry one because I'm leaving the group behind
making my way in this word
adulting
still a newbie at heart
learning through trial and error
But know this
no matter where I go in life
I'll always treasure you and the memories that we made
my senior year
Written for a dear friend of mine
 Mar 2018
z
when people are in love
they often say
they simply fell
tripped over their own two feet
face forward
and into the arms of their beloved

i did more than simply fall
onto the ground of your love

you, for me
were an ocean
and i dived
headfirst
roughly
harshly
almost painfully
into the waters of “you”

i knew i could not swim
but i did so anyway
i was drowning
entangled in you
surrounded by this being of “you”
engulfed in this feeling of “you”

and i did not know what came over me
but i let myself drown
i did not try to swim back up
because if i went back to land,
releasing myself from your grasp
that would mean losing the feeling of “you”

and after
submerging into the depth
the love
the passion
of “you”

how could i ever leave?
 Mar 2018
Gidgette
I've lain on this horrid couch for days,
vintage in hand
ever staring
at this hideous popcorn ceiling.
A cheap white, low lying coffin lid.
You can never rehabilitate the dead
We are dead.
Yet, more alive than any of the sane people.
How I pity the sane.
Boring.
****** to a life of hell they are.
In these popcorn ceiling caskets.
And routine,
is hell~A
Hey. I've missed you.
 Feb 2018
Graff1980
Man, it is so disappointing.
I get close to exploring
another human’s mind.
A minute or two
passes through
as I share truths
and expect her to
present hers to,

but generally I get
either vehemence
or indifference.
She either gets ******
or merely dismisses
my curious persistence,

and I find myself
alone in a never-ending pursuit
of knowledge
that I never get to share.
 Feb 2018
Lora Lee
slipping past my bones
deeply over the rim

nightfall liquid rushing
through the crown
of my head
eyes wide, a-glow
            with new vision

Yes. I will meet you there
in subconscious phosphorescence
pools of knowledge
forming between
the feather weight
of our lashes

wait for me
for I am floating
stellar-dipped arms
outstretched,
feeling the particles
the soft space between our
eyes, aligned

Come
let us receive each other
in astral ease
a rocking delight
of non-physical
until we can one day

touch
 Feb 2018
Walter W Hoelbling
how do I write about the beauty of the world
when barefoot people pass before my window
in search of shelter

how do I share my pleasure of the birds' sweet song at dawn
when I see faces etched with panic
from deafening blasts of bombs

how to rejoice in love and friendship
when meeting people who could barely save their lives
after burying their loved ones

how can I write with passion of the kindness of the human heart
when I see thousands fleeing from the ruins of their homes
only to face police   walls   barbed wire

true words are hard to find
as said a poet of an older war

    when it is a lie to speak
    a lie to keep silent

not easy
The poet from which my last two lines come: John Balaban, Vietnam veteran:
“A poet had better keep his mouth shut,” he writes in “Saying Good-by to Mr. and Mrs. My, Saigon, 1972”:
unless he’s found words to comfort and teach.
Today, comfort and teaching themselves deceive
and it takes cruelty to make any friends
when it is a lie to speak, a lie to keep silent.
 Feb 2018
Graff1980
The folds of
burnt black metal
pinch his skin,
breaking the flesh
that slips within
tiny gaps.

The knight gasps
as pain explodes
and trickles of blood
start to flow.

To this
his page says,
your forgot your
aketon.

The newly knighted fool
stares and drools,
stuttering “what?”
and the page replies
your underpadding.
 Feb 2018
Matthew S
I have a question for you.
Do you think Im faking it?
I want to tell you how i feel
I want to do what you promised me i could do
I want to be truthful
But i can't
Because you have already put me down
And brushed me off as a "moody teenager"

I'm 18
About to be 19
Ill admit, i am young
But is that a reason to brush me off?
Is that a reason to not let me talk?
Is that a reason....
To deny my feelings?
To treat me like
I don't have a voice?

Is that a reason to make me feel
Like Im a bird
That had his wings torn off?
Is that a reason
To point out my stutter
To yell at me when Im trying to think of my next words carefully?
To yell at me
When i don't yell at you?

I already know that my words
Are not right.
They are not how i want them to be
They come out of my mouth
Like a monster of hatred
They stutter and they run
And they cause destruction
They cause me pain

Do you have to point out
That i act childish?
That i "over react"?
That Im a "drama queen"?
Because sometimes
I act more mature than you
And then i get bashed with profanities that you just wont let me say out loud

Can i remind you
Of the promise you made me
When i was in the psychiatric hospital?
A promise that i could tell you
When Ive hit my lowest point?
When Ive had enough?

Because Ive had enough
Of the name calling
Of the ******* arguments
Of ******* everything
But i can't tell you
Because i was getting better
And you would think I'm lying

And you, and everyone else in this family
Will join your hands
Put your differences aside
And scream out you version of motivation
But what you don't see
Is sometimes all i need

Is for someone to notice
How much i hold back my anger
When you let loose yours

Is for someone
To let me finish a sentence
Before they yell at me

For someone
To side with me
And not just with the adult in the situation

For you to ******* stop.

And listen
Before i do something
Something that my ****** up mind thinks will fix the situation
But will only make it worse
For those who i left behind
****I'M NOT GONNA DO ANYTHING! THE SUICIDAL FEELING HAS PASSED, WRITING THE POEM HELPED WITH THAT!**** eh... If i post this it will probably be later when Ive calmed down more.
Ive had arguments with my uncle but its become so bad that he constantly insults me and i cant say anything back in a calm voice or even, my favorite option, not talk to him to avoid more of the argument. And when i just nod my head, and say "yes sir" i STILL get yelled at. At this point, I'm just tired of it.
Im calm now but i wish it would stop so i could just.. Breathe
 Feb 2018
Graff1980
The struggle burns,
scorching scars
straight down
to my bones,
cause I know
I struggle alone.
 Feb 2018
Graff1980
Money, alcohol,
video games and football
sports entertainment,
movies, cars,
trips afar,
social networks,
****** relationships,
if these are the things
we are run by,
searching for that
purchase high,
working lives
fun put on hold,
as you hold onto
your nine to five,
if all we are
is the desire to acquire
and be distracted
till our clocks
stopped,
then what is the point?
 Feb 2018
Graff1980
For the ecstasy
of love
I would have
cut my tongue,

I would have
silenced myself,
suffocated my outrage
for the chance to exist
in the elevated state
of her embrace.

I would have
slowly sliced
the essentials
of my identity
to feed said addiction.

So, in losing
even the illusion
of the chance of love
I am freed from
the strangle hold
that it would have.

Even though,
these are the truths
that I know,
I am certain
that I would
happily relapse.
 Feb 2018
Graff1980
It is the heart of me
that she does not
even bother to see,
a red bridge that breaks
collapsing into
a darker crimson pool,
I set this mess
before her,
expose my scars,
as I worship hers,
whisper gentle affections,
promise fierce protection,
but she turns away
unswayed by the fruits
of my heart,
and I turn away
forgetting the self-love
I struggled to attain
and succumb to
that old familiar pain.
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