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 Nov 2017
Natassia Serviss
I feel so tired,
I feel so lost.
Give my heart time to defrost.
I'm on the edge,
I've broken down.
I'll never get back up,
I'm going to drown.
We're left to think of an escape
As if the cut is a minor scrape.
Where do we find a cure?
I know people care,
I'm sure.
And if those were the last things I ever heard,
would you care to reword?
What if I was gone tomorrow?
Would you drink to drown your sorrows?
Those last words, what a shame.
Aren't you to blame?
If I can't find my way
If my path has gone astray,
Then whose to say I'll get out safe.
Hidden from my gaze
their words ring in a haze.
"We're here to help,
We're here to save.
Drop the knife,
Please be brave.
Please drop the gun,
They haven't won.
We want the best,
We want a smile.
You know that thing's been gone a while."
Just tell me it's alright,
Only for tonight.
My way out has been delayed,
Honestly I'm afraid.
Who's going to save me now?
And if those were the last things I ever heard,
Would you care to reword?
What if I was gone tomorrow?
Would you drink to drown your sorrows?
Those last words,
What a shame.
Aren't you to blame?
Aren't you to blame?
What a shame.
I'm gonna be gone tomorrow,
Please don't hold your sorrow.
Those last words were just a game.
Maybe you won,
Maybe you're to blame.
I remember this time. I remember this feeling. Written in 2012.
 Nov 2017
Angela Rose
I wear pearls and over use glitter and I don't know a thing about makeup
My face tells you how I feel about you way before my mouth gets the chance to do so
I drink coffee exclusively at 5 in the afternoon, and by the time I am done with it it's a lot more like a cup of cream and sugar than coffee
My heart is big and full of love, but also full of rage and anger for the things I cannot control
I am five feet tall, but my attitude and my drive makes me feel like a giant
My drinking habits could make a grown man cringe and I could out-drink you in any competition
I say hello to every animal I see on the streets and I go so far as to try to pet them all even though they want nothing to do with me
My eyes and my hair are so dark that they are almost pitch black, but my mother swears I was born with baby blue eyes
I do not have any idea how to control my laughter in uncomfortable situations and I have no filter around small children
My demeanor gets sad and lonely every time it storms, and it's not like I was in some terrible rain innitiated accident, I just get scared sometimes
I stare at myself in every mirror I pass and my mother used to tell me I was such a narcissist
My love for everyone I have ever loved has never diminished or passed and somehow that makes me feel vulnerable and weak
I grew up in a city full of crime and gun shots and children with next to no education and I flourished despite that all
My mind knows how to organize words and sentences into exquisite works of art, but do not ask me how to do PEMDAS and do not ask me about photosynthesis
I know the lyrics to almost every song I have ever heard in my entire life and I can sing you any lullaby that makes you fall asleep
So, in conclusion my "About Me" is long and awkward and damaged and perfect in some kind of absurd and silly way
 Nov 2017
triztessa
falling asleep in the morning
i woke up at night
with the moon hovering
over my coffee
but it was just the light
the shining down
on me like a voice saying,
you cannot bury yourself
in the gloom
of the night
and the moon
it does not shine
just half its light
and the moon
will never be as bright
as when lovers and dreamers
first found the night.
 Oct 2017
A Thomas Hawkins
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
 Oct 2017
Jessica S
When I was 10 my mum Told me that
I was special
The Next day was the First time
she told me to shut up
When I was 14 my Friends told me that
I was funny
The Next day I Heard them laugh about me
And when I was 16
You told me I was beautiful
You told me you loved me
You told me you would do anything for me
But I did not believe you
Because I learnt that people don't mean
What they say
And I did not want to get disappointed again
 Oct 2017
Contoured
I think the best part of it was the almost.
We almost fell for each other.
We almost had everything together.
We almost were,
But we never were.
We were always just an almost.
 Oct 2017
Allison
We were drinking coffee when
depression showed up at the door of the home we built, pounding.
Eviction notice in hand,
your soul parceled out into donation bins.
Foreclosure sign,
caution tape around the chest that I slept on for a year.

I sit out in the sun
to bleach the tan line from my ring finger.
I hold cold cups and shake strangers’ hands
to erase the mould of your grasp from mine.
I want to sear off my palms.

I miss even those nights when you looked at my fire and laughed.
So I make you coffee (but I know I make it wrong);
your ghost in this house still criticizes.

I made you coffee every day because it was all I could do;
my only way of getting into you, a vector.
As the hot brew flowed past your heart, I watched,
like a child at Christmas, hoping you’d feel my love.
Hoping the glaze would clear up from your eyes.

I only wish this were a bond that stayed,
that stayed when your mind put plugs in your ears:
when I screamed and screamed that I loved you,
that I’d rock every little thing you regret to sleep.

I went to the doctor about this dizziness.
He checked my ears, he asked why my eyes were red.
This vertigo--a hurricane made by the page turning in my life.
I am a bag in your wind.

The day you left I wrote you a recipe for how you like your coffee,
because you don’t know, but I have it memorized.
My handwriting changes halfway down the page, as I change,
as you drive farther and farther away.

Our love is a child I’ve carried,
now I’m bent over, sick.
Loss took your place in our home,
but it’s unsteady on its feet;
I have to walk it from room to room.

My name has been yours, possessive.
And although these days I correct myself and say ‘I’ during speech,
My thoughts are still ‘we.’
I still think about your lungs when I cough.

So I still make us coffee every day (but I know I make it wrong).
 Oct 2017
Elrow Swift
You who goes by "Lonely"
Yes you, who reads these rhymes
Please pause here for a moment
I won't take much of your time

You see my friend, I'm lonely too
In the dark with paper and pen
So I'm writing you this poem
and signing it "Your Friend"

Though I'll prob'ly never see you
nor ever know your name
I do not need to see your face
nor know your cash and fame

I do not care what color you are
how short or tall or fat
I'm weary of all these parties and creeds
So, for a moment, forget all of that

Yes you, dear friend, forget with me
Inhale this moment serene
where we are not opinions or castes
Just two humans with two glowing screens

Be human with me, simple and pure
For a moment breathe deep and feel free
then should you have the time, and a halfway good rhyme
Perhaps write a poem for me.

Signed,
Your Friend
This one isn't great, but I don't really care. I would normally throw something like this away, but the afterimage of hope made me wonder if maybe it would strike a chord with someone somewhere.  I promise to post more polished verse in the future, but all the same, thank you for reading. -ES
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