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 May 2017 Joy Ceye
bluevelvet
you're good at
what you do
you sit and
listen for weaknesses
you're a judgmental
user who likes
to form their
very own lies
you act like
you are better
than everyone but
in all reality
you're the lowest
of all lows
but dont worry
who you are
has nothing on
my past so
you can try
and bring me
down but yet
i will always
rise.

Who
am
i?
stop being paranoid.
 May 2017 Joy Ceye
bluevelvet
I don't know.
Maybe I should

just tell him.

I don't know.
Maybe I should

just end it all.

Right now.

I mean,

that's what lardas-ses do,

right?

The one with trust issues,

not to mention the only

thing im good at is

making boys moan with this mouth.

I don't know.
Do you?
 May 2017 Joy Ceye
bluevelvet
Run, run,
r  u  n.
Fast enough to
fill you up with doubt.
How would you prefer it done?
I'm not a fan of guns,
they scare me.
Sharp and rigid edges?
But they aren't really
a friend of mine.
I could down a handful
of pills.
You already know how
I'm good at swallowing
things.
Look at that,
turning death into a
****** innuendo.
Maybe to help you
if you still cared,
you know,
past that plastic exterior.
Maybe to help me,
life is truly down since
the one you want
doesn't even
know
you exist.
Or maybe just doesn't
care.
Or maybe,
just maybe,
it's a joke.
All of this is a joke.
You, me, the world.
Life.
 May 2017 Joy Ceye
David Noonan
You're my fear
Everything that i hold dear
You hang on every word I say
As I pray, you won't grow
To one day, live that way
But to find your own words
Of world's old and new
That take you places
Beyond all that i once knew
Till that day, I'll always say
I'll carry your fear
Like a one true love
That i keep near
So grow my angel child
Take this life as you can
Be it one or be it many
Let it be dreams that you carry
And if you ever misstep
If you stumble or falter
I will always be humbled and proud
To be the one, to call you
Daughter
 May 2017 Joy Ceye
Mary-Eliz
Like glass that shatters
with a high, shrill voice
words
splinter my feelings
they fall
as shards of mirror
left for me
to see myself
broken and fragmented

I try to pick them up
they pierce and cut
I let them lie
awhile
and
finally sweep them aside
placing them
with all the other pieces
of myself
I no longer wish to see.

How soon
will that be
all
that's left
?
I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on a
train and that they never were recovered.
I can't match the agony of this
but the other night I wrote a 3-page poem
upon this computer
and through my lack of diligence and
practice
and by playing around with commands
on the menu
I somehow managed to erase the poem
forever.
believe me, such a thing is difficult to do
even for a novice
but I somehow managed to do
it.

now I don't think this 3-pager was immor-
tal
but there were some crazy wild lines,
now gone forever.
it bothers more than a touch, it's some-
thing like knocking over a good bottle of
wine.

and writing about it hardly makes a good
poem.
still, I thought somehow you'd like to
know?

if not, at least you've read this far
and there could be better work
down the line.

let's hope so, for your sake
and
mine.
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