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We are the
       Awoken ones
       Our muse we hope to stumble on  
Lit only by
        Star-and-streetlight
        Somewhere between the dusk and dawn.

|b.g.|
For us, the late-night and restless writers.
Three days ago I found my sunlight peeking through a crack on the back of a rusted dumpster. My body, forced into it by people unwilling to give me a second chance.


It was blistering cold and the wind cut like snowflake diamonds zipping all around. I remember I was walking home thinking “maybe this is all I have left to give”


So two days ago I decided I'd let that dumpster bright ray of sunshine go. If my only good moments were covered in filth, I'd rather just let them go.


My thoughts raced on what was ahead of me. A millennia of starscreams opening across the galaxy as my silhouette becomes the shadow of a dwarf.


I know I'll miss the sunlight though...and even through cracks in rust I think my sunlight might someday become platinum.


Yesterday I met a face that felt like hot shadows. She sung catapults of fire in my mind. I saw her on the stage at a local cafe, strumming demons away from my side. Her fingers bleeding sunshine through her fingertips. Dipped in ridges and vibration.


I found a fool's worth of hope in the skyline and lost a lifetimes worth on wishing.
 Dec 2016 Alex S
Hannah Marze
I've got an open heart and a ***** mind,
a broken past so it'll take some time
to get used to that simple line
that everything is gonna be just fine.
You've got a healing smile and a shining dream,
a closed demeanor, but I believe
that the best kind of free
is when you dance with vulnerability-
around, in the light, of your eyes....

I've got racing thoughts and you speak in tongues;
we dodge the truth like we're still young.
You never know where I'm coming from,
and I can't tell if you'll stay or if you'll run.
Then those moments when you look at me,
and I feel my world start to freeze;
if I could control anything
I'd disappear to reality
with you, and the light, in your eyes....

Cause we've all got a piece of the disaster that visits us at night,
prepares us to fight- for something beautiful.
And even if I could run faster, I'd still hang on tight,
just incase I might- find something beautiful-
like you, and the light, in your eyes....

12.07.16
The study-skill of coping
A scholar learns, and teaches
Vices of distraction, dissension
Stressed in silence and speeches

We are in this together
Or so we've all been taught
We stand united in struggle
But fall separate in thought.

We each carry hidden loads
Pains and pasts of our own
We may be followed by darkness
But in the dark, not alone.

We all march on, in struggle and stride
Through tides that pull to drown
For hope that together we reach a high
Before we all break down.

|b.g.|
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed:
From where thou art, why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In wingèd speed no motion shall I know.
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;
Therefore desire, of perfect’st love being made,
Shall neigh—no dull flesh—in his fiery race.
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade:
    Since from thee going he went wilful-slow,
    Towards thee I’ll run, and give him leave to go.
 Dec 2016 Alex S
Jasmin A
He saved her from finishing last in the race for top spot on the beauty scale by finishing last himself.
He knew about her dandelion kissed heart making wishes upon more wishes searching for those seeds blown by her everlasting, heartbreak drenched breath into the anonymous wind.
He saves her while she bleeds out dead crocodile tears not wanting to take the same tissue that could replenish her very soul that.
He held out for her for the past year and a half - no try eternity and a half.
As she wanders these halls she is broken and he wishes to restore her but the Hydrangea buss melted off her skin and flew to never land or was it the Netherlands?
She feels them both the same as he remembers.
Is her heart really gone because he tried so hard to chisel through the brick wall only to find stone after wretched stone?
Are her finger tips so soaked with sadness and pools of depression from wiping off what the others call... What do they call those clear, wet broken dreams she wipes from the corner of her eyelids?
Tears. Oh tears. Yes.
Tears so they called them and oh such a simple word for a much more gargantuan meaning.
As the ocean leaks from her eyelids colored black from the mascara she uses to hide those insecurities woven deep within the organs held together in a system to make that beautiful gentle dandelion that is the organism called HER.
As she wonders where the seeds have landed from those dandelions she blew in hopes of finding that forever romance she comes to find that lying on your chest the day you broke through the solitary confinement over what she thought of as insignificant - her heart grew out of that rigid boulder of a shell and she didn't have to wonder where the wind took those dreams because those dreams were under her head as she rested in that bed. your bodies leaked all over the love scented sheets rocking to lullabies of sweat and the aroma of rose petaled 'I love you's' .
He never stopped trying to break through that barrier she carried behind that feeble rib cage he made it his mission his priority careful because one small flick could cause an avalanche of deep red cells that will leak through wounds made by the razor blade that she'd call savior.
That she wouldn't call but scream and the only one who would hear it was he.
And so determination.
It drove him off the cliff called insanity only to be lifted into that cavern of a soul she had buried deep inside.
It was like entering heaven and now he knows what it feels like and no fantasy of a land that you visit after death kisses your lips ******* the breath out of your lungs through your throat could ever measure up to that moment that she looks in your eyes and your souls can no longer qualify in the world of words, terms, phrases and etcetera and etcetera and etcetera as plural.
Oh, another love song.
© Jasmin Aguinaga
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