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May 05

City

Apr 30

Out Of Smoke and Stars, The Latter Loses.

Her face turns cold as stone
as I watch her father grip her shirt,
pulling her forward, touching their foreheads together,
his face red as he dictates what she can and cannot be.

I watch as my best friend's heart is torn out
by the person who made it.
The slurs that fall from his cold, chapped lips 
and the smoke that curls from a cigarette left burning in a dish by the door
remind me of our childhood,
here, in this home, the place that always smelled 
slightly like lavender and incense,
the air fogged with lost inhibitions.

And as he swings at her, his eyes wild and his ears shut,
deaf to her pleas,
I remember holding her close,
hugging her body, wrapping mine around her while
she sobbed about her mother-- lying dead in the soil behind her home.

I remember how we found each other when we were both suffocating,

Apr 28
AboutToSnap's picture

Behind the Scenes

Of your favorite restaurant....there is beauty in the simple patterns
 
Apr 23

Data Snake

My hand twitches
Like a snake, it slithers toward my pocket.
Looking for a flashy device
that will provide an escape from boring reality,
gulping down music, images, videos
to feed itself  
hungry for more
maybe one day it will finally
shed its skin.
My hand comes out empty.
My prey has escaped.
I feel the panic setting in.
Desperately rummaging around,
looking for a part of myself
that I have lost.
But then I remember.
It's in my backpack.
Warm relief drips through my body.
Nothing to worry about.
I unzip the my backpacks sack.
Peeking into a dark hole,
all I see is a bunch of forgotten clutter.
My phone shines like a beacon of light
through the jumbled mess.
I yank it out, along with my headphones
ready to jam to some catchy tunes.
I scream in horror.
The headphones are a tangled up disaster.
A knotted bizzare lump of plastic.  
Apr 12
Monster_T_02's picture

Zombies

Somedays, I relate to the zombies in my stories.
The anger, the feeling of wanting to explode.
The zombies in my stories have thoughts,
But they hate people in their personal space.
They act as if they are not in control of their actions.
Somedays, I relate to the zombies in my stories.
Brooding, unwanting to share.
The inability to get close to others without snapping.
Cranky, protective of things I can't see.
Loud noises setting me into a frenzy,
Somedays, I relate to the zombies in my stories.
Sad, unable to control what I'm feeling.
Vulnerability makes me hostile.
I'd rather die than let someone touch me.
Somedays, I relate to the zombies in my stories.
Not wanting to hurt others.
Confused, lost, and tormented.
Scar tissue underneath the surface, 
Leaving places along my back sore.
Years after the assault.
As if there was a bite that wouldn't heal.
Apr 11

One of the Girls

"With the way she talks she must love attention."
I don't love the attention.
I talk just as much as him
and the next guy
and the guy before him.
God forbid my words roar and rumble
the way others did
and I don't mold myself like clay
to bend over backwards
and break my fragile, hollowed bones
to serve you.

My loud mouth draws in the world around it,
devours the air,
and feeds my vocal cords with oxygen,
fans the flames,
feeds them,
as they burn and spew red hot embers.
Dragons don't exist?
To hell with it,
we're here
and spitting flames,
licking at your toes
and burning the soles of your sore feet
as we scream.

We're shouting because you refuse to listen,
and we'll shout until it hurts,
until we see red,
and we'll keep goin.
We'll keep fighting
and demanding,
because we deserve space just as much as you.
Apr 04

Testosterone

Tuesday is my T day.
The first month, I was excited for Tuesday to come,
waking up early just to be sure my injections were timed;

wake up
eat
wash hands
sterilize leg
fill syringe
.25
swap needle
push out air
grab leg
hover needle over leg until confident enough to insert (approximately seven minutes)
pull back; check for blood
inject
remove needle
place in sharps container
scramble for bandaid if needed.

I have begun my fourth month of carefully choreographed Tuesday mornings.
Today’s Tuesday was a bleeder: I think I nicked a vein when removing.
In month two, I forgot to eat beforehand and almost passed out.
I remembered to put on shoes before I laid down on the floor.

In month three I bought a razor.
I don’t shave often, but my chin hairs protrude enough
that they must be chopped down regularly.
Mar 17

Dear Stephen Hawking

Dear Mr. Hawking,
I'm sorry I didn't do this on Wednesday.
You died on Wednesday.
Albert Einsteins birthday,
to be precise.

When the news told us
that you were dead I 
stared at the screen in shock.

How can you not be 
on the earth anymore when 
in the span of my short life,
you always have been.

You were a famous scientist,
teaching us that the laws of physics
were beyond what we really imagined,
that black holes really weren't that 
"black" 

You thought that there 
were multiple worlds beyond
what we could see.

You were a hero,
because even though you were diagnosed
with ALS and confined to 
a wheelchair,
you did not let these things stop you.

You were a miracle,
because you survived ALS
decades longer than the doctors
told you that you would.

You were a miracle,
Mar 15

kindred

when i walk into the library
my body is tense, my fingers sore from scrambling over my keyboard
i find a table, much too central for my liking
and settle in
already feeling irritation take its seat beside me
reminding me of deadlines and long essays waiting to be written

i do not notice the elderly woman 
bending over the shelf of children's books behind my chair 
her hair is stringy and white
knotted in two buns on each side of her head
she is missing several teeth 
and the ones she has intact tell me of her age

but i do not notice these details until she pulls back the 
other chair at my table
i smile quickly, not taking my fingers from the keyboard
somehow, i glance down and see the books she has in her bony hands

"tasha tudor: around the year"
"tasha tudor: pumpkin moonshine"
and many more
Mar 14
poem 1 comment challenge: Rain

Notice the Blue Bird

I walk silently watching in the rain
that the sewers and drain pipes can barely contain.
A river flows down the cracked pavement street,
just as memories flood me bittersweet.

Memories surface of the gray puddles in Kentucky,
Splashed by my brother, how unlucky.
Grandma was there to offer us towels and fudge,
and Band-Aids for toes stubbed on rocks that never budged.

Droplets patter on my hooded head.
I should have brought an umbrella instead.
My boots swish through the torrent,
with the cold seeping through my coat, abhorrent.

I shiver as I hike up the gradual hill,
jumping across a pool in front of the coffee mill.
Landing, my feet stumble in slow motion,
then I’m sprawled in water cold as an ocean.

My mouth releases a screech.
I hurry to get up, but overreach.
Back I fall into the tiny tide,
and in the water I lose my pride.
Mar 14
Riely_Amerosa's picture

The Nature of Thought

The Nature of Thought

By Riely Amerosa
Mar 03

Beach Day

Feb 27

A Hug Every Six Thousand Years

Everything bad that has happened to you
is my fault,
I know.
You've told me so many times.

Every curse word you learned
at school
you screamed into my face.
You know more than I do.

I’m sorry you look
a little different.

The principal told me about
how you got locked in the bathroom,
with the lights off.
I know you hate the dark.
You know that they
don’t care…

I know you think I can’t understand.
and I’m sorry,
I really can’t.

I hear you crying at night,
kicking the wall,
punching the headboard so hard
that I can feel the walls shudder.

I’m sorry that you have to listen to me
trying to help
screaming at people on the phone,
sobbing into my pillow.
I’m just trying to find a way
to protect you!

“Why do you care for someone
you don’t love?”

Your words kill me

Feb 20
H20.hollym's picture

Dreams of Gunshots and Numbers

I woke up this morning;
bits and pieces 
of the vision that played
beneath my eyelids as I slept
fluttered back into my mind.

I saw a church up
in the mountains,
rows and rows of dark wooden pews
lit with candles.

I sat in one with my family
and our family friends.
It was a high school,
and I felt the losses shatter
in my chest as the man
on the podium read their names.

It had not been my siblings,
my friends, my teachers,
or my cousins-
this time.

But it had been 47.
And they were no longer numbers
in Connecticut or Florida.
No, this time they were names,
these were people,
at a Vermont high school just
30 minutes away.

These names were teachers
that had taught the girl
sitting behind me.
They were athletes,
nordic skiers,
that I had raced against just 
last Saturday.
They were friends
Feb 10

To Vote, or Not to Vote?

   To vote is to take part in a Democratic system, and to help decide which candidate will be the most beneficial for your nation. But what if neither candidate represents your point of view? Is it still patriotic to vote, even if it means voting for someone you don’t believe in?    
   On November 8th, 2016, millions of Americans were asking themselves that very question. Forced to choose between Republican Donald Trump and Democrat Hillary Clinton, only about 60% of eligible voters actually cast their ballots.
   Most people would agree that it is our patriotic duty to vote. Voting honors the brave Americans who fought to give us freedom and a voice in our government.  Despite an election’s outcome, voting strengthens Democracy. Therefore, by going to the polls, you are supporting your country. “Voting is the right upon which all other rights depend.”
Feb 10

Blue

Jan 30

Planting Children

A/N: I wrote this story for the creative writing class I'm taking this semester. I had to base a <1,800 word story based on a specific picture. The final product is 1,781 words long and length was definitely my biggest struggle. How are you supposed to write short stuff?

The concept was simple, the execution, not so much. It was something out of a science fiction movie.
Jan 22

schizo

I wish I had known you
before the darkness crept in,
before the voices whispered,
before the demons lurked in every corner.

Kind, compassionate, caring,
all manner of “C” sounds to describe you then.
They describe you now still,
only changed,
only not.

It first manifested,
ceaseless, complex, cacophonic.
Your diary read, “I can’t take this,”
and you hit your mother with a wrench,
or so you thought.

Meal time was spent on the porch,
alone.
Inside the house, siblings laughed.
Inside your head, something laughed too.

Aunty took one look and said it,
a cruel, careless word,
the word of a trained nurse:
“Schizophrenia.”

Dad was scared to death.
You were 3 years older than he.
What if he caught the loony gene too?
Oh God, what if they all did?

A trip to Ohio was supposed to set you straight.
Audio download:
schizo 3.mp3