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Worn and Torn
He sits alone atop the hill at Port Clyde, wondering when will someone come? Deep into rotting depression,
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My View of the World
My current keeps the seagulls circling In my reflection they can look for food. Their wings ripple me with a simple touch.
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Onto the Next Life
“I’m sorry to ask but how many?” “All seven, I’m afraid.” The world around him turns to the brown, red, and yellows of dirt.
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Self Interest
What novelty is there in another’s heart? What new skies are there in another’s eyes? Perhaps it’s because my own bosom
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Smiles and Tears
I’ve forgotten how to smile. My muscles get cramped after too many pretenses. It’s easier to just loosen the upward tension.
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The Fall Effect
I haven’t written or read in a while because it’s fall. Fall is when the days sharpen their coldness and twist you around with their breath.
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The Doomed Dancer
By Erin Costello, 15, Florida Skin draped over stark bone, Twisting and turning alone. A lone dancer, an abandoned stage, Their gazes trap her like a cage She spins and…
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In Memory of Tweetie Sweetie
I was sitting by the helm, Watching the blue waves move past, When your green plumage caught my eye.
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And when the clock tolls twelve…
I’m a princess, bejeweled and dressed in the finest silks. Still, blood stains my fine evening gloves.
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Book of Ghosts
The book of change watches me rage as its pages turn of their own accord like a scornful clock endlessly ticking, sending me to the ground in a freefall of…
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My Little Family
My little family started at Newark Airport with donuts and dreamy gazes. My little family is the eighteenth cohort, a dazzling crew that amazes.
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Equipoise
Another relationship up in flames, Over just when it’s begun. I pushed too hard, I felt so sure this was “the one.”
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A Daily Nightmare
No one sees him, No one hears him. But he always lives among us Patiently waiting and waiting.
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Aching Streets
The work is about language barriers/expectations I faced as an Indian American. The poem can be read three ways (the left side on its own, the right side on its…
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When In Spring We Sing
When in Spring We Sing violently like the birds in the early morning. Saying: get up you lazy hen it’s time to begin anew.
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Longing
My blood runs brown, rich like the soil of a homeland I’ll never see. Yet I can taste the fruits of that farmland.
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Winds in the East
Everything’s changing. Even as I sit here, writing this, I can feel it. I know that whatever happens today can never be repeated tomorrow.
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Ore
my home smells like baking grass and diluted smoke it tastes like salt, like when i used to lick my hands as a child and came up with a mouthful…
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Look How She Grows!
Look how she grows! Why she does it no one knows. Science can say this how seedlings sprout with sun, But no one knows just why she grows, Or where…
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Life?
What is life? Just one more breath? The process of being, before you are dead? The presence of pain, So you know that it’s real, Or the dull empty depth,…