untitled
Middle of the night,
On a borrowed laptop:
Wish I were inspired
just think, type, submit.
every poem is anonymous.
i think i might have
cried tonight, but it's been so
long that i forget
what it is like to
feel. like, actually feel.
i fucked (most of) it
up and i regret
it every single day but
there's nothing i can
do now, because soon
she'll be gone and may or may
not forget about
me. i hope it's the
latter of the two, so some
day i can see her
again. she said there's
something about me that she
can't get over or
let go.
at 12:38 AM
it's crazy when you
realize which of your friends
are your real friends and
from that list, begin
to anticipate which of
your real friends are here
to stay. tonight i
discovered that someone i
thought wasn't a real
friend actually
turned out to be someone that
i confide in. and
trust. sometimes we judge
people entirely wrong, but
in the end, it's the
people who stick by
your side, no matter what, that
truly, honestly
matter.
at 3:53 AM
II.
you reside inside
me, amid whirling currents--
a deep placid lake
at 1:16 PM
argentinian
at 1:35 PM
it reminds me of
at 1:32 PM
i think those of us who are involved in the five/seven/five project are at least semi-pleased with the outcome thus far; however, it's not enough.
if you come across this website (by whatever means), don't be intimidated.
there's very some good poetry on this page and also some not-so-good poetry.
it doesn't matter.
what truly matters is that everyone writes.
if you attened kent state university, keep your eye out for flyers because they'll be out soon.
get the word out & submit.
<3,
575
at 2:11 PM
a muddled mother--
baby-weighted, resentful--
attempts to escape;
in sun-lit focus
the fog rises above the
sidewalk. connected,
no doubt, to all things
she wanders-- accepting her
smallness in the vast
greatness, content to
be a body, to be feet
firmly trampling grass.
at 2:34 PM
it wasn't broken,
literally, only bruised.
either way, she lost.
at 2:33 PM
it could be argued
at 11:18 PM