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 Aug 2014 Rosaline Moray
L
i am asleep
goodnight friend
melancholy
my head spins
my nose tickles
oh i am in the car
with my mom
and she is yelling at me
oops i forgot
i don’t know if i should pay attention
probably not
there goes a red ball
lying in the gutter
there it is
streaked with dirt
goodbye red ball
goodnight old friend
 Aug 2014 Rosaline Moray
Dee Bach
do you like what you see?
staring back at you?
the cap with the dangling tassel
by your face
the oversized gown
the “kids” you grew up with
all around you  
they give you hugs and say “CONGRADUALATIONS”
why do we go through these motions?
I never was one of them
always on the outside.
the people who are
supposed to be at your side
vanish.

Almost done.

The last line forms
The one that leads you
To the end of the dark.
“Almost done” I whisper,
to myself,
and smile at the thought
as the camera snaps the moment
of “almost done”
she walks across the stage
but your hands don’t clap
you watch her and hold back
the tears, remembering all the
fights, but not the fun.  She glances
over her shoulder and smiles,
and I smile to for she has to
know this is all a lie
the lie of us.
I’m done.
 Aug 2014 Rosaline Moray
Eli
I'm not ashamed of the way that my tongue bleeds
When I am escaping from anything
Especially the words I can not say
For fear of breaking and entering
And I can't apologize unless I am sorry
That I've told you the truth about all my fears
And the way I'm running from everything
That's ever meant something or anything to me
And I'm not sorry for being so right brained
When I over analyze your dreams
But I'm not sorry for being so left behind
When everything's so far out of reach
Yet I'm sorry for not being able
To grasp it

When the time is right
And I'm only a poet when under
This broken exterior of a person
When I am vulnerable and weak
Or my foundation is cracking
And I'm left in the basement of it
So in the end,
I'm just sorry I don't speak so poetically.
(b.r.o.)
His darkness is so very bright
           that it's almost blinding.
My heart I give to the cloud
my eyes where the grasses quiver
my time is come to leave the high ground
be lost in the mist of the river!

From so far I have wandered
to be lost in you o river
my tears mourn the times squandered
to find you where you meander!

Now is come the time this August noon
to pierce your mystery's veil
to kiss your ripples and die in your moon
go down deep you to feel!

I give my heart to where winds the river
as I stand on your green bank's mound
where the clouds hug you grasses quiver
and soul end of journey is home bound!
I read a tidbit somewhere
that the average American will spend
a combined six months of their life
waiting at red lights.

After I processed this,
I consciously took a breath,
thanked my debatably lucky stars
that I turned out
nowhere near average,

*and gunned it.
© Bitsy Sanders, July 2014
Some live for pleasure.
Others? They've missed the **** boat.
I've earned my sea legs.
© Bitsy Sanders, July 2014
 Aug 2014 Rosaline Moray
kp
you took my innocence from me
and I'll never get that back
(but)
i made you feel,
and that's something you said you'd never do.
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