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Juhlhaus Apr 2019
Fingers on the rails can feel
The pulse of steel and diesel engines,
The muscle and sinew of a continent.
Ten thousand horses throb the air
And bear down on a mile of freight.
It rolls by like thunder
Under a clear blue sky, stirs the soul
With memories of lonely whistles
In the night, a desert wind, mystery lights;
When little fingers at the open window
First felt the pulse of steel and diesel,
A few million miles ago.
For my father who loved trains from childhood and worked forty years on the railroad, traveling approximately five million miles by rail during his career.
Elena Feb 2019
I crave an obvious love
Read my mind
Know me better than me

I crave an unrealistic love
Complete my sentences before I think them
Know my mood by the position of my hand

I crave the other half of me
Split down the middle
Staring back at me
lila Feb 2019
it’s no secret
that i’m short
it’s always been that way
and it will always be that way
stuck at 4’9 forever

and by the laws of physics
or science
or whatever
i don’t really
take up much space

but ever since i was young
i couldn’t help but feel
that i was too much
i took up too much of the room
around me

so a lots of times
there were these thoughts
always playing, like static
telling me how
to take up less space
or make less noise
and become even more
invisible

pull your arms closer
tuck them in your lap
tip toe, so floorboards
don’t creak under your steps
don’t move
keep still
and most definitely
do not let any words slip from your mouth
because any noise, and movement
brings attention
and attention brings judgement
from the people around you
so just blend in
and be invisible
never take up too much space

but that was not living
and i’m sad it’s taken this long to realize
that my existence is too beautiful
to be invisible
and blend in among the crowd
so i will stomp the ground
and shake the earth beneath
i will laugh and
shout and dance
and let everyone know that i am here
because i am worthy
of taking up space
-2/12/2019
I have a sentence to life
And the warden is Death.
Paige Jan 2019
Believe it or not
I'm screaming every day
Because being a woman is
A pain you can't forget
From hands over mouths
And mouths on bodies
And bodies under pressure
Pressure to be perfect or
Pressure to be pliable
Wrists stuffed down behind backs
And knees pushed wide apart
Fear in our eyes
Blotting out the stars
And cotton shoved in our throats
Stifling our voices
When the world ignores our cries
I. Am. Always. Screaming.
Because every day
Is looking over my shoulder
Convincing myself
As I stand in a mirror
Knuckles white with my rage
My repressed hatred
My scars
I am strong
I am fierce
I can do this
But the pain
The fear
The constant wondering
And constant betrayal
Because none of these men I love
Give a **** about this fight
Understand what it means
To sit next to a stranger on a bus
And feel their skin start to shiver
The eyes of them
The souls
The skin
The men I came to trust
Or believe in
They don't know the harsh reality
The horror movie I have to face
The nightmare I have to live
We have to live
We are not alone
But that is not enough
I stand with you
But two bodies tied to the post
Only burn together
We're both dying
We're both screaming
How do we make this place
Safe for the women who
Will inherit our shoes?
People think you should be optimistic,
They think you should give yourself goals to try to ascertain
To try and make yourself better.
These things though can be detrimental,
Because where I am
You have to get used to not being able to do things,
But then people say that you should make your goals small and attainable,
Yet they don’t understand that what is reachable one day,
Can be out of sight the next,
No matter how simple.
I am so much
Better
Than you would have me believe,
And each time you do this
I stand taller than you think I can

But I am exhausted
Of being stronger than they all believe,
When it doesn’t get me anywhere.
Anger is starting to quell and fill up my head along with the misery,
I don’t see the point of stopping it.
They give me no reason to conquer anything.

You have no idea
What all of this amounts to,
It actually makes me feel a bit hysterical
About how many things are wrong with this,
How many thoughts and feelings have been conjured from the impact;
The impact,
That you, of course, deny is even happening.

Maybe one day this will all just end,
At least a thousand years from now I must definitely be dead
And then it will be over.
If only I could wake up one day
And pretend this isn’t happening,
And eventually it could actually be convincing.
Maybe there won’t be so many
Emotions
Filling my head like a poison to myself and others and
It could all just be
Gone.
And it never would have happened.

Even if I could get over it,
And pretend it hasn’t changed me,
Pretend it hasn’t caused an ounce of impact:
That would be too much like what you’ve been wanting.
So whatever I do it hurts me
With acceptance or denial
When I can never
Never
Deny any of it.
But you do.
And I’m the last person to go around blaming people,
But oh Hell and Heaven do you tempt me.

I don’t want to have to think about this everyday,
I’m sure it will always be there though
And I wish I wouldn’t have to worry about this,
But every reaction you make causes more damage
And you’re not even slightly important,
It must be good there’s hardly anyone else
Who is actually in my life,
To risk having a similar reaction.

Everywhere they all say,
That’s the thing, all you have to do
Is not to care and then it can’t hurt you.
I must agree I’ve said that too sometimes,
But I don’t care for them at all
I don’t really care what they think
But it won’t ease the tension or aggravation that’s building up inside of me.
Absolutely insane,
You’re pushing me past my limits
And making me deranged.
It kills me to know
All this agony you’re indulging me into
Is helping you shove me away,
And prove that it is only my mental state.
I could laugh at the amount of therapy,
This could force me to need.
I’ve had so much
Why would you make me feel this way?
Everyday I doubt myself,
I’m not sure how many times it’s from my symptoms
Or from what you tell me about them.
I know though,
I want everything to go away.
There’s no point of existing like this,
Acknowledgement probably wouldn’t be enough for me now,
But no one’s letting me have just that anyway.
While you throw your words at me
Like bombs whilst expecting me to think they’re bandages
Maybe you should just finish the job,
Because each breath I take becomes more forced, more tired, more hateful
Except none of you who think you’re doing your job
Notice a thing.
And that’s how I know
I would’ve been a **** good nurse,
Because I would have cared, I would have worked for people
And now you’ve made me not want to see any,
Perhaps even more than I did before.
I’m not sorry I don’t feel sorry anymore,
You’ve shown me how to feel like this,
I can’t believe I ever trusted,
When all I get is betrayed, ignored or shoved aside
And I’m done now.
I don’t want to listen to humanity anymore:
I don’t think there is any left.
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