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A Poem on Addiction: Paint Thinner Arts 

A Poem on Addiction: Paint Thinner

My heart murmurs with the hum of cicadas I’m on fire the way they made us   I spin in circles around and around again Huff down the air as the screams begin I’m unstoppable as I ride this night bus My fingertips graze along stars as my eyes set upon mars   I’m flying above, walking along the cusp The cracks upon the pavement fall from beneath  The descent of chemicals calls from Hell’s gates I am nothing, I am forced to wait   “I’ve come close so many…

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Ode to Trump (a satire) Arts 

Ode to Trump (a satire)

Very Very Close “Proud Boys stand back and stand by” Tremendous Tension   “Forest Management” “We need immaculate air” Oil Industry   “We are fighting it” “I caught it. I learned a lot”  “It’s going away”   “Prison reform bill” “criminal justice reform” “I took care of Black…”   “nobody tougher”  “on Russia than Donald Trump.” Good relationship   Mr. President “Did you just use the word smart” You forgot the name   By Hue Bean

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“Ramblings of a lunatic” Arts 

“Ramblings of a lunatic”

Going mad from writer’s block, hysteria at  1 am, the calm settles and   I let the words flow out of my brain, my fingers have a conscience of their own   I feel like I could go on forever, or at least until I fall asleep    the only time my brain is  silent, completely, utterly, silent.   By Sophie Dufresne This poem was inspired by the song “Ramblings of a lunatic” by Bears In Trees

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Sundays at Nonna’s Arts 

Sundays at Nonna’s

My grandmother always frowned At her reflection. “La vecchiaia è brutta,” she would say  With a sigh as she looked down  At her hands, Where she saw deep folds and wrinkles  In her skin,  Like they were one of my grandfather’s shirts, Which she was unable to smooth out.   With resolve, she chose to drain the water  From her eyes into a pot, Where it began to boil The raw dough she kneaded With the valleys of her hands.  She served us dinner with tomato sauce From her veins,…

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Current Affairs Arts 

Current Affairs

Racism is dead In their eyes but not in mine I will not forget I am dead inside But I continue to live To spite all of them Dear mom, I am sad ‘Cause of what my life became I want to improve Home was never here It was inside all along Living in our hearts I am not your doll I will not be soft for you I will not be yours By Depressed Asian

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Regression to the mean Arts 

Regression to the mean

Nothing is permanent, So why should my anxiety be?   Dark clouds are carried off by strong winds, Storms are drained dry, Hurricanes exist to self-destruct.   Every cloud’s fate is to dissipate, Every ray of sunshine dies out, Every mean is returned to.   Math was never my forte though, So how can I find the mean of my anxiety?   By Sophie Dufresne

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Inexistence  Arts 


There is a debate in society On whether or not I exist. Not on whether or not I should exist, Or on whether or not I deserve rights, But on whether or not I exist.   The sheer thought  Of the possibility  I might wake up tomorrow, To learn that I don’t exist, That I might unite with the void, Melt into nothingness, Have the memory of me erased from this planet, All because the conservatives emerged victorious from this debate, And the world must accept the harsh truth: “Everyone…

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Some Thoughts on Ancient History Arts 

Some Thoughts on Ancient History

My grandfather amidst An earthquake, A stone-hard marble pillar Of a man, Remains cold, always, Even to the touch; He holds up his end Of the fortress With clipped words, Riddled with hard edges That slip through the cracks Of a curled upper lip.   My grandfather amidst  The aftermath, Some stone-hard marble ruins Of a man, Remains still, always, Even when watched; He holds up his pieces Of the crumbling site With resonating silence, Amplified by a sense of finality That draws in the ears Of wandering pilgrims.  …

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