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Acquaintance Arts 


It seems like it’s been a while Since they last saw each other. They engage in small talk And, as sugar drips from their lips, They revel in its sweetness, Having forgotten the taste Of exchanging pleasant, Velvety words, Delivered softly, Smoothly Yet, crushed. By Fin  

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Eggshells Arts 


For years, I’ve been walking on eggshells. Year after year, They became thinner and thinner, Until the day they cracked. But instead of being covered With egg yolk and egg white, Instead of becoming A greasy yellow and A bright transparent, I was covered with the blood Of the person I once was.   By Sophie Dufresne

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Escapade Arts 


With eyes squinting shut, As they stare into the sun, Dazed, We run up the spiral staircase In a dizzying haze. With hands brushing past, As they reached towards each other, Smiling, We held on tightly To the rusting metal railing. With nowhere left to go, As we reach the final step, Laughing, We reach up to pound our fists, And shatter the glass ceiling. By Fin  

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Co-star Arts Entertainment 


Abandon dead weight, Nobody can tell you what you should be feeling. From now on, you only enter a relationship with someone if you consider them your equal, And accept consequences gracefully.   It’s ok to admit that you are an ox in need of a yoke, You can be with someone and still be lonely.   Be silent, You are not required to like everyone; You don’t have to be anyone’s therapist, Stop casting yourself in the role of peacemaker, How does your baggage affect your ability to love…

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Child Mind Arts 

Child Mind

Wondrous, carefree, What troubles do you possess? At the prime age of five,  The world is but an acquaintance.  Your favourite colour is blue, Inspired by the distant sky, Inspiration is second nature, For another world lives within.  Ordinary, cautious, What troubles possess you? Blowing out your final candle, The world, an old friend.  Favourite colour still blue, Inspired by the nearing sky,  You scramble for inspiration, For it is scarce nowadays.     By Valentina Tsilimidos

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Morning light Arts 

Morning light

What is love? What is pure? On top of a tree On a hill, in spring Has the strength of an arm The olive in her peak From the pain runaway   Though she’s light Though she’s bright In the darkness of a night She appears, and bright eyes Look around, ‘till it’s time   Now is when She has dreamt To behold land and sea To go far and beyond Of the sights of the dreams And the mornings to come By the wish of the sun She will…

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Tales of Tall Birds Arts 

Tales of Tall Birds

Fly with the cranes You lovely rootless stork Do not be frightened by the rains, The snowstorms and the city smoke   Where do your long legs dwell While the antigones are gone, Do your hearts similarly swell When Spring guides you back home?   Did you see the people marching, Did you hear your fellow earthlings’ cries With your long neck, arching Does one ever get used to good-byes?   As you reach your destination, Will you miss the journey’s dangers? Did it lead to liberation, To be guided…

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A nihilist dreamer Arts 

A nihilist dreamer

I’m a nihilist dreamer, One who finds happiness and serenity in gazing at the stars. Letting my anxieties drift away,  Into the constellations, And merging with the void, I breathe in the cool night air, And let my mind drift away.   The city lights dim the array of stars, But the brightest ones let their light beam through, Lighting up the sky with incomplete constellations, And allowing the imagination of the stargazer to fill in the blanks.   By Sophie Dufresne

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JewelryBox Arts 


5, 6, 7, 8 Relevé: She balanced on her steel toes Wrapped in satin.   1, 2, 3, 4 Pirouette: She glanced at her reflection With every spin.   5, 6, 7, 8 With every turn, strands of hair Fell in her face.   1, 2, 3, 4 She became enveloped in tulle,  And pink lace.   5, 6, 7, 8 When she finished her dance,  The audience stood to clap,   Until the music stopped, And the lid closed shut With a snap.    By Fin  

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Ami de bois Arts 

Ami de bois

Enfer Fonte de mon cœur Je brûle, j’ai mal Je brûle mon ami de bois Il me croit méchante Il se croit pantin, il me croit marionnettiste Je me vois marionnettiste Je me brûle Je veux qu’il m’aide Mais qui aiderait son bourreau? Celui qui l’a mis sur le bûcher Alors je me noie Dans les eaux bouillantes desquelles je voudrais qu’il me sorte Excuse ma personne Je ne suis plus que cendres Je suis un amas informe rafistolé à la hâte Qui peine à paraître sain Je me suis…

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