30
Your dark hair swipes across your browAnd I’m jealous of the fact that it can gently caress your loving faceYour eyes sparkle brighter than all the stars ever couldAnd I’m jealous that they will never sparkle at the thought of meYour smile is warmer than the sun beaming down on your golden tan skinAnd I’m jealous that I’m not the person that placed it on your faceYou spread a fire within my veins that I can not put outThe butterflies are surging through my entire beingBeating their wings to tear out of meAnd I wish they would because this unrequited love is too much to bear 
-Ashley 

Your dark hair swipes across your brow
And I’m jealous of the fact that it can gently caress your loving face
Your eyes sparkle brighter than all the stars ever could
And I’m jealous that they will never sparkle at the thought of me
Your smile is warmer than the sun beaming down on your golden tan skin
And I’m jealous that I’m not the person that placed it on your face
You spread a fire within my veins that I can not put out
The butterflies are surging through my entire being
Beating their wings to tear out of me
And I wish they would because this unrequited love is too much to bear 

-Ashley 

13
It’s Times Like This
It is times like this, late at night, I let it loose. Those little pieces that I tuck away into a box in the back of my closet called my mind. I let loose the emotions that I kicked to the curb because I didn’t want to feel anymore. I like the feeling of walking through life, closed off.
Love doesn’t hurt, reminders don’t swerve into your vision and hope isn’t needed. I like this feeling of being not seen and even better, not heard. Because it can’t be used against you. It can’t be used against you.
It’s times like this where, late at night, that I let loose.
I become broken and hard to put back together. The little girl that I lost years ago when I saw death for the first time, when I had my first kiss, to the moment I let him in. All the way in. I lost her and can’t seem to find her. I let her be lost, and now I am searching high and low.
I let her be abandoned.
It’s times like this, late at night, that I let loose.
- Da’ae

It’s Times Like This

It is times like this, late at night, I let it loose. Those little pieces that I tuck away into a box in the back of my closet called my mind. I let loose the emotions that I kicked to the curb because I didn’t want to feel anymore. I like the feeling of walking through life, closed off.

Love doesn’t hurt, reminders don’t swerve into your vision and hope isn’t needed. I like this feeling of being not seen and even better, not heard. Because it can’t be used against you. It can’t be used against you.

It’s times like this where, late at night, that I let loose.

I become broken and hard to put back together. The little girl that I lost years ago when I saw death for the first time, when I had my first kiss, to the moment I let him in. All the way in. I lost her and can’t seem to find her. I let her be lost, and now I am searching high and low.

I let her be abandoned.

It’s times like this, late at night, that I let loose.

- Da’ae

13

Trappist

Nothing had changed for hundreds of years

and the air smelled pleasantly bitter there

the memory of its bitterness like beer from a can

            which I have come to despise

      which I was taught to despise by people who take beer very seriously

foaming and cold and wet in my mouth

on my lips

down my throat

I cough, and the memory of beer not from cans burns the back of my eyes.

The streets were always wet when I walked them

ancient stones making sometimes ancient roads

lining mossy canals that were bursting with the cacophony

            of a thousand eager tourists and their ringtones

            and their hungry cameras

and their starving grins gleaming in the dimmest sun I’d ever seen.

From my window I looked into well-lit but empty homes

I never saw anyone return to them

in the day and the night they were silent

            and the city around them was loud

            and full of tiny insects that spiraled frantically in the roses

my one lazy eye batted just behind the other

and both followed the paths left by the garden dwellers

I circled the city by light and by dark

following the water like a map

I always found my way back to the center square

and no matter how my legs complained or my feet protested

            against the unrelenting cobblestones

my throat was always satisfied and my head was always drunk

            with new colors, and beer not from a can.

9

This is a poem for the inner trying to get out
For yearnings and desperation

Surrounded by cardboard furniture we sit
With silence
And serious expressions
Business-like.

Perhaps I will set down a lyric after lyric about the clicking pen
Scribbling over paper
About due process
Convention
Eyes avoiding eyes
The building of a wall.

Our windows all have shutters now
We begin to close them
A whispered 
"bridge the gap"
Is stifled
Pushed away
Drowned 
In proper formality

Small talk barely satisfies. 

Suits,
Mr Smith,
Suits. 

Let us be quirky
Oh fellow human clone of mine!

Let us dance!

Mrmacaila.tumblr.com
(Inspired by Janet Frame, excerpt from the introduction to ‘the Goose Bath’)