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 2827° 
PoserPersona
I.
The moon sings the languid flower,
  to bloom at midnight hour
Harmonious feast transpires;
  luminescent choir

Pedals mirror la hue de Luna,
  but pale below her glow
Though the desert sweet aroma,
  is fragrance plus photo

Neither causing nightly failure,
  in idyllic charm
In fact, those powers are greater,
  together than apart

II.
The moon a long gone distant rock,
  yet pulls on ocean tops
Cereus lures with sweetest tricks,
  and stings with countless licks  

Battered holy asteroid face,
 woos flawless solar gaze
And even though it causes mire,
  lunar eclipses fire

Cereus thrives in driest sands,
  and chokes in fertile lands
Alluring lonesome wanderers,
  promising mere water

The lucid beauty bewilders,
  as much as it can haunt
In fact, those powers are greater,
  together than apart

III.
You, once my cereus and moon,
  were drowned in my love
well
Perhaps, I was this to you too,
  though your hole I’d not delve

However, what was first velvet,
  morphed into devil’s horns
Winter shed those thorns in my chest,
  now spring gifts hope and more

The icy grips of each winter,
  provides spring fuel to spark
In fact, those powers are greater,
  together than apart

IV.
Although we’ve gone on our own ways,
  I wouldn’t change the past
For each step was necessary,
  to find true love at last

We were once greater together.


I’m now greater apart.
 953° 
Left Foot Poet
man the tomatoes?  
tomatoes are the quintessential feminine fruit
red juicy, round, curvy, sweet
with a flavor at once the same,
yet never again always different, diffident, asized, and  never
contrived

without it, would pizza be pizza?
without it, would sexy dirty love and a
good salad or poem
ever be the same?
 459° 
Seline Mui
I cry myself to sleep
and when i close my eyes my worries dissipate
for a couple hours
I'm in another reality
but when I wake
the tears flood back to the surface
the first thought on my mind
You
the warmth, embrace,
your lips on my face
Just the way i feel
so i tuck myself underneath
pull the blanket over
and fall back to sleep
I see you in my dreams, i miss you.
 383° 
Hue Geye
He said she was "she"
He said he loves "she"
He said he adores "she"

She says he was "he"
She says she loves "he"
She says she adores "he"

But why does she says
and he said?
Is she really "she"
and he is really "he?"

She and he were bounded by a red string
She and he were fated with lingering
attachments to a "he" and "she"
really, they were meant to be

Bounded by fate and destiny
That...they can see
a knot of friendship
only "them" can unleash

Bounded by fate and destiny
not by love and intimacy
but by morale and respect,
and friendship so unwrecked
 380° 
Messy Thoughts
it's been so tough for me,
every single day i asked myself,
"when will this end?"
"am i going to live like this forever?"

every single day
i've been holding it all,
by myself.

i don't know until when,
but when the time comes,
i hope they won't be sad.
 320° 
Michael John
i

give me my life
the day crowded bright
and the night sumptuous..

give me my pretty wife
where love at first sight
bind us..

give us two souls blithe
fused as light within light
sweet bounteous..

let us soar and dive
like content swallows might
time in lost happiness..

and let trouble and strife
bind us the more tight
like our first kiss..parenthesis..

give then to two one life
white to white
whole as stars

as love unto death
might break apart
and ride the cosmos..


ii

the jonah by james herbert
a heist goes wrong and a colleage
is shot..

just another debacle for our hero
in a long list
that has him transferred to the

drug squad and east anglia..
to live in a caravan..
keep his eye on the locals

and drink strong beer..
ellie his partner
makes him eat

and they fall in love
though various tentions rise
due to his troubles..

some flash backs
a left baby in a toilet
sadistic stuff at the orphanage..

bullies and dodgy collars
his step father is strict
he is an ornothologist..

there are drug related incident
a dead vole
a us pilot bites the farm..

some little boy thinks he
can fly..
the water supply
some pilfering

some heavy knocks
some bad lies
some kitchen

small potatoes
but all part
of mr herbert´ s charm..

a huge storm
the spooky old mill
a wild trip..

and regression
bad men
bad men..

lot´ s of struggle
the raw products
towed in by trawler

assembled by the knights
torn
and a lost twin..

a monster in the flood
where others die
a maitre d..

a horny salesman and
his girl in a caravan
the fishermen..

helicopters and
victory for
the forces of good..

and the jonah
gone and all
is light..

the end..
 304° 
Sjr1000
He arises in the morning
with nothing to say
He arises in the evening
after being quiet all day

His thoughts they are a dancing  -
The future is dark
The past is bleak
with nothing to dream

The dawn it arises,
At night, the sun
it heads down
Time it stands still
when you have nothing to say  -
You've tried your best in
your own way
Nothing seems to come
but
despair and dismay.

A lover she comes
A lover she goes
Your creations,
they all grow trite
and old

Playing cat's cradle
with a line of string
at the tear line
not knowing
whether to cry
or go numb

Like our lives,
a spider web
on a tree
blowing and shimmering
in the sun light winds.

He arises and dresses
Heads out for his day
With nothing to say.
 269° 
Miguel
In time we stand still forgetting the memories
That burden the frontier with poison and tragedy
Lest we forget that the deed had been signed
By prospectors and cowboys who’ve long since died
Aiming a loaded shell towards eradication
An idea that precedes psychopathy in terms of petition
Yet ponders so freely to children so willing to point them the barrel and fire such rounds

I urgently take the bounty for the hunting of the buffalo
Using their skulls for declination, a sturdy stronghold
Yet deep in heart I realize that it spawns back to devils
That pay only to spoil their countless fruits of survival
The cause paints our flag a brilliant blue
The blood breeds red and helps assimilate too
From their ponytails, against remorse, I could yank off their heads
And perhaps repay the herd of bison for their dead

We danced mountain songs naked under pale blue moonlight
Imitating their gestures in the style of caricature
The stars glistening, reflecting in pools of gory mucus
The rotting carcasses that attract forest vultures
Which we willingly hunt and devour without hesitance

A rack of scalps hung from the duster, cloth sodden with their fluids
Marking migration patterns on various maps to follow and stalk with
Here we sing to the villages of which we’ve burned down
Hoping that God, in His grace, could forgive such savage hounds
The calls of doves forfeit an olive branch
Which I gleefully wave just as they have
My own Trojan horse stitched together with leather
That wasn’t dried enough, and now radiates a stench that reminds us of their innards

I’ve slaughtered and mangled all over this place
Made worse by their stories of which I desecrate
Publishing such influent texts that examine the earlier beds
Of which they rose, so little prose, such daft fools with stone age tools
Crops yield only bastard food made for the feeding of the poor
Discarding the rest of them as bait or our personal whores

“I weep for the white hand that cared there for me!
To wrap me in blankets and help me to feed
The weak child in infancy cooing so sweet
Not knowing they’d have him killed in his sleep”
Annihilation fits best at the source, this genocide funded by the Master of Greater Deed and Good
The weary dead, the weary live, the weary now stay in places we couldn’t stand to be in

A gift that gives only twice, an upstart arch that cradles this land so warmly, inspiring us to embrace our homes
The promise of freedom which notions an equality we could find only in remembrance of scattered bones
The lawmen there, they never repent, they’ve lived all their lives and they never forget of their deeds, which secretly brings a perverse enjoyment none other recieve
Unless you count rapists and murderous men which tally their targets and hold out the heavy heads of victims in satchels and bags
A shame we now see them as monuments honored so swiftly, decorated with golden plaques
Please leave some flowers in the mass grave I was buried in, somewhere in Arizona, it wouldn’t hurt to sense the illusion of fresh air
A torso of tooth and rib and a dried clump of hair
Look down on your works, ye lowly, and despair!
 209° 
Robert Thompson
I've read that No Man is an Island, (John Donne),

I believe it true.
One loss,
diminishes the whole.

Separate.

Like you, I am just one,
doing my part to be Me.
Just like You.

United.

Joining together,
We strive.
Lifting up one other.

"That's a small thing."

Not to Me.
To Me it is the World.

"They don't matter."

They do,
They are all there is.

"It won't change anything."

Not for Us,
We do not travel alone.

Every breath,
gasp,
unwiped tear.

Solitary fear.

Fleeting Solidarity.


                                                   ­                                  rthompson
Send not to know,
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.  (John Donne)
 175° 
Inner Demons
Despite the screaming in my head,
The tears in my eyes
"I'm fine..."
Is what I said
"I'll be there in a few minutes..."
Then I put down the phone
And ran into the street
My suicide
"An accident" they'll say
The perfect plan.

The average person lies four times a day,
The most common lie is
"I'm fine"

I nvisible
'
M arred
F alling
I nsecure
N ever good enough
E mpty
 166° 
Amarys Dean
Sometimes, I feel like being a magician.
I’ll open my box full of wonders and curiosities, and I’ll pull out the stacks of old birthday cards that I have received throughout the years.
I’ll fan them out like a deck of 52.
If I had you pull out a card, I’d already know who it was by the way that your hand hesitated to touch it.
He writes his love on postcards, and she writes hers on lined paper.
You see, guessing who the cards are from is the easy part.
Making them reappear is what I haven’t mastered.
 163° 
MalakF
Sadness isn’t a sickness but I think I’m coming down.
Doctor, doctor I no longer want to be around. All that I seem to do is constantly breakdown.
Doctor, doctor I think it’s time for me to go. Cancel my next appointment, I won’t be here tomorrow.
Doctor, doctor you say that sadness is in fact a sickness, yet you aren’t advising me on how to fix this.
 159° 
Path Humble
left my phone unlocked
on the taxis back seat,
won't be the last time

called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up

he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was now headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office

and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,

we met on the street,
he rolled down  the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
beaming,
handed me my phone

I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my hand  
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,
saying:

"No sir, no no, not necessary!

Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
  no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"


to which I replied,

"exactly!
Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"


and with an equally, beaming smile continued,

"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was


Inshallah!" ^

something he could not dispute...

  we parted ways
   each believing,
   each receiving
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the supreme taxi driver
Arabic for ^"God/Allah willing" or "if God/Allah wills," frequently spoken by a Muslim


^^a meritorious or charitable act in the Jewish tradition

FYI,
NYC taxi cab drivers are suffering economically by the explosion of ride hailing app cars, many unable to pay their bills, earn a living, have committed suicide over the past few months
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/sixth-new-york-city-cab-driver-dies-suicide-after-struggling-n883886

true story, poetry is there for the taking
 127° 
emnabee
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
 126° 
cecilia
you said
you were afraid
to lose me
and then you
faced your fears
and left
 114° 
Joellei
I used to write
My secrets in the sand,
Knowing they would never stay
Long enough to be told.

I used to just swim,
pulled my hair up and never
Really tasted the salt that foamed
After the crash.

I've ran in the sand,
Sure, but never have I
Ever let it smooth my
Skin into what it could be.

Before today, I've never
Let the current take me
Under and feel what it's like
To always come back to something.
 109° 
Mike Hauser
sometimes my dreams make a living
sometimes they barely make out
sometimes it seems that sometimes my dreams
are more than just riddled with doubt

sometimes my dreams dream me
that's when i have to pinch myself
is this all a dream or mostly reality
and at what point do i find that out

sometimes my dreams take a minute
sometimes they go on and on
feels like i've seen it as they all have me in it
sometimes with strangers, sometimes alone

sometimes i dream in slow motion
sometimes i dream i can fly
sometimes it seems that sometimes my dreams
are just a long drawn out dream in the question of why

sometimes i dream in color
though i'm told it's all black and white
and with that being said it's all in my head
as i bid you all a goodnight
 106° 
a s y a r e h t y

Skies are beautiful
They have clouds
But they still cry

Why wouldn't you?

You are beautiful
You have poems
You can cry too
Because crying is honesty to your emotions, and honesty is beautiful ;)
 106° 
Polar
He
He speaks the language of flowers
Quietly toiling in his garden
Digging, raking and smoothing soil,
Gently coaxing nature to match his vision.
He knows the bees, spiders, beetles, worms and earwigs
Regarding them as friends.
He follows seasons, moon and stars
As others do people
Enthralled at the changes they bring.
He listens as the birds sing
Watching with joy as
Fledgling take wing.
 106° 
Michael Kusi
They posted pictures of their vacation.
I wondered where they get their money.
They always have smiles of elation.
I wish I knew what they look like when life isn’t funny.

Always posting pictures of their dating status.
Calling their significant others boo and bae.
One day they are in a relationship, the next they are the baddest.
Because their man could not be convinced to stay.

Sometimes they say that they hate their job and work.
They wish that they could earn money from home.
I always thought that to provide always came first.
And work is the portion of those who are grown.

But when they break up, no one ever sees that post.
And we never see the friends who get blocked.
Sometimes people on Facebook be doing the most.
And then wonder why their true friends are shocked.

Because to be a friend or a follower on social media is nothing.
A true friend is one who is with you through thick and thin.
I don’t mean your yo-yo dieting, or your social media husband.
I’m talking about those who held you down from the beginning.
 100° 
Rahama Abdulkadri
...
     "This isn't who you are."

    "You're not the girl I used to know."

   "I don't know who you've become."

He repeats these lines
So much these days
It annoys me more than
A broken record ever could
Ever should
Ever would
Cause I told him
I warned him thoroughly

     "I'm not nice."

    "You won't like the real me."

   "I'm not worth fighting for."

But he didn't listen
He filled my head with empty
Promises that he meant
He filled my heart with hollow
Vows that he could never fulfill

     "How can a person be so cold?"

    "How can a lady be so cruel?"

   "How can you change so fast?"

He looks hurt and
I hurt a little
But I shut down
Cause that's what I always do

     "I'm nefarious, lover."

    "Had my heart broken a few times."

   "Now it's made of stone."
I hope Nefarious Breed finds this.♥♥♥
 97° 
Deb Jones
I miss the way you laughed
Your head thrown back
And a hearty bellow
Full of mirth
I miss that

I miss the way you whispered in my ear
The sweet music of your voice
Pulling me into sleep
Wrapped in your arms
I miss that so much

I miss your voice
So intelligent and wordy
I would gather your words in my arms
Like bouquets
I miss that too

I miss the way you walked
So sweetly quiet
Making the smallest carbon footstep
With your size 13 shoes
I miss that

I miss your smile
That started at the edges of your mouth
And ended with a small curve of your lips
I miss the pleasure I felt when I made you grin

I miss your touch
The loving sweep of your hand along the curve of my hip
The way we start off making love
And ended up having sex
I miss that

I miss your smell
The way you smelled of sunshine and wind
After going outside
I would bury my face in your shirt or coat
I miss that so much

Most of all I miss us
The way we loved each other
We were a circle of two
Full of passion and purpose

We thought we were invincible
No one could break our bond
Yet they did
We were wrong.

I miss you.
Chocolates have tasted many
Dark bitter white
Candied and sweet
Local
And from different parts of the
World
Loved them all ,when I ate them
Yet
One, I love the most
Is Cadbury’s Dairy Milk

Unwrapping the purple-golden wrapper
The aroma sweet
Melts in the mouth always a lovely treat
Sweet memories of childhood it brings many
Of sharing the love and care
https://youtu.be/NheJiVVLgzk
Sharing this link to an old Cadbury’s ad from 90’s
 95° 
mari jagt
i am so small
compared to the mountains
i am so little
compared to the sea
i am so tiny
in comparison to the islands
and i am so large
compared to what i thought i would be
 93° 
Darcy
I am adept
In the art of being okay
I have mastered the craft
Of covering my troubles
I use all sorts of fancy facades
Acrylic, oil, watercolor
You name it.

I can paint over nearly anything

You will never know
How late I was up last night
Or why.

My eyes flicker
Like candlelight
But you couldn’t see
You couldn’t possibly see
I’m too good
For that.

I can dance, too
Waltzing away my sorrows
Carefully tip toe-ing the
Pas-de-I-am-fine
I get a standing ovation every time

I’m very talented, you see.

But my all time favorite
Is my disappearing act
I’m still perfecting it
Right now
But one of these days
I’ll show you
How I
Slip
Slip
Slip
Away

Right through your fingers.
 89° 
Surbhi Dadhich
When the clouds clustered over night's chandelier
Wheels of time and whirls of tide
Trampled on my heart out of gears
Trail of time trespassed over drains of havoc memories
Filled with foulness of regrets and summons
My heart was being beaten like hollow drums
Echoes of warm invitations in hell striked the chord
My vessels waterlogged
Narrowedly exploded..
 86° 
Terry Collett
"It's a Tench, Amelia,"
Sorbus says,
showing me the fish
in his hands,
then he puts it
in a net
in the water
of the river.

We are sitting
on the river bank.

I'd not seen Sorbus
for ages.

He used to fish
in the pond
until Betula was found
drowned there.

He had unknowingly
hauled her in
on his fishing line
that day.

I was with him
and she was like
a bundle
of damp rags.

He said he'd never
go there again.

I go now and then
and sit by the pond
and think of Betula.

She called it
our sacred lake.

We used to go there
to be alone.

We kissed
there often.

No one knew.

Sorbus fiddles
with his line.

I sit
and watch him.

He doesn't like girls
with him while fishing,
but he said
I'm an exception.

I watch him
as he casts the line.

Ripples move outward
where the float is.

I often think of her
and her drowning.

That look she had
when we turned her over
in the water.

Sorbus won't
speak of it.

The sun shines on us
as we sit and stare.

Sometimes I think
I feel her being there.
A boy and girl go fishing 1963
 82° 
devante moore
I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet
 76° 
Madolyn
I’m a little addicted
to your hand in mine
my body leaning against yours
and the soft smile you have
while staring into my eyes

I’m a little addicted
to being close to you
the sweet smell of your perfume
and the way you nudge me
when you want attention

I’m a little addicted
to holding you in my arms
your body so close to mine
and tracing words on your skin
i love you so much

I’m a little addicted
to you
maybe i’m more than a little addicted
 74° 
MicMag
My vacation is ending
Don't want to go back
Relaxation's been trending
So cut me some slack

Savoring time
On this great getaway
All so sublime
Don't throw it away

Which would you choose
If given election?
Diversion with views
Or desk-job dejection?

Surely you'll understand
My utter dismay
Even lend me a hand
To rediscover the way

How can I cope
As I reintegrate?
Should I just say nope
Or pretend it's all great?

Back to life with the locals
The doom so impending
Hesitation so vocal
My vacation is ending
All good things must come to an end.
Or some other cliché crap
to cope with my denial.
Back to the grind,
Dreaming of the next escape!
 72° 
Nyx

What we have is dead
An emotionless attachment
A void of meaningless reasons
A life of broken fragments

Touching you doesn't feel the same
Your touch, It's Cold. Empty.
Your movement no longer sync with mine
We have lost our flow of rhythm

Our hearts no longer beat the same
We have vanished from our own existence
Your hair isint as soft as before
Maybe its due to our distance

You no longer melt under my touch
You no longer smile with glee
Your actions no longer match your words
Maybe this is the truth I finally needed to see

You came all this way it must count for something
But I know its because you think you owe me
Standing by your side through it all
You feel like you had to do this for me

Though I can feel the tension in the air
We aren't the people we use to be
7 months can really change a person
You leaving was what set me free

Now your voice is empty
And so are your words
Dead end lies
Coated with sugar


What we have is dead
We are clingying to who we were
What we had, what we did
Even though now its all but a blur

what's dead is meant to be buried
Deep within the ground
Leave it there, locked away
Where it can no longer can be found.

Let's not try and resurrect the dead
Because what's gone is gone
And quite frankly
Its never coming back.

When something dies there is no way to bring it back
So what good will it bring trying again
 72° 
Grand Piano
Last night I had a dream
You were there of course
Waking or sleeping it’s always the same
I can’t seem to erase you from my mind
Memories of our love bind my heart
Our love was like a flame
It burned bright and passionate
It was blinding and all consuming
Just like a flame our love burned out
Sometimes I wake and reach for your warmth
Remnants of the dreams we had still cling to me
But then reality hits me
Instead of you it’s loneliness that embraces me
 70° 
Stormy
The first time
you said you loved
me, it was as if
I had been pulled aboard
a life raft after being
lost at sea. But
I see now that this
raft is littered with
holes and
we are sinking, but
you are convinced
that your love is a
teacup to scoop out
the water pooling around
my ankles and you will save
us, but the teacup has a crack
down one side and
do you see where I
am going with this?
A tablespoon of water
will never put out
a forest fire; I am burning
through acres.
 69° 
soliana
she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.
10:02 PM 5/1/2018
 65° 
Sarah
I lit myself on fire
burned my life to the ground
and overnight it vanished
without making a sound.
 64° 
Rick Adams
last night was spent with my five friends;
my five best friends in the whole wide world.
their names are Cabernet,
Pinot,
Merlot,
Bordeaux
and Shiraz.

they are always there when I need them;
they relax me
and soothe me.
they help me through my problems,
dull my pain,
and help me sleep at night.

they will never ignore me,
avoid me,
desert me,
deceive me,
lie to me
or steal from me.

we were all together late last night,
my five friends and I.
when we started the night,
they were full of body
and color.
before I knew it,
four of my five friends
were gone.
the only one left
was Merlot.

it was late
and I was tired.
they’re good at that,
my five friends.
they’re good at
making me feel tired
and sleepy.
they’re good at playing tricks on me too.

“how do you feel?” asked Merlot.

“I feel good,” I replied.

“well,” said Merlot,
“just wait until morning…”
 62° 
Andrew Durst
My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.
Thank you to anyone that reads this.
 62° 
Saint Audrey
Casualty: my interest fading
Once waxing moon now seen waning
And I did conceded your irksome warning
And watched as the rest played out

...

So let bygones be gone, fallen out by the side
Of this road, worn down, still restless, keeping straight
Eyes glinting off token little bits of hospitality
Mother nature being so inclined at times

The stress so unnerving, I hardly doubt it
But tension is eased once it comes to acceptance
And I except in full, finding time to unwind
Winding stretch of lonely road, dotted here and there by
An occasional landmark
Or a lonely tractor pulling behind it
Iron bars, old and rusted
Found in their hold
Bales of hay or
A small little pond
With a bench beside it
Holding initials carved against the grain

With a heart surrounding

As mine beats slower

At last, the sun begins going down

And the moon grows brighter
Even in its state
And my feet move faster
Though my body is withering
I feel this separation growing
As my mind takes flight and leaves me

Behind, in the twisting twilight
And alone, I walk along
 60° 
Monet Echo
When alone
It drifts silently to the dust
When joined
It soars through violent wind gusts

When alone
It is frail, and if pressured, will break
When together
Not one will you easily take

When alone
It is considered extremely light
When connected
They carry an eagle in flight

When alone
A feather is still a unique and beautiful thing
But when united
They transform into a stunning, powerful wing
We're stronger together. This is just a simple analogy of that well known wisdom.
 57° 
What4221
Everything I write is too passionate in the wrong direction
My words don't flow like I want them to
Breaking apart over rapids instead of floating into the ocean

The dictionary doesn't help
And all elegance is coincidence
Because they always said I was a tom boy
And I would never fit in
And so the words they sprayed at me
Are all the ones in my mind

So,
I'm sorry I can't express myself right.

(They still look at me oddly whenever I dress up)

(I wish I could change myself without their derision)

(This dress was my decision)

And once again I'm veering directly off track
Talking about where my sleep addled mind always leads
-
Narcissism?
Definitely.
-
It always circles around to me

Can I be blamed when the nightmares tug at my hands
And pull me
Screaming silently
With tears on my face
Back to wakefulness every few hours?

But I'm sorry
Again
Writing a poem like the page will listen
Because my salary can't afford therapy
And my friends think I'm okay.

Words and jumbled thoughts after a fumbled night in the dark like I won't regret it in the morning

Maybe this is what is meant
By 'it's just a desperate plea for attention'
(I didn't talk to you for fame)
(I just want to know I'm not the one to blame)

-(I'm not alone?)-

But this blank canvas
Had no form of degree
So I'll cease
Desist
And just let these hollow words
Be.
 54° 
Path Humble
Poems on a Mirror

~for Glenn Currier~

you don’t know me
I don’t know you;
poems on a mirror I ken
truly well

poems on the mirror saved, and then,
comme the seasoning of leave-falling,
poems dropping and drained...the post-it glue loosened by
the daily heat of watery tears,
making a space for
this one, for you...

there are poems and they arrive with fresh arrogance,
each an arrow demanding your all as a target regardless  
of what the shooter really thinks or wants, other than
obedient acknowledgment and their self-loving flattery

but some render where no rendering should be allowed

those are the ones affixed - ones you chose to join the chosen,
slapped onto mirrors - so many that they almost
cover complete your image from presentation

almost only because these poems are yours, you,
they’re the truly accurate reflection even if not your words,
indeed especially because they’re not yours

but they start your day as a poem should
and in doing so,
become you

What a Hall of Fame, to be a poem on Glenn’s Hall of Mirrors

go pick the plums...
“Glenn Currier  to Valerie Burroughs

“So true. So beautifully put. This is one I will add to Poems on my Mirror. Literally. I am going to copy and paste it or just write it on a post-it note and put on my mirror as a reminder of what poetry should be. Thank you.”
 53° 
liv grace
What came first? The flies or the act of flying? This is going nowhere.

You had teased me about eventually writing about this moment. This moment and every other moment. Cigarette in hand, pink blushing my cheeks “yeah right”. I could never grow tired of this. Feeling so incredibly close to somebody that you know there will never be room for regret. We are not two, we are one and I’m pretty certain I’ve loved you since you were born. Probably longer than that. The sun looked over her shoulder to say hello to us that day. Watched you run around the cement staircase and discuss your orbit around me.

What came first? Forgiveness or sin? This is going nowhere.

I think of you farthest from the boundaries of this existence. Like maybe you’ve always been a day dream. A lost thought. An open-ended question. You in your crinkled smiles and loud poetry hiding behind punk rock. You in your black coffee and sarcastic comments about my own soft words. You in your never-ending paradox. I don’t think we’ve ever apologized to each other. What is there to apologize for? I’m sorry for finally finding you? I’m sorry for becoming the person you would eventually love more than life itself?

What came first? The lovers or the love?

It's okay if this is going nowhere, so long as i end up there with you.
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