I don't love you anymore yet there's still the part of me that searches for you in the features of others' faces. Each time I ask myself why, yet I never have an answer.

Sometimes I find eyes similar to yours but when I look into them, I find that they are different and somehow, purer than yours ever were; and ever could be.

Other times, I feel hands on my body that feel like yours but they never are and although I don't love you anymore, I find myself hoping that you somehow you feel me.

Sometimes, I wish you knew how it felt - how it felt to be me and how it felt when you broke my heart and tore me apart. I wish you felt my pain with your bare hands and I wish you could see with your own eyes, what it did to me.

I  don't want you to know what you did to me because you already do. I want you to feel it and see it for yourself so you know it's true.

Coming home from the mass,
body stretches became endless
no hurried showers were done
some returned to bed, everything
was on a slow pace....but then,
kitchen aromas roused sluggish senses,
revealed garlic and onion sauteing,
beef stewing, stuffed fish grilling,
even the smell of parched soil, being
sprinkled with water...became fragrant...
all rushed to the table...for lunch...
..............................................

dessert,­ was a choice...nothing...or,
slices of pie..fresh strawberries dipped
in condensed milk...peanuts, sour
chips, or salty tortillas, with salsa,
all these, over loud talks...whispers,
wholesome family conversations,
where endings are ever unpredictable
...............................................

ea­ch Sunday carries a different mood
...with cups of tea, or coffee, when
discussions are serious, long, hushed...
most times, they're a tall glass of sundae,
with shaved ice, sago, sweetened yam,
or, beans, milk, and sugar........
decisions made, and agreed upon
are the multi colored toppings,
pretty much like syrup.....or ice cream...
...................................................

sev­en days.....with different names...
each family member brings in a new shade
we do our best, to start, and end each day
................with pleasant airs
.................especially on Sundays,
......when families gather together...
..................................................


­Sally


Copyright March 26, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

My body aches.
It aches for your touch,
Your lips on my neck
Your hands on my hips,
Your chest against my chest.

My body aches
To feel your breath on my skin
To feel you pulling me closer
To feel your hands in my hair,
Your heartbeat in sync with mine.

I miss your voice;
Your touch, your smell.
I miss your rough hands
And your soft touch.

I long to trace your scars
To memorize your imperfections and
To be the reason you want to be better.
I want you to want me like I want you.

My account was accepted today
I was so excited  to start.
I read some poems.
so good
This place
Hello poetry.
Is really nice.
I read a fiew people's  words.
Ashton
Bleeding diamonds
Toxic  moon
Its gonna make sense.
But  they have some **** good poetry.
Ashton proves life can be livable.
Bleeding diamonds proves that  he can havr fun and be serious through  abuse.
Toxic moon  has a genre  of relations.
And ita gonna  make sense lays it down flat for ya.
Hello poetry
My first  night  tonight
And i know
I love it.
Smash the  hearts
Repost my words.
Though  i have some questions
Like
Why  does bleeding diamonds bleed?
Or why does ashton feel so trapped?
Things  I'd  love to  learn
Here
On hello poetry

My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and ****,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.

In the front yard
Over toward the left
Beside the climbing tree
Under the branches of the magnolia
Is a garden of dahlias
And a pond of water lilies
Which is great for hiding a body
If the need ever arises

So what happens when Jill
Comes running down the hill
Crying to Mary and her lamb
About how Jack had laid a hand
On her now ever-present frown
Spinning her head round
Jill is bawling because she knows
For breaking Jack's crown she'd face death row?

Into the pond half the body goes
The other half helps to make the plants grow
The girls sit and talk over a cup of tea
When Jill ponders over the meaning of free
Certainly not the sirens blaring out front
This is when Mary stubs out her blunt
Wanted for suspected ****** with fear in her eyes
Poor Miss Jill would have rather died
She begged and she pleaded for some form of mercy
But she was tangled in a web of controversy
Little lamb taken into custody by law
Mary found face down in a bale of straw
Foaming at the mouth
***** plus pills equates to south
Hauled off to jail
And stomach pumped back from hell
The girls become shells of nothingness
Creating only emptiness

A poet can ****** you with a single word
..
............ Or cut you in half with a poisioned tongue