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 Mar 2020 Candra Creviston
CJ
Human
 Mar 2020 Candra Creviston
CJ
We all are weak in some way

We all want to banish our demons in some way

We all have temptations

We all have confessions

We all try to smile

We all have our own style

We all have a mind

But we are all somehow blind

We cry, we scream, we cant breathe

We sob, we yell, we seethe

How can you say we're not normal?

You act like you cant see us, as if you have no morals

You say its not normal to be gay or trans or a diffrent race

You act if this isnt commonplace

We just want to be seen for who we are, not who you want us to be

But in this world it seems no one can agree
A gold lamp sat on his desk.
The paint had been rubbed off
on the angles and various edges.
When left on for too long,
it became hot,
untouchable.

There are things my mother
kept around,
I don't know why she did,
Such as the cracks in the walls
from being kicked too hard,
her bed frame
she claimed to have been
pushed onto
and then hit by his fists.
Or a lamp
that got too hot,
and needed a firm hand to twist the ****
that turned it off
and on
again.

There are memories of him
I don’t know why
I keep around.
His messy work desk,
His big powerful hands,
His booming voice.

I allow my mother room
To keep pieces of him
Because it’s hard to forget
A husband of over twenty years.

I allow myself room
To not forget him,
Because it’s hard to hate your father
Forever.
As I lie here
With eyes closed softly
I think deeply of you
And I inhale stars
The scent of twinkling light
So fresh and alive
Sparkling gentle inside me
And I want to write this feeling
So tentatively
As it must be
Like writing words on bubbles
Delicate and precious
Begging them not to disappear
Like dreams in the morning

                                        By Phil Roberts
This may well be my last poem here.
 Jan 2020 Candra Creviston
Her
the moment a poet
falls in love with you

is the moment
you live

f o r e v e r
Men
A man who:
Takes pictures of himself
Everyday
Won’t have the time for you

A man who:
Leaves love notes on
Napkins
Underneath your coffee cup
Will love you when
You have nothing

A man who:
Declares he’s a great father
For all to see
Really
Truly
Isn’t

A man who:
Tells his children
Over the phone
Next to their bed
Kisses them good night
Where no one can see or hear
Truly is
A decent man

A man who:
Doesn’t make promises
But shows over
Time
His worth
His character
Is someone to know

A man who:
Makes mistakes
But tries his damndest
To make amends
May not see
Eye to eye
With all
But
Respects the process
Of understanding
Each other

A man who:
Writes poetry anonymously
Posts it for the world to
See
Is an enigma
She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.
I’m not as preoccupied with men.
I will not race to your beck and call,
or slay at your slightest whim.
My darling, I live in 2020,
where women climb mountains
and there’s opportunity plenty.
Where aprons lie flat on the floor,
and cakes are unmade like never before.
Degrees are achieved,
and dreams are complete.
Now, at last, I bask
in the rays of  those who came before me,
to shed my naive skin,
for my future proceeds in its feminine glory.
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