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I know you're bad for me, but the smell of your skin intoxicates me

I know you're bad for me, but my thirst for the salty taste of you will never be quenched

I know you're bad for me, but the way you take my breath away with every kiss leaves me wanting more

I know you're bad for me, but the mere site of your body makes me need to touch you

I know your bad for me, but I will be burned by your fire over and over just to feel the way our bodies perform their exotic dance of pleasure

I know you're bad for me, but I want you anyway
 Jul 2018 Dawn Bunker
Danial John
You                                                          Me
You                                                        Me
  You                                                      Me
   You                                                    Me
    You                                                  Me
     You                                                Me
      You                                              Me
        You                                          Me
          You                                      Me
            You                                  Me
              You                              Me
                You                          Me
                  You                      Me
                     You                Me
                        You          Me
                           You    Me
                              You
                           Me You
                        Me       You
                     Me              You
                  Me        Us        You
                     Me               You
                        Me         You
                           Me   You
                              Me
                          You Me
                       You       Me
                    You             Me
                 You                   Me
              You                         Me
            You                             Me
          You                                 Me
        You                                     Me
      You                                         Me
     You                                           Me
    You                                             Me
   You                                               Me
  You                                                 Me
You                                                   Me
You                   Goodbye                  Me
Formats not perfect, but then again neither is life...
soft grass in a field,
golden sun in the air,
fair weather in the atmosphere,
no annoying bugs.

I am miserable.

I thought this field was able to support me,
and I thought that natural light was truly colorless,
and I didn't think that anything in life was really fair,
but, I still wanted all the bugs to be my friends. to shake it up a bit.

I curse the world for voting all at once.
the green grass, the golden sun, the blue sky,
the disappearance of foreign bodies. this world
already had a preconceived idea of what
a perfect world was like.

it's like I chose to be eccentric. like you all decided
differently from my decisions. making me the villain

but, this is my life.
and I cannot do what is wrong.
meaning, I am not capable of bending to your rules.
my senses do not react to this universal stimuli
in a universal way. I am an individual. I react
individually.

and, so, every part of this human being reacts individually
but, decides, as one, that each of those reactions
needs to be included in this body. that each part is worth working with
to make it all work. together. as one.

that's the way it should be. . .
 Jul 2018 Dawn Bunker
J
Deep
 Jul 2018 Dawn Bunker
J
A stranger once asked me, "What is your deepest darkest secret?" I laughed at his curiosity, hesitated for a few moments and then gave up.
"I can't think of any at the moment." I replied.
Lie.
"I'll have to get back to you."
Another lie.  
My deepest darkest secret is the words that spill from the ink of my pen into limericks, narratives and sonnets. It is the raw, most pure form of my fears, hopes and dreams.  
It is poetry.
I was asked this 4 months ago and I still think about it so I decided best to write a poem about my secret of writing. The irony.
 Jul 2018 Dawn Bunker
Grace
I cant tell you how much the hush hush hurts,

the gaps,

[the deliberately left blanks]

the silences that make me scared of saying words out loud.


It's the switching of meanings that does it,

all the tip toe awkwardness

the swift, unconscious side steps.


It's the whole long stretch of silence,

the whole deliberate

accidental

hush hush of something I never even knew the name of.  


It's the casual,

forgettable

drops of slights

that I'm still turning

over and over.


It's a hush hush never intended to be malicious but

the quiet twists and tears

and so I can never tell you how much the hush hush hurts

because the silence keeps me hush hushed too.
Working through some things I guess. It's hard to address the hush hush when you know it wasn't malicious, just accidental or a result of a different time. I wonder if they even know about the hush hush? I wonder if they know they kept it? Anyway it's something I need to work through and poetry helps or something

Note: So we talked about the hush hush without words but it's okay, maybe it's how we do things best. And the hush hushed becomes a thing of vibrant, rainbow colours and it's lifting off my shoulders and I think in a glowing kind of way that maybe there's something in this that will be okay. And I wonder how you knew but for now it remains hush hushed because I can’t quite talk about it yet. I wear it instead, I wear my colours instead and maybe that speaks enough for the moment. (Fourteenth of September Two Thousand and Eighteen)
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