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 Dec 2018 Dennis Willis
Elke Boon
For him the worst thing that was broken was his bottle of whiskey,
for her it was her heart.
My first poem :) I hope you like it!
 Dec 2018 Dennis Willis
Becca
are you still alive sweetpea?
sometimes i think i'm dead but i'm still here.
everything of
me was choir-song

every bolt of
air,
every summer
moon,
every drop of
cooling rain,

in spring i
melted like
a hedgerow,
in gold and
sky-bronze,

in summer i
gathered the sky
to my branches
green with shadows
of longing,

in autumn i trembled
downwards like a
girl unwinding her
hair,

and in winter i froze
on the doorstep
all black branch
and cold
rigging on
a barren ship,

everything of me
was choir-song and
i had the most
beautiful
purple throat,

i was a soft
melody of love
on a strange
moody day.
I sometimes really wish
if night could talk,
I could then barely share
the worst held back stories under complete darkness.
have you ever stopped to think
that maybe i raise my voice
not out of disrespect
but maybe
so you can listen?
listen.
there is a heart here, afraid. of you.
there is brokenness you inflicted. pain you named into existence.
wounds that maybe time will heal.
there is laughter that does not want you to hear it.
a song whispered so that you cannot have it.
one day the whisper will become a song.
the laughter a poem.
the heart a voice, saying,
i am here i am here i am here
i am here i am here i am here
i am here
and you will listen.
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