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If a poet fills his wounds with poetry, will his body become a masterpiece?
When our eyes met
And our hands touched
It was inevitable that
Our bodies would
Soon follow
You were as irresistable as ice cream on a summer day...
Visitors give me pleasure,
When they depart.
5/9/2024
men want you to be feminine
but then make you hate being a girl
if this summer has taught me anything
it’s a man’s world and I’m just living in it
I am surrounded by testosterone
even my new therapist is a man
so many opinions and all of them matter but mine
so many names that everyone remembers but mine
so many wants and needs that are met, except
mine
because I am a girl
My lover has the hand of an artist,
The heart of a poet,
The brain of a genius,
And the ear of a musician,
The most rare mix of beauty and tragedy.
 Oct 2020 Jeremiah Iganga
Dresden
I'm not stable enough for love
I'm not kind enough for love
I'm not worthy enough for love
I'm not ready for love
Lord please save me
I don't feel human
I don't have strength
I don't belong
I don't want to live
I'm nothing but depressed
A lost case
A piece of work
A damaged ex
Will I ever turn my life around?
And see the world differently?
Like it's meant to be
Like I have a destiny
Like anyone wants me
To be here
Control is futility
My thoughts only on you
Snow White and the 7 degrees

The lust, the pull, the want
I can't say no 
I inhale you 
No consequences tonight 
You make me feel so free

The power, my mind, my vibration 
So much stronger, enhanced
A hedonistic embrace
I want to be consumed by you 
Just the one night 

The torture 
I want more 
I need more
Whenever I can get it
It's never enough
I'm infatuated by you
My selfish secret 
You will be the end of me
I carved her name upon the dawn
So every morning might be with her
But as it rose It grew too bright
And closed my eyes
Yet still I saw her there

I carved her name upon the sky
To keep her near me every day
But nightfall came and cleared the light
And all was dark
Yet still I saw her there

I carved her name upon the moon
To stare at her throughout my nights
But tired eyes are sneaky foes
And sleep prevailed
Yet still I saw her there

I carved her name upon my soul
Love not just with me when I look
But every day and every night
And in my heart
Yet still I saw her there
Do the flowers mourn when one is picked?
I know that question is kinda morbid and sick.
But I’ve always wondered if they somehow know,
Like for weddings and birthdays that it’s their time to go?

Do they feel sorry for lovestruck dames,
That pull off petals whilst saying their crushes’ names,
That pulled the last petal on “He loves me not”?
Do they feel bad that she’s distraught?

Do they compete on who’s the prettiest?
Each person has an opinion of which flower is the best,
Of their looks are they actually aware,
Do flowers even care?
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