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  Jun 2017 Maggie
My Type
Not with your pear-shaped eyes which are a perfect colour of brown,
Or what they do to me when you look my way.
Not with that deep-bass voice of yours that's so **** ****,
and how it keeps me glued to the phone.
Not with how you have this way with words,
and how you sound so charming and cheesy all at once.  
Not even with that, half naughty-half innocent crescent between your cheeks, and how it's stuck, when we share an inside joke in public.
Not with that strong musky scent of yours that reels me in so bad,
Or how it turns me on when I just think about it on my skin.
Not with how you make me laugh at you and then with you,
and then even wipe my tears of laughter.
No.
Not with just these things.
They have been loved enough.
But, I do want to fall in love with everything about you...
that the others never did.
Maggie Jun 2017
"Don't worry, I'm here"

Words that came from your mouth
Words that saved me from drought

Words that sent too much rain
Words that brought unbelievable pain

Why did you have to lie, my dear?
And that pretty little mouth of yours weave the most painful lies
  Jun 2017 Maggie
A Thomas Hawkins
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
Maggie Jun 2017
'I don't like you'
I keep repeating to myself

I don't like the way you smile
or the crinkles by your eyes

I don't like your Nike shoes
or the way you sing the blues

I don't like your jet black hair
or the way you just don't care

I don't like the way you walk
And how you never seem to talk

I don't like how my heart beat
Every time you're being sweet

I don't like how my eyes gaze
At your always glowing face

I don't like how my heart aches
Every time that you're away

I don't like the way I lie
Every time that you walk by

I don't like you, I say
Maybe if I keep on repeating these words
They might turn true one day
I don't like you, please believe me.
  Jun 2017 Maggie
Dusk
Pretty girls get what they want
That’s the background radiation you grow up with
Princesses in every color (dress) waltz across your screen
Pretty curled pigtails and pink ribbons get you more
Than comfortable jeans and the Saints jersey your uncle bought you
“What a pretty girl!” your nana coos, reaching into her purse
Pretty is important, you decide.
So you ask your mom if she can curl your hair for school tomorrow, pretty please?

You’d be pretty if you smiled more
It’s leered at you at the bus terminal
After a long day of work, or school
But you take it to heart anyway
Smiling your way through life
Becoming a magazine cut-out of a girl
With a flawless smile glued on, even when you're tired
Or sad
Especially when you're angry
You decided pretty is important
More important than feelings, than yourself
So you ask your face to stretch a little wider for you, it doesn’t hurt too bad, right?

She was asking for it
He grumbles on the stand
His voice was rough against your paper thin skin and your magazine ready smile
He's right, you realize, as the jury starts to nod
Must have been asking for it, they think, you think
As they wash away his guilt, wash away what he did
Hes squeaky clean now, but you still feel rotten
Your insides decaying as your perfectly composed shell starts to crack.
She must have been asking for it, everyone thinks
Don't pretty girls get what they want?
  Jun 2017 Maggie
Lex
"I wish I had a boy."
She said.
"I wish that someone loved me more than the crashing waters of the ocean.
More than Art and the beautiful music.
More than the stars in the sky that twinkle like diamonds at night.

More than life itself."

Then a voice that seemed to come from the sky said these two words,


                                            "I do."
©opyright
~LJ
Maggie Jun 2017
He gave me songs
I wrote him poems
We speak in a language we call our own

Gibberish, they say
They do not understand
How we know each other' minds
That we read each other's souls

Our language goes beyond
What the universe already knows
They will never get the voice
That's stuck inside our core
Our story will be told by the poems that I have wrote
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