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  Aug 2016 Minuscule Ego
Bianca Reyes
You're like the harmony in my sad song
Tapping my feet while my melancholy sings
I hold your name at the tip of my tongue
Savoring it like my new favorite dish
Your eyes are the ones I get lost in
Finding the peace to guide me home at last
The best thing I have ever done in my life
Was to let you to course and pulse within me
I was the bit of darkness in your bright room
But i want to be the log that feeds your fire
The one that keeps you well lit year round
Shared on Hello Poetry on July 18, 2016
Copyright © 2016 Bianca Reyes
All rights reserved
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Enjoy
  Aug 2016 Minuscule Ego
Bianca Reyes
We lived so long
thinking you were
the body of my thoughts

The beauty mark that I
Loved and saw
As the best part of me

But you were malignant
When I showed you
In the light to the world

I turned you into
An ordinary freckle
That I wear upon my body

The day I decided
You'd be nothing more
Than a blemish in my memory
Shared on Hello Poetry on July 22, 2016
Copyright © 2016 Bianca Reyes
All rights reserved
Blah
blah
blah
Enjoy
Minuscule Ego Aug 2016
I felled, but you said
Get up and shift that ways,
Grow up and change that topic,
You got no flow, n’ you got no rhythms,
You have no dimes to climb my shoes list
So let’s hide em lies, and those so-called topics
You’re so not my type, so skip the passion stories
Stay more appropriate and quit being a monopolist.

Now as em words felled on soft ears, I stood idle for awhile
For my mind had void, like everything was deleted overnight
Like my life had stopped, as someone drowning in deep waters
And the air he breathes come short, when no tactics seem right,
How could I fight back, when all my guards have been scattered
What if I said, that I’m not surprise that you’d played my lines,
That I had vowed a straight path until you somehow dragged along
And turned that which matters the most, into your own sovereign run
That you started a war and rain enough hate, even when I did no wrong
What if I tell you that I’m cut deep, with no hopes of finding love again
That I now rest ****** red without a fight, but hopes that seems gray
And a mind that looks black, like the atmospheric world of the dead
What if I say I can’t live a lie, that a quiet slouch won’t stop the rain
That I am a great man, and grown men don’t praise those graves
For tis not a source of happiness, but rather a confined rest place.

What if I say the truth instead, with hopes that you don’t creep away,
That the dull mirrors of yours; that they be made clearer before your eyes
That my words might reach your conscience, and battle those walls of fears,
That your heart will rush through em vines, and search for me within the fights
That it might reserve its hatred and receive my sorry of reaching for your heart  
For I sometimes wish my heart would tear and let me leave that place
That it’s not the perfect thing, no matter how hard it wants it to be
That no one would say, it felt sorry for loving you.
If loving you was a mistake, then I'm sorry
What makes a poet ?
That was my thought
I mulled it over and
Came up with these oughts :

Late nights with
coffee , tea or beer
Perhaps harder stuff
Whiskey , smoke or gin clear

And the struggles and pain
as the birth is exclaimed
Blood , sweat and tears
Falling as hard as ice on rain

Confessionals made
As black on white page
Love , death , fears
Even extreme rage

One who struggles
with the a's and the's
Should one even use
The apostrophe

One who's words
Gel by the witching hour
Words full of promise  
Warnings so dour

But perhaps greatest of all
Before even the start
One must have
a true poet's heart
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