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if you got a chance
to read my poems,
i wonder
will you ever know
that these poems
are written by
thinking of you???
will you ever say
these poems
are lovely???
for i know
these are lovely
as these are
written for you...
please know that my poems are
dedicated to you
Ah, I should say you are one
That make me want to write
Tonight
All about life

Tough I only met you once
While you never met me at all
Tough I only met you once
While sure will be the last time too

I don't love you
God, not at all
It's just you
Open my eyes

You're a total imperfection, really
Fatal imperfection
But why is that
still you are awesome

I don't love you
Lord, not at all
It's just you
Make me understand the mean of perfection itself
It's just you
Help me see that perfection is a ****
When standing next to happiness
III
i think of you too often. it has become rare to think of something else. i used to think of last summer before i met you. i used to think about long days on beaches i have never heard of before the very day i jumped into waves of sapphire. i used to think about the smell of sun lotion and jasmines and peppermint icecream, which still is my favourite flavour. we bought icecream last summer, mary and i, and dug our naked feet too deep in the melting sand and drank gin straight from the bottle and laughed our hearts out in the embracing summer air. i sighed a hopeful sigh as i let my body kiss the ground and i wished for never-ending summer days with mary at the mooring. we danced around the fire whilst holding each other's hands; we danced and danced and danced until our minds were all sore and then we watched the awaken sea turtles and fell asleep on the dock, hand in hand.

i used to think of mary before i met you, but ever since you bumped into my life, thinking of you has been blocking all other thoughts; thinking of you has been the baddest habit of mine. you did never ever leave.

*(k.w)
last poem of three
Time scars all with the wounds they were said to heal
Sure the marks not visible, but the pain is ever so real
Staring at the hands that mend my fate
Circadian rythum thrown off is it too early or too late?
Half or a quater of my past an electrical impulse away
Memories faded by time but the pain is here to stay
The smell of your clothes, a nostalgic aroma
Time heals all wounds as these scars get older
 Jun 2014 Benedict Menda
Helen
twinkle brightly within their eyes
whisper nothings they exhale as sighs
be their every breath they take
be their very worst mistake

be their moment, be their sin
be their beginning, be their end
be a verb or be a noun
be their slippery ***** to ground

be the night star in their skies
be the sunshine in their eyes
be the one who makes them cry

be the one who makes them laugh
be the dumb to their smart

be their Mom, be their Dad
be their Lover, be their Sad
be there Tomorrow
be their Yesterday
be there Forever
when they don't stay

****** a Poet!
its so simple
its the little things
that make a ripple
spreading outward rings
into the Universe

how to ****** a Poet?

be their  
*First
 Jun 2014 Benedict Menda
Harrison
My eyes are heavy
from to many nights
thinking about an
hour glass.
the ticking sound
coming from a Disney clock
I threw away when I was 11
If I knew back then how being
an adult would break
everything in your body
I would have stayed after school
a little bit longer and probably
should have kissed her while
I had the chance.
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