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 Dec 2012 Michael Ryan
Dieorfree
Read my lips
feel my word's
know that I care and life will never be fair
my massage is so simple
loving you was dream
was like chilled playing in the rain
like blood ruing in vain
but not all we dream we can gain so again
read my lips
feel my word's
when I say goodbye , when I love to cry
don't you wonder why
maybe that my Sacrificere
read my lip's
and feel my word's
They ask me if I still love you.

I blush, grin and say;

of course.

Why?

Because your eyes are of the most utter ocean blue,

but other days they're the currents of the stormy grey sea.

I see a current of salty water, deep, once blue, but now a faded grey.

I see a bundle of darkened grey clouds in the distance,

and the thunder rumbles from your irises,

and I hear it pound in the back of my mind.

I wonder if you knew.

I see a spark of lightening flash, only once in a while,

while you look at her.

My throat corrodes with bile.


She says she sees green demons lurking in the depth of my own ocean currents,

and I shrug.

What am I supposed to say?

I know you think about her.

Night and day.


The hardest part,

is a generic, old saying.

If you love them,

you let them go.

If they love you enough to stay,

or to come back,

you never let go.





But you haven't come back.
EDIT: Wow. Never expected this to blow up as big as it did. I thank you all so much!
EDIT: 2/15/14
i would say i never loved you, but that is a lie.
they say that your *first* love makes *you realize*, your first *love* wasnt really your first.
i pray for the day this happens.
*getting over you was the best thing i ever did.
and i did it for myself.*
so, one last:
*******.
you.***
EDIT: 9/14/14
i still hate you.
and you don't deserve her.
EDIT:   12/01/14
im sorry. you still arent
the same person
and neither is she.
but we all grow up.

EDIT
10/14/20
I was going through my bookmarks
on my old computer and found my old writings.
I just wanted to update this one last time to say things are better,
things are good. Thanks again for all the likes and comments.
 Nov 2012 Michael Ryan
Oli Nejad
I’m a bit of a collector, me.
(I like discographies, personally)

Why I collect?
(It’s funny you ask.)

I never gave thought to obsession,
(Too busy obsessing.)

These are in order of release.
Those are alphabetical.
(Don’t touch them.)

I haven’t gotten round to those.
(Subsequently, I can’t look at them.)
 Nov 2012 Michael Ryan
Ugo
We sipped boulder rock from refrigerators doors
and watched the heavens hand out food stamps with IBM logos.
“ode to Mehmet” we sang, and licked the Mossberg—
fixating on the blue collar philosophy that lived in our empty wallets.

Trash cans filled with water bottles stared at us to find our essence—
the one we had lost while being fed quintessential American idioms
in state-of-the-art classrooms sponsored by slaves and Popol Vuh blood.

Six million years of human existence trivialized down to a single sentence—
* Man loved God, man wrote, man conquered God, and now man loves science* —
scribbled on SmartBoards afforded by fire burning from Prometheus’ female liver.

Trees sing with oxygen no more for the sake of making paper,
and eyes soak in the words on paper for the sake of making paper.
Trees make the avenue but the future holds an Avenue of no trees—
… for in the land of the free, anything but freedom ain’t free.
Look here
I've caught your Roman fingers
Here,  in my stubby shell curves
These crooked hands of ours
Bent and tangled
Oh how you keep me pinned
Under your grazing thumbs

Listen now
To the sharpness of our breathing
Lulling our souls to sleep
My ears remembering all the lines in your smile
And you, all the freckles in my eyes
As the radio babbles on

Feel this
My heart beneath my ribs
Beating clumsily in my ears
Pale hands upon the curve of your neck
Soft lips, so close
Almost 30 degrees in California
There might as well be snow, right?

Taste it all
Soft bile on your tongue
Injured sarcasm from my lips
Heavy handed understandings so hard to grasp

But you needn't worry, my dearling
Though your senses scream again
No you needn't worry, darling
You were only passing through
© Kelsey L. Showalter 2010
I sat, staring
a raw paper, naked before me
it gawks at me, teases me, mocks me.
With a blank stare it intimidates me.
Ah, a pun!
Lost pun, without a home.
Perhaps I should file it
with so many other homeless puns?
They have no where to go.
Like a transient they stand
holding signs that read
"Will work for a storyline."
But they are not alone.
There are sentences, paragraphs,
poems and essays
with no end in sight.
"Come join us!" they cry.
"We will await the gods
imagination and inspiration!"

But as Christ delays his coming,
so do they.

But wait, and wait it shall.
Patient paper
Silent paper
The gods will come.
As thieves in the night.
In the dawns early light.
Ah yes!
You will not compel me to stare.
Taunting remnant of tree.

For the gods never come
while I watch.
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