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When I think of you
                                                             ­                    I think of teacups;
for when my mind is blank                
                              
                                 ­  the thoughts of you manage to

                                               l
                                                      e
       ­                                                       a
        ­                                                              k

­                                                                 ­             inside my head.
inspired on my cracked coffee mug & the love of my life. (to be seen on a computer screen to appreciate layout)
 Mar 2018 Renan Racy
victoria
Falling fear

Like swallowing glass
I begin to choke down
Your vicious notes
Though I fear their sound

Like fading in the sun
Like falling through a cloud
Impaled onto your sharpness
Left to bleed on the ground
 Mar 2018 Renan Racy
Jessica Lima
With all my curves
And my short hair
I feel other than beautiful...
Not that you'd ever care.

You look me up and down.
Disappointment on your stare...
And when you turn away,
It's over right then and there.

Unsatisfied, you tell others;
Of the mess that I can be...
And so I start all over
I hide the real me.
 Mar 2018 Renan Racy
alexa
stay away
 Mar 2018 Renan Racy
alexa
she's afraid to get close.
she's afraid he'll soothe her,
become her favorite forever
and consistent always,
afraid he'll make her feel like
she isn't broken.
she's afriad of the inevitability of it all.
she's afraid he'll back out,
leave,
make the Great Escape during her darkest hour.
she's afraid she'll become too dependent,
too addicted to his
natural chemical happiness
(not the kind she takes with water every morning),
his ability to calm her storm.
she's afraid that she'll forget what it's like to be alone,
so when, finally,
she is left alone with only her shadow,
she will only remember that Sunshine Boy
and, how, with him gone,
he took her only source of brightness.
she's afraid to get close...
they all end up leaving anyway.
I don't want flowers or jewelry
I don't want to remember you through material objects that will wilt or get lost
I don't want temporary.
I crave something meaningful
Something permanent

So
Show me your deepest fears
Bear to me your soul
Complete with every
Crack
fracture
And microscopic imperfection
Tell me about
Your weirdest obsessions
Your favorite stories
Explain  your scars
Both visceral
And visual
Tell me everything
wishes and dreams
Anxieties
qualities about yourself
that make you wonder
if you could ever be loved.
the quirks that you fear others will deem bothersome.

And I swear to you, with every pure intention in my heart.

There's no possible way I won't think it's beautiful.
this was written for the one i never stop wishing was you.
you could say it was regifted.
Philosophers, poets, and parents alike
Will advise you
to stay focused on the future
To not stand rooted
with one foot in the past

But how can I walk forward
When I am anchored to the ground
Drowning in my anxieties and doubts?

Guarding my heart and head
Like a snake slithering around it’s nest
One wrong step or misplaced sound
And the vicious bite
will take my life

So I bury my head in old photo albums,
re-read books that once made me feel free,
And wash my sheets every Sunday
So that the smell of lavender and linen
never leaves my skin

Then I wonder to myself
Why Christmas doesn’t warm my heart anymore
Or why the water at our lakes edge
for once in my life Feels cold
why I don’t
laugh as much as I used to

I trouble my mind so much
That I have to distract myself
Just to stop worrying about wasted time
And to rid the recurring realization
That at this moment I am oldest I have ever been
And the youngest I will ever be

When did getting older become so complicated?
When did it start to feel  suffocating
Instead of liberating.
I never feel heard.
 Feb 2018 Renan Racy
Lydia
There's this part of me,
that longs to be alone

other people become weights
that are to heavy for me to carry

some people think I am an idea in their head,
this fantasy woman they made up somehow along the way
and transferred onto me when they met me
like I am a concept for them
to make them happy, to be the thing that they have always needed

when in reality
I am just me
and I get angry and I'm stubborn and impossible sometimes
I'm just a girl who is messed up too,
trying to find her place in this world,
just like you
 Feb 2018 Renan Racy
lmnsinner
like a good poet, I whine and whinny:

the muses are unreliable, get too much paid vacation,
unlimited unpaid, and pretend their cells are out of range,
even when they are in bed with you and you’re near desperate
to cop a feel of inspiration

my problem is a variation on the theme. Everyday I jot down
too many possibilities, a handful of words added to the list of
pound bound childless titles, sad faced orphans, dogs and cats,
squeaking “pick me, pick me,”
our reply a casual
“you on the list” rather than admit they are titled, but bodiless
until cupid smashes a cupcake in my face and the bell rings

there they stand - at a friendless crossroads - direction home,
path unknown, awaiting a poet tour guide to complete them

if this sounds a bit like a bad achy breaky country song,
then you and I, on the same side of where I could be headed

cause at the friendless crossroads, always unsure, left foot first?  that first line, first step, could be a false messiah,
or a free-at-last, a free-at-last emancipation

but there are no sidelines in a forest there no sidelines in a poet’s mind; there are the minefields of mindfulness that can explore explode and explain why it is tempting to believe that every gifted one deserves a break today

but you cannot be broken or break off from the community

“Hillel said: Do not separate yourself from the community; and do not trust in yourself until the day of your death. Do not judge your fellow until you are in his place. Do not say something that cannot be understood but will be understood in the end. Say not: When I have time I will study because you may never have the time”

my friend,
substitute writing poetry for study, for study is for us the analysis of everything, that is, everything we say, see and know the need to communicate

so
those who abide in the life of good words will not suffer an abdication (yours)

do not think
there are friendless crossroads,
there are only crossroads that the eye cannot yet see a fellow sojourner coming toward him,
bearing an oversized load of
the inside insight of responsibility
that demands sharing

that is why we call our meetings at
a crossroads,
a cross
for the sojourner poet last seen heading south to California
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