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15 | 31 Poems for August

I’m slowly progressing but progressing nonetheless.
The worst thing I could do is give up on myself.
The worst thing I did this week was give up on myself.
Sometimes dreams delayed feel like dreams denied.
If you asked how I’m holding up and I responded by saying “I’m okay” then chances are I probably just lied.
Everyone’s caught up in their own world, if you don’t see me tomorrow then know that I tried.
I’m sorry I don’t want to bother or burden anyone with my problems.
I know you’ve never seen me cry but I can no longer hide all that I’m feeling inside.
Some people suffer in silence because of self-importance and a little bit of pride.
But that’s not me, I put my heart on paper and I let it all bleed.
But lately I’ve come to realise that not everyone likes to read.
So I ask myself, who am I writing all these resplendent poems to?
 Aug 2015 Sierra Brown
Rapunzoll
You dream of someplace
where the men have better
reasons for calling and you
no longer feel so alone.

Where the sun shines
without the inevitability
of the rain, where the skies
aren't blackened by the
smoke of his cigarettes.

You'll exhale the fresh air,
and you won't remember
the colour of his eyes or the
scar above his left brow.

You'll forget how he
smirked when you said
that you loved him.

You're moving on, the
past will no longer suffocate
you with the fragrance of
its cheap perfume, you'll
learn to count the days rather
than to tick them off.

One day you'll step
forward without looking
back and you'll realize
you are infinite and he is
just a glitch in time.
© copyright
 Aug 2015 Sierra Brown
Riya
Contrite
 Aug 2015 Sierra Brown
Riya
Here I am sat
At 2am.
Thinking of you and me
And our short lived romance.

Our little story
Wasn’t enough for me.
Darling didn’t you see
How we were puppets
Faking our glee.

Little plastic dolls,
Set up perfectly,
To do what makes them merry
While we drowned in misery.

But baby,
I was wrong.
I never should’ve broken it off.
Because here I am
At 2 in the morning
thinking about you and me
And our Short little Story.
 Aug 2015 Sierra Brown
Sarah
Stairs.
 Aug 2015 Sierra Brown
Sarah
It doesn't seem fair
that the stairs
are there
when I'm unaware
of how to go
where
I need to be
hopelessly
honestly
following
steps as I count
the hypocrisy
engrained in me
plain to see
ascending,
descending unending
tragedy

is it up
is it down
is it all in the sound
of a breath
on a step
as I'm hitting my
head to
climb up the
staircase
and
for
what,
again?

It doesn't seem fair that the stairs always know
where they're going.
tectonic shoulder blades, rising and falling, sensuous rubbing
the beyond the smooth skin,
        clasps of lips and hands alike, natural

window, lit by the dark-indigo-crevasses of stars peering through
        and makes like the sun and moon-- chiaroscuro
entwined upon unbuttoned sheets        perhaps        this
        can save        the daylight's dragging through

promises to follow skin's pathways        into their depths
        into where only stars light up        through the nadir
experiencing flight, exquisite libido, orgiastic now lolled


where one goes,        the other follows
       two hearts, bodies, one soul
unfolds the lifetime exploring as a heaven
 Aug 2015 Sierra Brown
Simpleton
Beneath the canopy of stars
I sit and wonder
Dear God
Would you give me a sign
Would you tell me the future
Of distance and time
How will my destiny take a turn
I am scared of the unknown
Can you hear my heartbeat thudding away
It knows not what it wants
And I am afraid of taking a wrong turn
All that I am sure
Is that I am yours
Write me as you wish
For your wish is mine
You know what I dare not bring to voice
Only you could find clarity in the confusion of my self
And the contradiction it presents
I live in your trust alone
And even if I am lost
Nothing is of loss if I have you
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