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A Dead Poet Mar 28
You forgot,
and yet I wait.
In our home,
with the peach tree that blossoms in the spring,
the lantana that loves its sun,
and the rose that only grows stems.
longing to forget, longing to leave,
but stuck in the same place.
waiting for you.
A Dead Poet Mar 12
I don't have much to give,
no tears left,
no money,
no confidence
I can give you me
simple, normal, human
kind. . .
A Dead Poet Mar 12
I look at the clock,
     waiting for you to get home.
I speak,
      only to be cut off.
You look at me and sigh. . .
     You are always right. . .
So please get your things and go. . .
     my heart pleads no, but my mind knows
there is no love, no warmth
     and that's okay,
        I'll be okay. . .
A Dead Poet Mar 2
Bruises turn to scars,
but memories never fade,
my soul weeps in silence for this love,
why do I stay?
The ? the outside world always asks, but will never know unless you live it.
A Dead Poet Feb 17
Princes don't exist in my narrative,
no magic wand, no mysterious old woman.
no happily ever after ending.
My narrative is no fairy tale,

My narrative is,
you looking into my eyes,
      you touching my skin,
           6 a.m. coffee, full of tired complaints,
playing house, yells , laughs, tears and screams.
You by my side, it is no fairy tale, it is just real life
and that is alright.
A Dead Poet Feb 12
Colorless time,
blank canvas without you,
only full of memory,
memory that invents you,
memory that recreates you,
in each stroke of longing.

Strokes of gray,
amongst the hills of the dying,
decrepit, silent, agony filled hills,
late train, filled with certainty,
to find you once more in the promise land.

Strokes of red,
longing for your voice,
and your ardent touch,
rosy red lips, amongst my skin.

Strokes of Black,
slow death, undeserved death
daggers on the back, from the treatment that was your "saving"
absent from your being.

Stroke of Purple,
stars, vapor clouds, constellations painted of your embrace
amongst pill induced dreams, false reality
false hope and false love,
but true longing which craves for your love again.
A Dead Poet Feb 11
with all the complexity in the world,
I would still write
"I love you"
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