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 Sep 2018 XPY
emnabee
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
 Sep 2018 XPY
dandelionfine
I have a perfect lunchbox mom
Crusts cut off
She leaves me love letters on my napkin
So that when the bathroom stall became my cafeteria
I wouldn't be so lonely
I have a perfect marathon mom
She runs to the beach and back just to show that she can.
And when she says she's all gross from her run, she somehow still smells like fresh air
My mom is fresh air,
She fills my sister's lungs with life
And every exhale is love
My mom is fresh air.
She is a sanctuary, she is a nest
She is rest
I have a perfect lunchbox mom,
A "Honey, what's wrong?" mom
An "If you're not here, the day's too long", mom
A "Wonder if God knew what He gave to Earth" mom
I thought God kept track of angels
She is everything
 May 2018 XPY
Heart of Silver
Close your eyes

Your world, not extending
beyond the soft quilt under
your skin, unending


Soft ripples of cloth, and picturesque seams
Nothing here but
You, me, the sky, and soft dreams

I'll reach up and take the stars from the sky
If only to lay them at your feet
to place them in your hands
to bring light into those glazed eyes
or give a glow to a world so bland

and each one would be folded
into a beautiful origami castle
I, the lord, and you, the vassal
Or perhaps me as the king
and you as a queen, whichever
My gentle playmate.. which one is better?

I'm a majestic creature of the sky
You're an empty-faced child on a quilt
Each star shall be used as a stepping stone
so I might meet you in the place I built


Let us meet, as lovers, or
at least equals
on this starry floor
And your body falls into each soft fold
It's here, right here, that I can hold
you close, keep you safe and warm
so you, from the rest of the world
I'll withhold

Consider this a "romantic poem".. but not about me! Actually, this is a story I've sort of written. :)

Hmm, let me try to describe it. A little girl living in a world all her own, a world that's nothing more than an empty quilt with an endless sky. Above her, lives a sort of "sky-creature" and he happens to be in love with her, so he builds her a castle of stars.
 May 2018 XPY
Lyda M Sourne
And I write poetry
With you as my muse

And you write poetry
But I was never yours
I thought I was over you, but apparently not
 May 2018 XPY
wolflet
One wish
 May 2018 XPY
wolflet
I have only ever
wish for one thing.
every time I wish upon
eyelashes,
shooting stars,
dandelions,
birthday candles,
wishbones,
ladybugs,
I wish for love

What do I wish for now?
 May 2018 XPY
Ary
the art of making coffee
doesn’t start with what it is thought to be.
no, it’s not a mixture of beans and water
or, warm milk and sugar together—
the art of making coffee
starts with you and me.

it starts with the truth from reality
mixed with the scar of pity,
when the night creeps in,
stars from above seeps in
and all at once, everything feared disappeared,
overcome by sweet riddles of you
that appeared.

so,  from you to me
amidst this ironic actuality—
thats how you make the perfect coffee.


— you’re the (sugar) sweetness in this reality (coffee)
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