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  Sep 2018 Yann
Anya
You know,
The frustrating thing
Is that almost all
The good poetry
Comes to me
In the night

I try to sleep
As newer and newer
Pieces
Loudly
DING ****!
The doorbell in my mind

Then, of course
My body is inclined to roll over
And my hands are forced to
Pick up my phone
And
Begin typing
...
Argh!
What must I do to sleep!?
  Sep 2018 Yann
-
If you could see yourself the way I see you
For just a week,
For just a day,
For just an hour,
Or even for a fleeting glimpse in a crowd.

If you could see yourself through my eyes
Then hopefully you would see
That glow around your eyes when you smile
Especially when the smile is sincere
Even when your heart isn't in it, I see it still.

If you could see yourself through my eyes
Maybe you would hear the chimes
That accompany your voice when you laugh.
Maybe you would feel that warmth in your heart
Even when you're fake laughing at my jokes.

If you could see yourself the way I see you,
Standing ready even when you've been tested,
Holding your ground against wave after wave after wave,
Prepared to withstand your thousandth trial,
Even when you know you're on the edge of collapse.

If you could see yourself the way I see you,
You would be stunned into silence.
You would be amazed at the creature you saw.
You would let go of that last nagging thought.
You would love yourself as deeply as I love you.
  Sep 2018 Yann
A Simillacrum
Arrested.
A Windsor knot
binds my
fickle neck
to my dour
shoulders.
Plastic ties
elegant wrists
in pair.

One question:
Head up or down?

I lied.

Another question.
Atop a question.

Am I

headed up or down?
Give me redemption
or else,
how can I ignore it?

One bedroom.
An eager clock,
minutes
from my set,
or expected
The End,
happily
leaves me to my
routine.

One question:
Head up or down?

I lied.

Another question.
Atop a question.

Am I

headed up or down?
Give me freedom
or else,
how can I ignore it?

Can I really be who I want?
Can I really be what I mean?

Will I ever solidify?
Will I ever come to?

And who will come?

(. . .)
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