And in death,
I’ll keep on screaming at Satan
until the moment he admits
that he was only keeping the seat warm
for me.

The state of being
A singularity
For the remainder
Of my existence
Sometimes
Pulls at the strings
Of my emotions
And an undying
Wavering stutter
Of sadness
That this is
My destiny
by Jemia

the first time I hiked through the forest at night I was frightened And then, I just decided i could not remain scared
I trusted the bark was bark
and if I stretched my hands out  I could touch the solidness of a tree
and I trusted that the ground was ground firm beneath my feet that it would
support me and not suddenly give way
opening like a trap door
I trusted that my ears would hear
I trusted
so now I must trust that the heart
can feel ( what is truly real)

Do you ever wonder
if the painter
tires of his colors?

You.
Are.
A.
Walking.
Masterpiece.

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

The tick of a clock
pulls at my wrists
forcing my breath
to explore new lungs.
But I would sooner
detach every limb
to hold onto a forlorn memory.