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[my lungs are like broken mirrors, reflecting my air into my stomach, while each breath is like choking down shards of glass. every time i swallow, they cut and scrape my esophagus so that i am gagging on my own metallic pools of blood.]
"Are you from around here?"
You would have rolled your eyes at the city sky
Muttered something about Westernization
No stars in the sky
But baby, here they have the lights.

A man asked about you today
He said "and your lover?"
I told him you were long gone,
Feared the exposure of city lights
New York doesn't love me like you do
I said "my lover is a runaway fugitive"
Anything but the truth.
 Oct 2014 Angelina
LittleFreeBird
I am Monday
The sky on a rainy morning
I am the sea as it rumbles
The air as it trembles
I am the storm
And the calm  
I am a mess
Catastrophe with eyes grayer
Than the smoke
Of the world that has burned down
Around me
 Oct 2014 Angelina
LittleFreeBird
A piece of you
Reflecting back
The bitter words in your mouth
Too raw to speak
A poet is
Someone in pain
And someone in love
Someone who looks at the world
Through a kaleidoscope
Who takes a magnifying glass to each
And every
Word you say
And lets them imprint on their heart
A poet is
A star gazer
A dreamer
A chaser of
The improbable
But hopes anyway
A poet is
Tissue paper skin
A heart of glass
And a soul of titanium

A poet is
A sharp tongue
And a gentle kiss
She is a sob
He is a sigh
A poet is
The sun at midnight
Bright and
Burning
Hot
Alive
But cloaked in a darkness
They cannot shake
The brightest day
And the darkest night
A poet is
The human experience
A paradox
An oxymoron
So complicatedly
Simple

A poet is
A lover
Who refuses
To stop wearing their heart on their sleeve
No matter how much it bleeds
But rolls them up
So you can’t see
The blood stains


A poet
Is Poetry
It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.
 Sep 2014 Angelina
Taylor
Untitled
 Sep 2014 Angelina
Taylor
Most people seem to remember the moment when their lives fell apart. Maybe someone left them, maybe someone died. Other people remember the trigger, maybe even the exact date.

I just recall waking up one morning and not caring about my life anymore.
mes
I feel very stuck currently
Between the two different mes
The one that wants to love you
And the other to be free
I know the plural of me is not a real thing... just let it happen.
I fell in love with you on molly
I fell in lust with you on ****
Felt bigger than myself
Wanted you and no one else
on LSD
But heartbreak came with sassafras
You looked at me with eyes of glass
Because the high can never really last
And now my dreams live in the past
 Sep 2014 Angelina
Joe Cole
I have some followers who have never posted a poem
Perhaps they're just people who enjoy reading poetry
But maybe they are just nervous about showing their work
Anyway here's how I view it
An artist makes a charcoal or pencil sketch
Once it looks right they start adding color
A photographer frames the subject and once its right
Takes the photograph
So start by writing a short stanza and then play with the words
You just might surprise yourselves
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