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 Oct 2013 Alyssa Rose Naimoli
M
Her smiled stretched to one side of her perfectly structured face. And she wanted to know me. I wouldn't, but she did. I spent the night inside the words she wrote me. She asked my favorite color. I said blue, because I was, and because it is. She listened to my dreams, to her they were big, to her I was big. The first day I met her I hid because I was nervous and she is wonderful and I wasn't ready to fall in love yet, but it didn't matter, because any wall she stood behind was transparent, and I saw her. Goodbye was impossible, I made short stories long just to look a little more, because she has eyes I'd swim through, And a look that made you look, so I did. But she had to go, she had already taken the time to give me my entire world, and she wrapped her arms around me, and her shadow was mine. I fell, right into the night I saw her city lights, and my shadow was hers. And then, She slept and that was okay because she is beautiful, not that she needs the sleep to be, but dreams deserve beauty too, and she was next to me. But now when I hide, a wall is just a wall, I cant dream anymore, because I can't sleep, and my entire world is gone. And I never face west before noon , I can't stand the sight of my shadow, because it's not yours.
I would lay on the hood of your car and tell you about the silent parts of the night and I remember the stars were familiar to me. Like
.. I knew them.
Just one more poem.
Just one more rhyme...
come on brain!
Have you lost your mind?

Just one more limerick.
Just one more haiku...
it's always so easy!
What's wrong with you?

Just one more story.
Just one more tune...
write of winter!
Describe hot June?

Just one more lesson.
Just one more advice...
say it with jewelry!
Teach of vice?

Just one more declaration.
Just one more truth-spree...
do it on paper!
Set yourself free?

Just one more blood-let.
Just one more piece of you...
there's something to say!
What have you accrued?

"Just one more bad day.
Just one more true beauty...
to write it all down!
Isn't it a poet's duty?

Just one more Maui sunset.
Just one more lost friend...
Oh, don't worry!
'One mores 'never end..."
Feel free to critique and praise as you'd like. Look as some of my other poems! Many different ones, although many use rhyme. Thank you!
Wrote this eons ago, tonight, once more,
spend some human capital, editing...
Something to think about
as we tuck ourselves in.

the young'uns keep on asking me for tips,
secrets, to this art, magical poetry gig,
as if I had any left unrevealed.  

recalled this old'n,
from a vintage poetry year,
as a suggestion,
a stating-starting place,
for young poets:

do not self-chain,
let the words take you where
they lead, write them up
for the rhyme is waiting,
in the heart chest deep down,
not on the screen.

I read you Goodnight Moon,
Falling asleep beside you.


<•>

People stop rhyming...

When first you overcome your fears,
And dare to put on paper your tears,
Give it up, set yourself free from the shackles,
Of thinking a rhyme is a necessity for a
Rooting tooting writing of a
**** good poem

If you feel lost,
Want to share the cost,
Feel not bossed,
By a newbie's need
to believe that if it rhymes
Everyone will like your poem
Just fine

And if you get past this stage,
And advance to the next page,
Do not think that writing down a sentence of
Your mind's first up, innermost thoughts,
Is something that will make you
Less lost, heralded, worthy of a parade,
And be blessed with an A  
In your Teacher's pet grade book

My heart broke.
I feel bad.
I feel sad
Cause my man/woman left me
And I hope
Someone kicks his or her ***

That Ain't No Poem Neither...

And if you can't help but complain repeatedly
How life ***** and you're feeling blue
extremely indiscreetly,
Don't make me try on your scribblings
intimately indiscriminately,
Read a million, even wrote a few myself

You think you can write?

Then employ a word outside your comfort zone,
Go it alone,
Write just four sentences that will make
The hopeful reader stand up and you,
Twice as much, and shout

Hallelujah *******.

Work. Poetry is work. Hard work.
Don't fret. But, think on it.
Let it come easy, then let it rest,.
Then spend days editing every comma,
And when you love it so much,
You are chest busting bursting,
Why have you not pressed Send already?

Have the sweetest dreams.
In the morning, when you but awake,
A poem will be aborning in thy mind,
And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom
In free verse.
(I know you will slip in a rhyme or two,
I can't help but do it too)

G' nite!
Why is that parents plant ideas in your brain as you're falling aslee..............

Just a suggestion....what do I know,
If I were braver I would tell you what I think I know
I would tell you I love you and that
You light up my soul

I Would tell you that it’s true
Even though I know it doesn’t
Make things easy
And the trembling in my scar tissue
Makes me sort of quesy,
Even if you can’t say the same three words to me
And I want it
Or worse yet I’m haunted
That you will…
And I’ll fall to the hallow sound
When your unsure,
I would rather squirm in the silence
Then fall to the pretense
Of a love unreturned.
I think I have learned that love comes in different flavors
And you are all your own.
I love you different than any person
I have ever known.
I’m unsure of how long
This life will let me hold you in my arms
Or if your wit and your charm will be enough
To get us by
But it is no lie when I say
I love you.
I spend Mondays pulling pieces
of glass from the bottom of my feet.

Every shard reminding me of you.
Every line of blood bringing out your face.
And I smile with a bitterness,
as I throw the pieces away.

On Tuesdays I try to make
everything symbolic.  

I sit at my window in utter bareness,
and whisper to the cold panes that if everyone
stopped lying, we'd all be left naked.

Wednesdays are the days I drink
only water, and eat only celery.

Hoping to purge my body of poison.
Hoping to drop another pant size.
Wanting to get high off double zero skinny jeans.

Thursdays I always attempt to draw,
but never get past the art of words.

It's so much easier to stay in
my comfort zone.  Hang out with
punctuation, margins, and lines.

Fridays have a way of
being rather nostalgic.

It's never a happy trip down memory lane.
Too many wrong turns to be made.
Too many *** holes to get lost in.

Saturdays I binge on pizza,
realizing how much I love to eat.

The strangest feeling I'll ever know,
is that of feeling full.  I'm so used
to feeling completely hollow.

Sundays are horribly predictable,
that I can always count on.

To diffuse my energy I break wine bottles.
You'd never believe how it feels to walk
over something you've completely destroyed.
Late night writing, what're ya gonna do. Am I right?
I tell you that I just want
to be wanted.
Needed the way a lock
needs the safe feel of
it's key's cool skin,
the gentle memory of it's
perfect cuts and curves.
If only we could open up
our lovers the way
we open our front door.

Maybe it was how you wore pain.
The way your tears, lazy little rivers on
your perfect face, would wash down in
chaotic lines. Prisoners of emotion
trying desperately to escape being absorbed
back into the flesh prison of your skin.
Skin that used to soothe my fears as
my fingertips put on a ballet across its surface.
Smelling of cool autumn promises, blue sky "I love you"s,
and thoroughly damp memories. Slightly marred
with emotional pock marks and raised
scar tissue that mapped out your life
in a secret language known only to you and the blade.

I'm pretty sure
you'll forever feel like home to me.
As broken as that home may be.
Emotions tangled
Meshed through time
Lessons taught
Often thought fine

Decisions made
By our own minds
Change the course of nature
Disrupts the steady tides

Written on parchment
Epics from life
Coloring each thought
Sometimes stopped by knife

Ideas challenged by thought
Answered swift by reaction
Grouped by views and faith
Life by faction

History decides
What becomes of us
Smooth black lines
Shown beyond dust
one of many
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