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The moon shines softly on her skin
The stars show brightly in her eyes
But you will not see this
For to her, you are blind
 Nov 2015 amber
jrunje
you are the song I sing in the shower
the line in the book I read over and over
the place I pass by everyday on my way to school
the scarf I always wear to keep me warm

you are unforgettable.
like the fairy tale my parents used to read to me every night
like the smell of the earth before it rains
like the scar I've had when I fell from a tree
like the tear that spills over even though I try to conceal it with a smile
like the shoe I wear so often it's falling apart at the sole
like the ring that digs into my flesh but I refuse to take out
you are unforgettable.

my mother told me never to play with fire.
I should've known you'd never love me back.
 Nov 2015 amber
jrunje
my favourite colour are your eyes.
blue, with just the right amount of green flecks in them that light up so beautifully when you smile.
how they would trace the shape of my lips and how mine would trace yours.

my favourite shape are your hands.
i could never quite get over the mystery of how perfectly they fit mine,
fingers interlocked.
the roughness of your palm as opposed to the warmth of your skin.

my favourite song are your lips
mouthing the words, "i love you".
how it felt like music dancing in my ears though not a single syllable was said.
how it started up the frantic drumming of my heart, as though trying to match its beat to the rhythm of your lips.

you used to ask me why
i always spelt favourite with a 'u'.
i think i didn't know it then, but i realise now
that these things wouldn't
be my favourite if there was u.
 Nov 2015 amber
ok
Look at him.
Running around in my dreams
like he owns the place.
 Nov 2015 amber
mark john junor
six am and darkness still prevails
her casual morning disheveled shuffle to the coffee
still beautiful to me
and so entranced i loose myself in thought
come up behind her in the mirror
and brush my lips along her neck
she smiles and teases with a laugh

we chat over our breakfast about
the day now breaking silently outside the open window
a slight autumn breeze tickles us
as our dog chases shadows in the yard
the whole world seems to be waiting for
the brilliant bright sunlight to stream over the edge
of the world

her dreadlocks woven with beads
scented with roses
i run my fingers lightly along one by her ear
then trace the delicate line of her earlobe
i am intoxicated by her everything
i am in love with her
body and mind
soul and heart

each day is a gift
each smile a world of love
i have waited a lifetime to be here
and each and every moment has made that wait worth it
this is living
this beautiful world between us
shared only by our two souls
entranced and entangled
beautiful dreamers lost in a beautiful dream
 Nov 2015 amber
Kj
dating a writer
 Nov 2015 amber
Kj
dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.
 Nov 2015 amber
Paul Butters
I’m no author, novelist or poet.
I’m just Me,
And don’t I know it.
I don’t need to be classified,
As long as I’m writing, I’m satisfied.

Typing out words, line by line,
I don’t care if they don’t rhyme.
I don’t care if my verses don’t scan:
I’m not always an Iambic Man.

I just say what I gotta say,
I’m not worried about any pay.
Words come to me without much bidding,
The world of its evils I hope to be ridding.

I love to spread lots and lots of Love,
Bringing peace to all like a messenger dove.
Things of beauty bring joy, John Keats rightly said,
To make us sleep easy when we go to bed.

So I’ll paint what I paint,
And sing what I sing,
Just letting those words
Do their magical thing.

Paul Butters
Inspired by someone writing you are not an author just because you upload work to self-publishing sites.
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