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  Nov 2016 Anecandu
Rainey Birthwright
.
In still morning light,
There is new beginning,
Early birds so joyous,
On wings into the sky,
How the sun is painting
A paradise for my eyes.

I will wake into dream,
On this day so spectral,
I will sing with the breeze
And interpret the songs
Of birds in trees a flame,
Sailing into heavens' dawn.
Anecandu Nov 2016
You hate the way I rub your back when we hug in bliss,
You hate the poke of my beard from a stolen cheek kiss,  
You hate the way I put off things when I'm able.
You hate my feet on the coffee table,

I hate the way you make me wait like a school boy,
I hate when you pack away all my cool toys,
I hate doing dishes,
I hate doing dishes, for my special wishes.

We hate the awkward kisses in movies these days,
We hate the time that slips away on vacays
We hate that we never have enough space,
We hate when others use our secret place.

They hate when you kiss away my dripping ice cream,
They hate my lion groans and your eagle screams,
They hate our poems about condescending things
They'll hate most of all..... it tugs at their heart strings.
  Nov 2016 Anecandu
mk
there must be a place where broken words go
the ones without a limb
not fully formed
not spoken right
not heard

there must be a place where broken words go
the sentences left uncompleted
the trailing words that never left the lips
the "but" and the "and"
that were always left hanging

somewhere between silence and speech
there must be a place where broken words go
full of stutters and writers block sufferers
somewhere between the "i love"
and the "you" that never followed
or the "wait"
that was whispered into the air
the "please come back"
that made peace with dying
on the corners of a turning mouth

there must be a place where broken words go
the words spoken but never heard
the letters written but never posted
the train of thought that crashed into the clouds
the words in the bottle that traveled the sea
but sunk to the bottom before it could ever reach

there must be a place where my broken words go
the stains on my diary that didn't come from a pen
and the letters on my thighs that don't make sense
the things i could never say
and the things i said that came out all wrong
all the broken alphabets in my song
that cry for salvation
for one more chance

there must be a place where broken words go
there must be a place i can call home.
  Oct 2016 Anecandu
curlygirl
the hardest
part of
letting someone
you love
go is
making yourself
stay away
Anecandu Oct 2016
I write better than I speak,
Felt the words caress my cheek,
They tumble out like a coffee grinder,
Enough to fill just one binder.
Only enough for a cup.

I write better than I speak,
The words are rationed treats,
Whenever it comes slow like drops of tar,
Filling my heart like a pickle jar,
Just enough air at the top.

I write better than I speak,
My words don't know de-feet,
They're smart bombs that hit only their mark,
They huddle like grapes in the park
Only each other is enough.

I write better than I speak,
Picking words like wild berries,
They are green caterpillars crawling around my mind,
and yellow butterflies when my mouth opens,
Alive for today, only.
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