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Anne Curtin Apr 2017
Home is clean sheets on Tuesdays.
Piles of poetry defy gravity, over-sized
soft  t-shirts in the closet and always
enough Diet Coke in the fridge.

Home is the cat muttering about nothing.
Lists for Doctors, for Target, for God.
Popcorn for dinner, music instead of  news.
Windows open in January for different air.

Home is breakfast, then leaving for meetings
or other hard things, then I come back, back, back.
No matter what the day brings, this is how
I get to next Tuesday again, again, again.
From list of prompts I found when packing to move.
  Apr 2017 Anne Curtin
Sjr1000
he won't shut up
when he's around
he wants to write everything
keeps on formulating phrases
hallucinating
couches into flying carpets
swearing that he's seen
the ground from the sky

The Poet
we never know what he's doing -
turning black sheep
into heaven
he's stuck on the inside
looking out

The Poet
he won't shut up
but when I really need him
he's no where to be found

when he wants what
he wants
in these poems of his
I know I'll wind up
embarrassed humiliated and forlorn

The Poet
when he's around
he won't shut up
he keeps going on and on

And when he's gone
Silence.
  Apr 2017 Anne Curtin
Yasmine
through words,
I heal my wounds
by completely exposing them
  Feb 2017 Anne Curtin
Demonatachick
You cannot break the broken, you can't live in the past, throw that memory away, you cannot let it stay, oh I wish I had the power to change every wasted hour, to knock down this growing tower under which I fearfully cower, in my ball of self regret.

             
                    I can remember:

                Tears that I have shed.

                 Lies that I have said.

                 Pain I have inflicted.

              Oh how I feel conflicted.


But know now this, for it is true, for all the things I can't undo, I'd never regret loving you.
No sleep = creativity, how does that work?
Oml this made the daily poem, thank you so much everyone!!
Anne Curtin Feb 2017
how can I leave her,

how can I stay?
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