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 Mar 2019 Baylee
There will come a time when the night air
won’t send chills down my spine
for it will no longer whisper your name.

I will stop telling stories about you,
for the moon has grew tired of hearing them
and weariness is an awful thing to feel.

The stars would appear
brighter than your eyes,
and I would hear lullabies again.

The winds would be warm,
the seas won’t crash waves,
and I will no longer drown.
 Mar 2019 Baylee
Forgive me
for never saying
what your heart as longed to hear
it's not that I cannot
but more
that I dare not

for what
words could I

a humble Poet speak...

to make
your heart mine own

as your heart


 Jun 2018 Baylee
stop that.
curtailing the rewards of love
around the softness forming on her face
upon the news, you've broken up
and there's not a chance
of feeling any contrition
because you're all about yourself
most of the time, anyways.

She, wrapped in light and acceptance.
you, in the dark, smelling of bark and river

thinking of Her again
stop that.
 Sep 2015 Baylee
Sarah Kersey
I wore my anxiety
like a sweater
My depression
like a mask

My skin was covered
by the illnesses
that plague
my fragile soul

They had the
to tell me
it was all
in my head.
 Sep 2015 Baylee
SG Holter
Words find their way.
Hearts speak through fingers.
Reading eyes are mirrored in
Ink systematically spilled in
The shape of sounds
And minds.

A pen resting on the table is a
A blank piece of paper merely
Dead, compressed wood.
Don't deny us your genius.
There is no try in poetry.
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