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My neck aches from testing
And staying up all night
To brand numbers on my skin
Calloused from pens held tight
It's when you blush, my heart explodes
Maybe because, the things I know
Like how I love to hear your laugh
Or how I want to make this last.

Maybe it's how you look at me
Or how you sound when you're sleepy
Could be our laughs laying in bed
Or just the way your nose turns red.

I missed your voice and sharing songs
And looking at the calm blue dawn
Or it might be - I'm glad to say -
How this feels right in every way.
I am writing these words in an empty notebook
On a warm, humid, mid-summer morning,
Masked by the speckled shade of my tree's canopy.

My dog stands beside me
His paws among the crisp grass
Covered by dew and red fallen petals.

From across the lake in front of me,
there are birds sending eloquent songs
On a journey across the placid waters;

Above me is a juvenile blue-jay,
Still without its royal blue crest,
which has made this its home.

This beautiful scene I am immersed in,
Gorgeous like a painting still drying,
Its wet paint glistening,
Has become my home.
Oh, how I yearn to write words that matter!
How I prayed to a god made deaf by mournful echos.
Oh, how I type away into this keyboard diligently,
Attempting to justify this rotting mind of mine.

These words have no meaning behind them,
And yet I march on and try to defy sense!

Oh, how I crave to be significant and something
More than just the invisible speck I am!
Oh, how I write these words attempting to uncover
Some truth that had never even sprouted.

These words are my only testimony to you, my friend,
And utter again - I beg - the soul it tried to mend!
I dropped your heart
That night it fell.
Please pick it up
And say you’re well.
Green, black
This day lacks
A flower surrounded by mud
Dirt, meet Flower
Grow, love
A bird perched on my chest last night.
You should have seen me jolt awake,
How it remained so near my face!

I stared at its gem blue, stained red.
Yet when I touched its bloodied plume,
A storm of black consumed my room.

With lightning’s strike I could perceive
Sweet-scented subversive coffee
Among French dreams of Liberty

Followed by sounds of clashing arms
Between brothers of blue and gray
Over the fate of the enslaved.

At once I felt the long struggle of
Tenant farmers now freed from lords,
Working mothers who dream of more.

My child ached from days of work.
His stomach starved because the Board
Deemed him something they can’t afford.

Too much! Too sad! I couldn’t last
A second more, and so I seized
The beast as my new centerpiece.

Such bright feathers but such a bore,
Now gawk with me and wine some more.
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