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 Dec 2016 Caitlin Cacciatore
Is it my priestly duty
to be denied?
love—time and all else, at all cost!
while he went home alone to watch a movie?

Another victim  
having squandered all my pieces in his game?
Trudging home
along the river
slow, in snow
I parse my losses

At the outskirts of a homeless camp
I pause below a viaduct
hauling passion by a leash
warming hands
avoiding hovel-eyes
Flames flicker on our faces
receiving absolution over embers
of a burning embrace

There trace
in glowing holocaust of skids
in human bleatings and crumblings
our smoke rises— pure   obscure
Appease with *****-blur
the icy, stinging God of winter stars...

G’nights inaudible as blessing

Am I derelict enough to be worthy?
Fallen far enough?
from the porches of prosperity?
to escape it all?
That wedding white
the newborn’s head
that numbing denial of decay?

Am I depraved enough to make it?
to the pages of your tragedy— minus poetry?

But the angel said
“The poetry’s more!”

Than leaving me—beyond you the shambles of my words
You said all the right things.
Oh, how I believed each honeyed word.
But you never meant the them did you?
I tried my best to make you smile,
But when things got hard you left me.
I gave my all,
And now im taking the fall.
You never had those wings.
You werent an angel at all,
But a spinner of lovely things.
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
Never in my life
has a boy kissed me like that.

Your hands trailed my body
so delicately, showing care

almost like I was a flower;
my parts petals

you were scared would wilt
if you pressed them too hard

and in that moment,
I realised-

that’s the only way
I wanted to be kissed again.
you plucked stars
from the sky
and came to my doorstep,
hugging them close
to your chest

and you told me
" i have named every one
in your love,
you can pick the brightest
star or the one the fills the space
in your heart...

you can choose, i brought them
just for you..."

and my tears fell
like comets though landing
lightly on my cheek,
they fell heavy in meaning

and i took his

my most brightest star,
the only one to fill the space in my

**"i do not need stars or
galaxies to fall in love with me,

i have already chosen you from the
beginning of time

and i will hold onto you until
it ceases to be."
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