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christianne Jun 2019
I guess you're right,
what should I expect from you?
The world is cold,
nothing but a pending tomb.

I guess I just
thought after all we'd dreamed,
watching me grow
might have been a priority.

I guess I expected
fatherhood would have come
before humanity,
but I guess I'm wrong.

I guess I'm flawed
for thinking you owe me anything.
I assumed that after four tries,
you might hold some accountability.
just something to get my thoughts in order
christianne Oct 2018
and you claim
to reflect hate
in the name
of someone's
who is
your beliefs are not the same as the one you claim to believe
christianne Oct 2018
I have this theory,
of spirituality,
that it is what we decide
it is.

I decide to
accept what I believe
and what I love,
what I've seen.
And then,
I begin to base my
previous understanding to my
current experience.
I have discovered that
God and hate
never collide;
they are
And, I have learned to be,
and understand,
that my God
wants nothing but
the best
for me.
current thoughts in a semi-poetic way
christianne Oct 2018
Dear God,
Please come back.
I know,
you're still there,
and I ran away,
but please,
come back.
Come find me.
My heart aches,
I want to come home.
I want you to carry me,
to hold me,
and let me cry,
cry on your shoulder,
asking you to never leave.
Don't let me leave again.
Your son.
the son who ran away
christianne Oct 2018
I wish I could break out of this
This thing that keeps me from
I want to feel that thing again.
That thing that reminds you you're
That you are a
just to put something out there
christianne Oct 2018
I had so thoroughly studied one rose,
had not noticed there were others.
All the same but all different.

The petals of my own, even,
looked different from other angles,
yet it is the same rose.

I had not picked it yet,
realized I didn't need to,
for I was in a garden.

I noticed the image was not my only desire,
but the smell also,
so I decided to bottle it up.

Carrying with me,
lingering with me on my clothes,
not needing to never leave My Rose.
a spiritual poem, actually
christianne Jul 2018
Oh, love,
You are my
Favorite thing.
The skin beneath
Your eyes
Is as soft as your
Lips that press
against mine.

Your fingers,
That wrap around mine,
That pull my hair,
That touch my cheeks,
Are as lovely as
The topography
Of your arms,
So precisely structured.

Your eyes,
Which look right into mine,
Down to my lips,
And over my figure,
Are as mesmerizing
As the way your mouth moves
When you laugh
And speak the unknown.

Oh, love,
Your spirit is
My favorite thing.
Your laughter is
A manifestation,
An oral representation,
Of how beautiful you are
Without even being here.
just a poem of the things i love and the things i miss
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