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Cinzia Dec 2019
I was a member
of the "Hope They'll Like me" crowd
needy and aiming to please

foot tapping, shifting in my wooden chair
the noise in my head drowning out
the words on your lips

and what was the big deal anyway?
if no one liked me
status quo

I'd still have the few
the ones I could depend on
Except, let's digress together,
in dark moments of insecure delusion
when I could imagine even them
lacing my drink with an untraceable poison
pushing me off the cliff's edge

But I never linger long
in this Hitchcockian dream

I'm opting now
for "I Hope I'll Love You"

listening and observing
your words and beyond
trying to see and understand

Keeping my heart near the surface
available for bumps and bruises
but resilient
full of good humor

watching with a smile tinged with wist
while some dismiss me as frivolous
and others reach for my hand

feeling fortunate with a hint of fear
each new chance
to be part of the mystery
Peace to all you sweet poets for the season.
Cinzia Jun 2019
the muse came late
her face in battered bandage
her angry beautiful
her homemade crutches
works of art in cherry wood

her face in battered bandages
the muse came late
she gave her blood
in vials of splintered glass
her angry beautiful

the muse came late
her angry beautiful
a satchel filled with herbs
to cure and ****
she gave her blood

her angry beautiful
she gave her battered blood
as thick as cherry ink
her whispered manifesto
a satchel filled with herbs

she gave her blood
a satchel filled with herbs
of rosemary forget-me-nots and rue
her homemade crutches
works  of art in cherry wood
Hello poets!
Cinzia Apr 2019
Middle age fills out your baggy jeans
overflowing with wisdom
even the planet earth seems rounder
as it rolls another year around the sun
I just don't know anymore.
Cinzia Mar 2019
The idea first arose
when he was a mere child
watching the birds lift off
as he ran at them

Supreme deficit
to be un-winged
Oh cruel evolution!
to be banished to the earth
Cinzia Dec 2018
The poet sits
on her posterior
penning poesies for the people
Cinzia Nov 2018
I spent years in a cave writing nothing but sonnets
I chanted my mantra in iambic beat
ate my meals from quatrain plates
drank my wine from gold couplets

used a quill to pick rhymes
from my chattering teeth
my hair grew wild and free as verse
my heart exploded with love that was fierce

and yet here I am, here I still am
coping with nothing but paper and pen
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