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Everyone I love has become an empty shell of broken promises, bits of them chip away as they lose the last bit of grandeur love brought into their life and i’m starting to wonder if that’s what happened to us too.
I’ve been running all my life, and you were the first person to keep me grounded for once.
Stripped me down to my heart.
But **** how right Hemingway was when he said the world breaks everyone because you became my world and when you stopped loving me the cracks in my heart deepened and all the love i ever had for you spilled out into unwritten love letters and poems.
Living with this constant ache in my chest, where my heart used to be but it all disappeared when I was with you.
I don’t know how else to explain it other than how i’ve lived my whole life pushing people away but you were the only person who never gave up on me, and I swear that’s when I knew I was home.
I was home.
Hold me as I silently sob
Rob me of my loneliness
Caress my empty flesh
Mesh your heart with mine
Dine on the small of my back
Lack in love as I also do
Glue our pain together
Forever we grow cold
Shared on Hello Poetry on May 20, 2016
Copyright © 2016 Bianca Reyes
All rights reserved

Enjoy
Be brazen. Be bold. Be blunt. Because things coated in sugar was never healthy for people anyways.
Books left on bookshelves
Might as well be dead....
To bring them to life
They have to be read!
The pure and worthy Mrs. Stowe
Is one we all are proud to know
As mother, wife, and authoress--
Thank God, I am content with less!
Have you ever fallen in love?

I once did,
sitting on top of a sand dune
under the lights
of the Fourth of July.

                                         The water below
                                         cast the reflection of beautiful chandeliers
                                         bursting with color,
                                         and as timeless as sand,
                                         and yet my eyes were elsewhere -
                                         capturing something unlike I'd ever seen.

Have you ever fallen in love?

I once did,
laying on a couch as I held her,
she turned to me and smiled;
the chandeliers were bold and raucous
as they decorated the sky of my mind,
and the stars twinkled in the depths of her eyes -

                                        that memory since faded with time.

Have you ever fallen in love?

I once did,
the pen in my hand
gave birth to words and worlds
made from my reflection
like they were my children -
and I had always feared
impotency.

                                               I created places I'd never seen,
                                               but they were as real as sand,
                                               and for a moment,
                                               I felt like God:
                                               watching from above
                                               as my creations began to breathe.

Have you ever fallen in love?

I once did,
living on a page of black and white,
if I was God,
she was an angel,
and the song from her trumpet
reminded me of the chandeliers
I thought were lost in time.

Have you ever fallen in love?

I don't know if I ever have,
but what I have is something
that gives me a reason to be;

                                                 Something beautiful
                                                 and intricate
                                                 like a chandelier
                                                 whose glass was once
                                                 nothing more
                                                 than countless grains of sand.
I'm open to other title ideas, and by open I mean please give me ideas
The thaw begins with a drip,
builds to a roar, subsides to sunlight
prisms playing over every surface

illuminating still-wet velvet wings
maroon and yellow, neon blue
pseudo-bark underneath.

In the clear-cut, pink fireweed
pierces a sky alive with souls
reveling in their last year on earth

sampling nectar with newly curled
tongues while summer degrades
to fall, burrowing in the cool

damp cord of fir put up for winter
awakening in spring, tasting summer
before the reprieve, too soon over

time come to fold
battered wings, to slip free
of this mourning cloak and rise.
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