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 Jul 2020
Celestial
I am disgusted.
The anger twords myself.
I can not think of anything more than you.

My wish is to endlessly touch you.
Pleasing at first,
grabbing me off the shelf.
Fingertips across what was busted.

We both trusted.
Our hearts would always be their self.
I am wanting you.

I have you.
Dealing with world itself.
So I keep the ideas untested.

We have not rested.
Keep the demons to themselves!
Willing to **** them all with you.
This is an exaggeration of frustrations in the morning from the night.
 Jul 2020
Celestial
Here I sit,
In my safest place,
Still scared.

Paranoid to spit,
I must control my face,
Or be impared.

Falling into the pit,
Must state my case,
In repair.
 Jul 2020
Celestial
Ah! The intellectual I see,
Could it be that I am real?
Or should I be a seal?
Would you question me?

No! I am uneducated,
The ill manners,
For my planners.
Hopefully not duplicated.

My interests of passion,
Get me heated in the moment.
Is this the key for my development,
Or the fission

All things come from such a bang.
However, I don't think they are ready.
No one could be that steady.
"I will keep my peace!" She sang.
Keeping a moment pleasant.
 Jul 2020
Celestial
Small and tree dwelling,
I can hear the noise swelling.
A family of hoppers,
Next to the popper.
Who I am telling.
 Jul 2020
Celestial
You are a poets dream,
If I am to be a poet.
Hair as light and fluffy as a cloud.
Yet dense and woven like,
Vines in a forest of trees.

You are a poets dream.
If I am to put words on paper.
Smile as wide as the horizon.
Yet devious and charming like,
the demons that are biblical.

You are a poets dream.
If I am to believe in the word.
Eyes as deep as the ocean.
Yet changing and searching like,
a lighthouse in the storm.

You are a poets dream.
If I am to keep the beat.
Hands as strong as stone.
Yet guiding and scarred like,
the seasoned boat captian.

You are a poets dream.
If I am to patch the scene.
Heart as heavy as an anchor.
Yet beating and living like,
Mine.
 Jul 2020
Celestial
Oh! The heat,
The heat I must beat.
101° in my seat.
It isn't tasting sweet.
The sweat!
Poor little pet.
I am not wet, yet.
And I will not forget.
The wind!
For I will not be blind.
To the bindings I find.
So I am kind
Breathe Tent!
So I can hear you shuffle.
And I can say kerfuffle,
I will dispose the waffle!
Sweater weather

— The End —