Don’t worry, I turned off my heart.
I disconnected its valves and
tapped my foot to its last beat.
I repainted the walls of its chambers
a nice neutral color that would
really brighten up the space.
No trace of love.
No trail of grief.
You wouldn’t even be able to tell
that it belonged to someone else.
I spackled the holes left behind,
plastered its cracks, sanded its nicks.
Refinished the worn floors where
too many games have been played.
With any luck, interested buyers
won’t look too closely.
“This one’s got some good bones,”
they’ll say, and marvel at its potential.
I marvel at its potential.
For now though, I’ll turn it off.
I’ll turn it off, if only for me.

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Be sure to check the box on the right
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Let us help you get back to the earth
Pauvre petite, quelle domage!

Ripe on the branch,
I’ve become your burden.
Heavy with fullness,
I am now too much—
too much sweetness
beneath my skin;
too much of an ache
for eager fingers to pluck;
for an enticed mouth to bite.
Ripe on the branch,
I’ve always meant to be devoured—
enjoyed; without apology.
Now, with each breeze,
I beg to be set free.

Coins clink and that quickly
her mindless heart bats between
bright colors and moving lights—
pinging with bonus points
for kindness and understanding;
slingshots for extra lives
each time she feels something
and means it.

He’s not used to having a
playfield quite like this.
She makes this exciting;
a fifty-cent thrill that
he can afford to entertain
as long as he cares to.

/Insert./Launch./Flip./
Under glass, she’s untouchable—
unstoppable—
a stainless force that earns him
the high score he’s always
dreamed of having.
His string of numbers
lit in the back of.
He’s done it; he’s done.

She watches his hands drop
from the sides.
Music stops.
Bulbs dim.
Glass goes dark.
She falls again—
this time
with nothing to
catch her.

She waits; she hates
begging for the sound
of that coin to drop
one more time.

where every poem starts
and every ends,
where we are stunned,
where we are thirsty and the thirst is
never quenched,
where there is something that breaks
and i can't bring back although it
burns me to dust, love was not our
miracle but the dying was, the flames
never quenched like the blues of the stars
little rivers,
don't bring me fire to bury me in flame,
bring me oceans of black ink to colour
the night, bring me your love.

"Golden chile , Shooting star , Hello goddess,
We are the same in different ways,
Know some will shame,  we've had our faults,
I would move mountains and plug up volcanoes if
we never do talk,
I need your voice , right though my brain,
Run through my brain , my minds for you,
Where you shall live , rent free in here,
I need you in my life more than americans need
K-POP,
my love will never stop,
I'm trying to say , theres no if , ands or buts,
My heart is yours and if you want, let it be known,
That this is you , the world should know that a
real goddess exist, and have been reborn,
No dull moment would ever ruin , laughters adored...."

©abpoetry2025.

Full poem in link

you grew out of the tangling black,
those carefree tides that lead to the moon.

the stars i thought were silver knots
would not unwind, danced on the horizon,

softened like the white mist that gathered
the sky and the dark rose of your eyes.

you filled with the quiet of the hills
and i watched as your ghost

started to tell me goodbye, that
ghost whose seas were frozen in the night,

the ghost i loved, and everything that
was fire in me carved the words into

the night's magnolia net and the words
were; " i don't want you to go".

I rollover on the bed
face the wall
stare at the lines and cracks.

I give the wall a talking to,
tell me lies. I'll tell you my lies.

and i'm telling the wall,
the future looks bright. i'm planning
my own crazy, this time,

i use a black magic marker,
draw a wide rectangular
picture window across the white wall, then

sand, seashore, and sea stacks in the ocean.
can you smell the salt air?
i'm asking my wall.

don't look at me cracks,
like that.

the wall sighs,
and the bones of this old building
reply with a moan.

i'm inventing my own madness, so

look,
the sand pipers
are darting here and there
across the sand
avoiding the gentle lapping of the waves.

and the long wing shearwaters
flying low, gliding,
just barely above the tips of waves.

i'm planning my own foolishness.

some loves last for so long
like a song without a name
and you never know
when love will walk into a heart

and I'm going to run
far away
from sidewalk ledges
rooms with cracks in the wall,
far away from here.

and, Oh, wall, hang not the albatross around my neck.