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It grew through him
violently,
relentlessly.
Vines and thorns
weaving throughout his
entirety.
Is this what happens
when pride grasps the heart
and punctures the brain?
He touched with force -
bruised and slit.
turned kisses into slaps,
love to sin.
Stood inches taller,
vines lengthening his limbs.
crawling up his spine,
weaving into his skin.
He finally agreed
with his family:
I wasn't good enough for him.
Pride was like
an infestation.
a twisting ****,
an infection.
For WY

"A man of words and not of deeds, / Is like a garden full of weeds."
I have always hoped that you wouldnt get close enough
To catch the sharp ends of my personality
But with each slice to your ego
And every tear to your flesh
You seemed to tear me too
And when we got close enough
To inspect each others wounds
I looked into your eyes and saw my whole life flash
And I retracted my claws and hugged you tight
I never wanna let go
 May 2016 Cynthia Danso
Sia Jane
She was told from
an age so young
that she indeed possessed all
the magic she needed
within herself
to set
the world
to right.

She placed daisies in
her long black hair
and skipped to the beat of
the songs her mother
had sung to her
before she left
escaping
her father.

She was often alone
rarely with friends as
she found comfort in the faeries
she spoke and sang to while
the wind
gently blew
hair in
her face.

She giggled when with
her only little sister
the best part of her world
to whom she adored more than
the breaths
she took
each and
every day.


She stood firm at home
never allowing
her father’s drunken words
to penetrate her self made wall
of anger and despair
because inside
her mind
there
were angels.

She closed her eyes at night
wishing the demons
to disperse into the heavy winds
that howled through the rafters
reminding her
she was
in fact
alive.

© Sia Jane
Taken from my first collection  "Wanderlust" which is now again available via all Amazon stores <3

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wanderlust-she-travels-her-mind/dp/1492952346/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid;=1463244170&sr;=8-1&keywords;=sia+jane+lloyd
The moon is there
and yet we cannot see it
instead a grey black curtain
hangs its charcoal blush across the sky

impenetrable void
its subtle sheen is ominous
no word
it is an unwritten slate
for some anonymous scribe of night

if we could see the stars
their path describes its everlasting screed
in fits and starts of spinning light

such velvet darkness floats about
like some extraordinary cloak
of silent dust

Margaret Ann Waddicor 14th May 2016
The whole sky really looked like the surface of a slate.
light me up, like a candle
i will drip for you tonight
touch me with your burning skin
i will melt in your hands tonight
ignite me with your mind
i'll be a puddle in your lap tonight
I have no words for how I feel,
but I feel it more, with each glance I steal,
I don't know, what this is to me,
nor what it is I want us to be,
but I do know, that you deserve,
all the happiness, one could observe.
Those people whose first instinct is to smile
When you make eye contact with them
Are some of earths greatest treasures
And the pain that I've been feeling
Can't compare to the joy that's
Returning into my life giving
Me blessing after blessing
I'm truly grateful **
Peace within
A quiet place to live
Far from the maddening
Crowd of people
And their stories
What distance separates
After being this intimate
And holding tight
To the one out of sight.

A stranger under the covers
The soulmate out in the open
Lovers at bay
And lovers that will not stay.

That chatter of passerby
The friendly advice
One too many
One is enough.
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