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Delilah Moon Dec 2014
Her name sounds like butterscotch
And she moves like a fairie
Whispering of whiskey kisses
And cooing like a songbird
Her laughter echoes in my ears
When I call her beautiful
She says my soul is lovely
And so is my poetry
If only she realized the power of her elfish grin
Delilah Moon Jun 2014
What's her name
Human Barbie
What does she do
She's just Barbie
What color are her eyes
Barbie blue
What color is her hair
Barbie blonde
How much plastic is in her
As much as Barbie....
  Jun 2014 Delilah Moon
reflectionzero
I rarely get on Facebook anymore. But when I do, I'll change my profile picture or banner-- maybe post a witty status update, maybe not witty, just something to let people know I'm alive.

It's like repositioning the arms on a stationary mannequin to depict a different scene. Except lately I just don't care anymore. It's just that-- a mannequin. An object, an image, a lifeless entity with which I used to feel real-- a dusty mirror.

I see that the line between the idea of a person and the reality is being blurred and crossing over into something all-together different. It's as if people are starting to wake up and realize the objectivity of their reality. But that brings into question the basis for which we define reality.

We have become a, “Look but don't touch” society in which we click a button to show our appreciation as opposed to genuinely reciprocating human emotion and energy. It is extremely isolating and dangerous.

Packed subways and sidewalks have fallen eerily silent with faces illuminated by their cellphones. Most everyone wants to be heard, appreciated and recognized and social media has provided an outlet for that.

But there comes a point at which your platform becomes your prison and your voice your warden-- and everything you say is modified to be pleasing to the ear and 'likeable'.

But I like dislikes. And if you're not ******* anyone off-- you're probably not doing anything important, and if you're not outraged you're not paying attention.
Delilah Moon May 2014
She's back
The girl I'm in love with
All I want to do is kiss her
And lean against the lukewarm granite
Whispering about how much I lie
And how I never tell anyone what I'm feeling
Not even my self
As we pass the smoke into each others mouths
Feeling more alive
Passionate
Rebellious
We  say how much we hate our fathers
And how they will never speak
No matter how hard we try
Religion
***
Wars
Every word is ours that night
But they don't float away into the canyon like smoke
They hover waiting
To be spoken
This is the poem I will read to her on that night
Delilah Moon May 2014
If i were braver...





I'd be dead
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