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In my room, it is dark.
My eyes grow heavy.
And as I stand in weakness,
I hear a bird singing outside my window. There’s something in that
That makes my eyes stronger
And makes me want to keep going.
From 'The Traveller: Part I'
Depression…
Where every shirt sleeve becomes a tissue
 Dec 2015 Detached Dreamer
Kayla
He didn’t love her for her body.

He loved her for the way she belted out the wrong lyrics while blasting music driving down the highway.

He loved her for the way her eyes brightened like stars on a cloudless night when she saw him.

He loved her for the way she twirled around in her pretty blue dress, barefoot on the soft grass.

He loved her for the way she fumbled over the piano keys, creating a barely recognizable melody.

He loved her for the way she woke up on an early morning, all grumpy and confused, wrapped up tight in a blanket.

He loved her for the way she splashes around in the ocean, kicking the water at him and motioning for him to join her.

He loved her for the way she loved him.

He didn’t love her for her body.

He loved her for her careless, sloppy soul.
 Dec 2015 Detached Dreamer
mk
oh, what bliss it must be
to find regretless intimacy
carve the bark
you plus your love
testified
made hard

heart needs a box locked
otherwise the feels fly

or maybe the big ought's that hover over us elide
that long hair lush inside
a sin if let down or
maybe jus one small discretion
to put behind you

or maybe it's an observance
to a rune more ancient
than history and its codes

your orb at work
his swell under spell
turn around and don't look over your shoulder
little spoon arch
wrap it in silk
spill the milk
I'm thinking about Flowers
        I forgot to feed
and rocks
      I wear
but don't always believe in.

                               I always wanted
                                             to be
                                                      grounded­;
              wanted roots to
                        sprout
           twist
                       and
                                  grow
                deep.
­
But I am not dirt, nor root, nor flower.
I am the empty watering can.
Just when your world collapses

To the point of fall apart

There still resides a tiny spark

Deep within your hungry heart

The tiniest of slivers

A slight glimmer of hope

A righteous nod from the voice of God

Letting you know you're not alone
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