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 Jan 2017 fasika berhane
Angel
My parents named me,
based on my baby blue eyes,
and blond hair,
now my golden locks,
are muddy brown,
and my eyes change with the weather,

sometimes others are confused,
throwing variations of my name around,
as if avoiding the sound of uncertainty ,
that follows those five letters,

and occasionally I hear my mundane name,
faintly in the air,
suddenly I don’t care,
I’ve stopped turning around,
Ive forgotten the sound,

and every time I meet someone new,
they ask “what should I call you”,
I don’t know what to say,
my body there,
but my mind astray,
so I mumble “Angel”,
slightly ashamed,
I don’t even know my own name
 Jan 2017 fasika berhane
Mozalios
I'm confined to these narrow thoughts in my mind
Trying to hide behind a smile
While my heart feels shallow

Not sure if I could love again
Since my past is a blood bath
Of the pain and suffering
I succumbed to in silence

Emotions left cold
Buried beneath stone
Of a man whos scared
That there will never be anyone who
Actually cares.
Rough draft song I'm writing
Sweet William,
            I've done heard it all be-fore,
          You got the looks, got the hair,
             that clever draw and more...

But sweetie here I am again,
Got Momma here, -crying again.
Wrecked-up face, my map of men,
This time so bad, lad, -you ain't fixin'

William!
    My sweet Will-i-am,
William!
    My sweet Will-i-am,

...you ain't gonna hit me no more.

Some love is hard/borders on sin,
Crying to God, please A-men?
Goodbye door, my bags packing,
Well-heeled feet, living A-gain,

William!
    My sweet Will-i-am,
William!
    My sweet Will-i-am,

...you ain't gonna hit me no more.

SWEET WILLIAM!
    Sweet William,

Hurting no, -no more...
Call me up- 'ev-er-y' night
Devil at My door,
Battle yourself/I'm not your fight.

...you ain't gonna hurt me no more.
Nothing that happens in life
is by mistake or default,
It is a conscious decision
that one chooses to endure
(whether good or bad)
and regardless of the outcome,
Always look forward to the fact
that there is always something
that is meant to come of it.
Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.
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