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A poet in love
Is a match soaked
In gasoline.

-r0
follow my writing!

it will kick you in the diaphragm.
 Apr 2014 Hannah Bassett
pluto
She
Is my
Reason
And inspiration
To try
And recover
I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.
there was a little monkey he just loved a ***
everywhere he went he just loved a drag
then the law it changed and smoking made a curse
banned from smoking in the pubs making matters worse
monkey wasnt happy felt he was denied
the only place he could smoke was when he went outside
monkey wasnt done he would have is say
protesting in the pubs for a smoking day
this it didnt work they kept up the ban
monkey wasnt happy a disappointed man
so monkey he gave up forgot about his frolic
turned his mind to drink and became an alcholic
It takes a pencil to write a poem,
  a piece of white paper, a leaking
mind, a cup of tea, to hold.
  And a poem is what makes a poet.
To be Continued...
I became a criminal when I fell in love.
Before that I was a waitress.

I didn't want to go to Chicago with you.
I wanted to marry you, I wanted
Your wife to suffer.

I wanted her life to be like a play
In which all the parts are sad parts.

Does a good person
Think this way? I deserve

Credit for my courage--

I sat in the dark on your front porch.
Everything was clear to me:
If your wife wouldn't let you go
That proved she didn't love you.
If she loved you
Wouldn't she want you to be happy?

I think now
If I felt less I would be
A better person. I was
A good waitress.
I could carry eight drinks.

I used to tell you my dreams.
Last night I saw a woman sitting in a dark bus--
In the dream, she's weeping, the bus she's on
Is moving away. With one hand
She's waving; the other strokes
An egg carton full of babies.

The dream doesn't rescue the maiden.
He tastes like
stale cigarette
smoke and lust.
He says
he likes me.
He swears
to call.
A kiss on
the neck
that burns
skin raw.

Tongue clenches sour.
Hands that shook.
Hair splitting evil.
Sin with a look.
thoughts of you have consumed
every little drop of my sanity
every ounce of my dignity
and i do not object

you lit up my soul
and that light shines
through my eyes
with admiration for you

and my adoration for you
seems like outer space
there was never a before
and there will be no after

we’re satellites,
you and i
floating endlessly
and time does not exist

there’s something celestial
about your eyes
that has me convinced
you were born from the stars

I am a slave to
the immortal beauty you possess
and the way you illuminate
my existence.

let me be the Moon
to dance around you, my Earth

but instead you dance with me
and we are something otherworldly
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