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...
out there is
a sea of people
who never knew
how much i loved them.
Don't call me a volcano,
I don't want to be a volcano!
Sometimes active,
Mostly dormant,
A stiff peak with indigestion,
Birthing igneous isles
across the seas,
Starving for eruption,
Hardening.
Waiting.

Call me a hurricane,
Say it with a tremble.
Never expect me,
Dread my return.
Never dormant,
Always hungry,
Carving my path,
Landmass by landmass,
Conquering, Striding,
Devastating.

Get your facts straight
Before you name me a disaster.
every poem
is written
in blood

this is all
I'll shed
for you.
Take your favourite lipstick!
Now,  quick!
Use maroon, vermillion, or desire,
But it -must- be red.

Take your favourite lipstick.
Do you have it?
Good.

Write nuance on your knuckles.
And kiss the world hello.
Just something quick I needed to say.
For the love of god, write.
Write.
Write like all hell.
Write as if your heart is on
Fire, and the only way to quell it is to
Shoot
The
Flames
from your fingertips.
Your nerve-bitten nails &
****** ripped skin strips,
The papercut pains,
Have all been for this,
You
     have
            been  
                  trained.
No sweeter burn,
No better hurt.
Write, **** you.
Write.
Nobody knows your story
As perfectly as you.
We worry.
We wonder why.
We wake, we wait, we work
We worry.

We whine wuthering
Whispers, wavering, wasted,
Wishing while wishing
Wanting while wanting,
Wondering why.

We work well,
Well, we work,
While wizardly weaving
Wispy wavelengths,
Weedy wasps of
Wanton whimsy,
Wired well within.

We will warmongers
Without wonder
Who wreak
Widespread waste,
Welcome Wasteland,
Washing with war the
Wounded World.

We will war
War wills we
We wage war
With weird weapons.
We wrestle with will.
Why?

We wait whole
Weekdays, weekends. A
Ways away, the waning
Winter winds of men's
Wisdom's wavering.

Withering winks from
Wistful women,
Widening wingspans,
Wads of we, we,
Wandering westwards
Where suns wane,
Wait out wear of weather ,
Wondering why.

Warm waters will wash us,
We will wake up well.
Si fueras tú un árbol,
Quisiera ser el leñador
Quisiera un alma de valor,
Quisiera un hacha de mármol.

Quisiera poder pasar
Mi mano por tu coraza
Y si más no se desplaza,
Tumbarte horizontal.

Quisiera hacer un hogar
De tu torso de madera,
Y en tu pecho, si se abriera,
Una cuna de anidar,

Quiero dormir sobre tu pelo,
Bajo tus ojos de ventana,
Y despertar cada mañana
Besando los pies de tu suelo.

Si fueras para mí,
Tus semillas guardaría
Y en la noche sembraría
Todo un bosque de ti.
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