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 Dec 2014 Stages and Ages
Natalie
do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.
i have mastered the art of lying
and bull ******* to get my way
but nothing even matters now
i cant keep my demons at bay
they whisper to me in the night
when darkness covers the sky
they refuse to leave me alone
i cant tell the truth from a lie
i long to be free one day
i pray that they will leave me
and i hope to have a normal life
i want my demons to set me free
 Dec 2014 Stages and Ages
LN
She held onto the cigarette
quivering hands and ****** veins
it lit up and scorched the leaves
infiltrating in her tensed lungs.
It reminded her of him.

Breathing in the grey smoke,
she suffocated from
the air that they weren't sharing.

Hugging the cigarette,
with his shapely lips
she knew that any attempt
of kissing him
would **** her
but yet she longed to die
at his touch.
- she loved him so much-
you are a summer night

the way you keep me up

so hot the sheets stick to me

i have to open the windows,

take off all my clothes

morning comes and i still

feel you on my skin
Breathe.

Settle yourself.

Try to understand.

We were meant to love.

And if we can not love, then we were meant to try to love.

And failing that we were made to breathe.

And try again.



-Sean Critchfield
This is the product of an exercise. I was instructed to grab the 7th book on my shelf, turn to page 7, and use the 7th line as my first line. The poem was restricted to seven lines.
Am I absurd
To think some words
Can change the outcome
Of a world
Gone beserk
With wars that can't be won.
When the absurd is heard,
What good can come?

I seldom write on love,
Youth's passions cooling:
I use my words
On worldly concerns,
Hoping to be heard.
Truly,
Am I absurd?
Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
She paused from our kiss
Took a breath.
And I opened my eyes.
I saw her,
Taking it all in as she held my face
She quivered.
I smiled,
That's when I knew
She was enough.
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