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I am still a prisoner in this cage which only could be open by a key which you keep. You keep me hanging trap in this cubic set of bars and leave me suffering but I enjoy hurting myself no matter what. The times that I plan an escape something pulls me back which for me is an eternal gravity that I'm locked onto. A prisoner to a feeling and currently waiting for your judgement upon me which is to be with you or leave me as a prisoner to the broken promises we once kept.
 Nov 2014 The Quiet Poet
Danielle
Thank you for being there

when I fell

or when I swore I was done

when I cursed my own name

when I told you to leave me alone

when I wanted to leave home

when I formed scars on my wrist

when I made the wrong decision

But

thank you for being there

when I picked myself back up

when I said maybe I'll go on

when I praised the new day

when I begged you to stay

when I let the lines of hurt heal

even when I had said it's no big deal

thank you

for not letting me be
What is life if not worth living
What is space if not worth filling
What of the emotions that we all feel
if they are not worth expressing
Are they not things that give us meaning

The air I breath
the food I eat
the water I drink
What are they worth if not worth sharing
Are they not things that give us life
and what is life if not worth living

The emotions we feel
our beliefs, our thoughts
our very essence of who we are
Are they not things that give us meaning

What is life if not worth living
What is space if not worth filling
What of the emotions that we all feel
if they are not worth expressing
Are they not things that give us meaning
Recently,
her mind is
debating
with her heart
resenting
every word
she wasted
on this paper
and all the metaphors
you haven't even decipher
but how
can she stop it
you have brought her up
to the top
then pushed her
to this
bottomless pit
now
she's stuck
in this drop
and it's growing
big
like
a bad habit
running
like
a mad rabbit
munching
on her thoughts
of you
while trying to
remove your face
off the view
like grime
on her tiled walls
made by
endless waterfalls
of whys and what ifs
and all her selfish beliefs
like
how you will read
her poetry
and chew the words
like sticky pastry
but her mind said
"you're wasting your ink"
she should stop writing
poems about you
and let her
memories
sink
in the letters
of your name
that are scattered
in her head
all printed
in heavy lead
therefore now,
she concluded,
the real dilemma,
to wake her up
in this coma
of dreams of you
and
find
a paper
that will reach miles
across the equator



-I Should Stop Writing Poems About You, Margaret Austin Go
Please touch me not 
without touching
my heart and soul
my muscles will ache with the change in the weather
just promise me we'll stay together
buried in this room
the light shining through
nothing disturbing us
just me
and you
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