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 Oct 2013 Jewel
Pluto
I constantly wonder about you
and if your thoughts wander,
do they wonder about me.

I like to stare deep into your
wandering eyes
and wonder what lies deep inside

you.

I constantly wonder about you.
do you wonder about me?
because one day I'd like you,
to wander with me too.
something I found in the 'old pages'.

I wonder, if I'd like to wander, a little more.
 Oct 2013 Jewel
Pluto
seasons.
 Oct 2013 Jewel
Pluto
you were the summer's heat
and you kept me up all night
wetting my sheets with sweat and blood and tears.
you were the winter's icy wind
and you blew down my door
and got between my breath
and underneath my clothes;
making me shiver and struggle to breathe or keep warm.
you were the fall's leaves,
making my trees rain and the sky weep
and everything grew brown and withered and died.

but then you were the spring-
(where the flowers bloomed and the birds sang and things grew again and the sun shined again and the wind blew again)
and you made it all worth it, again.
 Oct 2013 Jewel
Pluto
any takers?
 Oct 2013 Jewel
Pluto
I'd like to establish a relationship with an online poet so we can write away the time difference with words of uncertainty.*

and then maybe, after years of being hidden away behind screens and across borders and oceans we meet over a cup of hot beverage, shivering in the cold (preferably) and laugh about horrid lines we came up with and the confusion would be blown away by Jack Frost.

we'd be our raw vivid selves, poet to poet, human to human, friend to friend. maybe we won't even speak of poetry but of people we love, hate, bad things that happened, are happening, will happen. ordinary, extraordinary things.

and then perhaps; we might fall in love under the twinkling of eyes and sharing a love of words both complex and simple. perhaps.
mostly a request; less of an actual poem.
I'm not sure why I crave companionship so much these days.
 Oct 2013 Jewel
Amber
Untitled
 Oct 2013 Jewel
Amber
She longs for his presence
To be able to hold him in her arms
One more time.
She'll never tell him how she feels
She longs to hear the sound of his voice
The way his hazel eyes brighten up when he talks
About something he loves.
How his smile can make her day
The way he isn't capable of doing simple tricks
Although he has been practicing long enough
She loves everything there is
To love about him
 Oct 2013 Jewel
Meredith
I miss you
 Oct 2013 Jewel
Meredith
I miss you more than anything
I miss you like M for
M e m o r i e s
like the time we painted the walls of my room lavender and
danced to music that reminded us of
love.
I miss you like I for
I n t e n s e
like how my love for you was so profound
my heart leapt when you sang and
it shattered when you cried.
like how I always wanted you closer
hugging tighter
kissing deeper
my arm wrapped around the back of your neck so I never had
to let you go.
I miss you like S for
S c a r e d
like how I was terrified to watch you walk down the hall
after we ended things the first time.
like how I'm scared of my feelings
scared of wanting you back.
I miss you like S for
S c a r s
Like the identical scars we both have on
our hearts
that remind of how things used to be
and how different they are from now.
like the scars that we healed from that time
when we both bled out
slicing ourselves deep to feel the pain
rush out of our bodies like an exhale.
I miss you like
c o m e
b a c k
t o
m e

"I'm sorry," you say " but I just can't do that."

now he says "I miss you more than anything"
he misses me like
   M   for
Makeout
like the way he awkwardly mistakes the sloppiness for passion.
he misses me like   I   for
I like you
like in the way that he feels it
stronger than I ever will.

he misses me like   S   for
Saturdays
because to him, the days without me
go by so slowly.

he misses me like   S   for
songs
like the songs that remind him of me
taking his heart at fifteen
loving everything about me

I'm sorry, but I just don't feel that way.
 Oct 2013 Jewel
SGD
I was never a sinking ship, just the remains
of an ocean liner, settling on the sea’s lips.
At least, that’s what I think.
I am not a tragedy, no,
but so many of my pages are empty and, my god, I need
you to know that if I am a book,
I am half-complete (not half-unfinished––I'm learning, you see?),
but it’s the back half,
and a few scattered paragraphs before that.
Now and then I write in my own history,
just for others to read and believe
there’s something more to me
than a leather bound cover over cheap poetry.
That’s all I am, really.

I’m just trying to keep my head above the water.
I keep my secrets close, and my happiness bottled
––for the nights when I need something stronger
than spirits that burn on the way down,
something that can keep these ghosts
from crawling back out my mouth
to tumble from my lips at last.

Listen, I'm really not hard to figure out.

It’s broken glass,
it’s the smash of a car crash,
it’s the smell of smoke and ash,
it’s a statue of a girl learning to laugh,
and to know, and how to venture
into you. I count the number of times I've been sure,
on my knuckles instead of my fingertips,
because it wasn't the touch, it was the fist
that first said: I am better than this
(fires will die but they fight harder than all else).
Besides, my fingers are not for counting out.
I think they're for you,
to weave yours through,
and to feel on your skin
when I spell out I love you,
because my fingers do not flinch
as easily as my mouth does cringe
and strangle truths in anger.

If you feel I am pulling into myself,
remember I'm likely collapsing inwards,
and know this:
broken homes beget broken bones,
but more often they spit
broken boys and girls from their lips.
My body is new,
no longer mould and mildew,
but steel, mortar, and brick,
and stone
and stick.

I am almost always cold.
My wrists look too thin for the weight of my world.

I carry on, but I am not strong.
**** knows how long those days have been gone.

To the person who will somehow fall for me:
I am not a tragedy,
but a mess of a story.
I write dumb rhymes to feel like I'm growing.
I speak as a cynic, but at heart I'm all dreams.
Sometimes I take a minute to listen and, slowly,
I think I'm becoming someone worth being.

I seem bare as a clinic and empty as glossy magazines,
but it's all a set and some props, one day I'll end scene.
I'm not ready yet, but on One Day, I'll be.

I swear, I'm almost there.
My world is readying,
like winter prepared
to yield to spring.
 Oct 2013 Jewel
M
I like my men like I like my tea;
Strong and hot.

But not the hot that has attraction
And *** appeal written all over,

With those "come and get me"
Eyes and glances that leave women half naked in beds.

No, the kind of hot that when I
Ingest his words and thoughts

My soul becomes warm and
Open, warming the rest of me too.

He runs through me, creating an ember-like
Current to jolt me in all the right ways.

He lights a fire in me when he laughs and contemplates;
It's the most welcoming heat I've come to know.

It's like the first warm day of spring
After an endless winter of chill and ice.

His strength, though, need not be
In his arms or calves or thighs-

His strength can come from him
Opening up his world so I can

Enter and see him behind his skin,
Behind his skull so I can see his mind

For the beautiful thing it is.
His strength can be found

When he remains around despite
My insecurities and woes.

His strength is found when he holds me up
From my own tribulations so I can

Learn what it's like to come
From the bottom up.

His strength resides in his hands when
They pull me closer in the middle of the night-

He pulls me closer, and I can hear his heartbeat.
It always makes mine beat a second faster.

His strength rests in his heart when he handed it
Over to me and said, "Here, have this."

He warms me on cold nights,
And keeps me awake during some too.

I'd have him as the sun rises,
And even as is trades off with the moon.

Though a cliché indeed,
I could simply say that he's my perfect cup of tea.

— The End —