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if you love him, let him be.
Do not over analyze his words
Or his message.
Do not grow sour in a silence,
Do not fall cold in stories past.
Accept him for who he is,
Human.

There is no perfect man.
There is your man.
Let him say what he wants,
Let him think how he does.
If you love him, let him be.

He may not be an open book,
Or a romantic poem,
But when he shares his mind,
I could listen forever.

Those eyes that lock with mine,
In every movement,
In the quiet,
Or in between the covers.
Those are the eyes I see,
Even when mine are closed.

So I love him. And I let him be.
If he treats you with love and shows only loyalty.
Then please just love him. And let him be.
A reminder to girls that not all guys are bad news. And if you have a good one, treat him like one.
To become so self aware that you can feel everything.
I can see myself from outside my body.
Except it's all a lie.

The shape of my body,
The curve of my hips,
The palor of my skin,
The frown paste to my mouth.

This walking lie.

The way people stare at me with disgust.
The faces they make when I look away.
All the awful things they've got to say.
All imagined.
All lies.

Why do you hurt yourself?
Who told you these things happened?

When you've lost trust in every person you will find only sorrow.
There is beauty in pain.
And trust is pain.
But you are not shattered glass.
So you will not act like it.

This paranoia will eat you alive.
This unhappiness will swallow you whole.
This beautiful girl you stole.
From me.

I haven't forgotten her.
I will find her.
 Sep 2017 joel hansen
Riham
My mind is broken
Am thinking about hope but I failed , my eyes are open but I can't focus
Hearing the same voice over and over
Again that hopeless voice ...
I wanted to run away but I didn't
I still can't focus on the road that I signed for
My mind is broken , I wanted to fix it but something hold's me back , I searched for myself I searched for my  thoughts  ...
But there's no art to buy , there's no art to buy ...
 Sep 2017 joel hansen
hannah
there’s a boy I love,
the boy doesn’t speak,
the boy is pale, a body full of bones.

his ****, limp
his eyes, weeping
his form, skeletal and twined.

i want to dissolve him into body wash,
clean my body with his.

there’s a boy,
a touch of 25 to his grace.
the boy kisses like he’s carving gold into cement.

he makes art out of willowing branches of thighs,
out of dove-necked wrists,
out of a sloped, vining neck.

there’s a boy,
mute; but as loud as roaring packs of waves.

there’s a boy i love,

even when i swore love was what I was most afraid of.
I worry for
the man who
will one day
want to love me

I worry that he
will not know
that my love
burns like the sun
and rages
like a storm
out at sea

I worry that he
will not know
that my darkness
is only temporary
and that it comes
from living
in an ever consuming
pitch black night

it lasted decades

I worry that he
will not know
my spirit
cannot be broken
like an animal
that cannot be tamed

it lasts an eternity

I worry that he
will not hear
my arrhythmic heart
it may sound like
a whisper
but it bangs
and slams in
these ribs
like the percussions
in an orchestra

it will play songs
just for him


I worry that he
will not hear
me when I
cry out to him
for I am not
transparent
do not look through me or
past me I
am right here
before you
with
universes to give

I worry that he
will not feel
the moisture building
in my palms
when he grasps
my hands
out of fear
that he will
never
hold them again

I will hold his
like others
hold a bible


I worry that he
will not feel
my head
against his chest
like the
safe haven
I have
finally found
after all this time

I worry that he
will not see
the stars that
shine in my eyes
when I look
at his face
like the world's
most wonderous
landscape

I've traveled so
long and so
far just to see it


I worry that he
will not see
the way he
can make
every muscle in my body
fall into a
meditative state or
electrify with excitement
with his presence alone

I worry that the
man who will
one day
want to love me
will not appreciate

that I am
a complete human being
with or without him

that I am
divided between
biology and whimsy

that I am
both the
sadist and *******

that I am
broken but
the architect

and that
I do not fall
like an autum leaf
I fall
like an **avalanche
 Aug 2017 joel hansen
MeanAileen
***** *** and cigarettes
bad decisions, no regrets.
Painted lips and fingertips
lace, leather, gags and whips.
Cheap motels, steamy nights
sweaty flesh and candlelights.
Pushing limits, breaking rules
naked dips in swimming pools.
Getting high while living low
riding rails, pure white snow.
Playing games & telling lies
the look of lust in lovers eyes.
Rendevouz in seedy places
sloppy kisses, hot embraces.
Ménage à trios, or even four!
Anything goes behind locked door...
Shots of Jack make it all alright-
just another dirt-bag night.
50% fiction...
Hi, my name is Black Rose
And I'm an addict.

I'm not here for rehabilitation
I have no fancy to cure my obsession.
I yield willingly to this terminal fixation
I brandish it brazenly for all humanity to bear witness.

I voluntarily surrender
To this sweet, seductive habit
I'm hopeless
But need no extrication.

Oh yes,
I'm a freak,
I'm an addict,
I'm a ******.

My mind and
body cannot function
Without my daily fix
I live by having a drag
Every second


Day by day
My need goes stronger
I'm permanently light-headed
From the cloudy ecstacy
Constantly surrounding me
I'm in total delight
I'm in pure luxury

I'm a freak,
I'm an addict,
I'm a ******



I'm addicted to your love.
 Aug 2017 joel hansen
Ivy Swolf
people remember not what you say,
but how you make them feel.
my words are not much, but
... they are all i have.

i've been cursed with possessing a perfect
memory. you are cursed with reading but
not understanding. or maybe i just can't
understand
how you don't care.

we are at once ill matched and perfect:
i remember both the syllables that fell
from lips, and the spirits they evoked...
while you remember nothing.
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