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if I got a poem out of every message I receive...ha!...I do...

quite a bit upon to chew,
but a request from her,
to please ignore her weirdness,
too juicy to pass unnoticed,
because it goes to the heart of the mad matter

'tis that weirdness that I do so cherish,
fully reflected in my own poem-children,
my multiple identities, that the FBI is yet tracking

give me your weirdness, yearning to be free,
so my poems can be inscribed upon a crown

and daughter adopted dear,
that one crown,
thy name,
thy madness upon it etched,
modified to rest
easy
upon thy temples

<•>
for Ali
You make me want to kick and scream
Because I hate that I love you
and hate you all at the same time
Break the plaster
Shatter the dishes
Destroy the photos
Ensure there is no proof of us here
Because I believe now that love is a lie
A myth to get us all twisted
On reality and illusion
A trick to reel us in
When in truth it is a sin
The amount of destruction
That results from this word
Let’s start from this apartment
Then we’ll investigate the world
Love creates peace
But where does peace exist?
I’ve lost faith and I am petrified
Of what results from this loss of light
I punched a hole through the wall
And saw myself on the other side
A simple reflection
Terrifying when it comes through
Like a mirror
Existing in another dimension
Cats are buzzards
Just can't fly in circles
But they can hover
I have a perfect lunchbox mom
Crusts cut off
She leaves me love letters on my napkin
So that when the bathroom stall became my cafeteria
I wouldn't be so lonely
I have a perfect marathon mom
She runs to the beach and back just to show that she can.
And when she says she's all gross from her run, she somehow still smells like fresh air
My mom is fresh air,
She fills my sister's lungs with life
And every exhale is love
My mom is fresh air.
She is a sanctuary, she is a nest
She is rest
I have a perfect lunchbox mom,
A "Honey, what's wrong?" mom
An "If you're not here, the day's too long", mom
A "Wonder if God knew what He gave to Earth" mom
I thought God kept track of angels
She is everything
It's not for all
Only a select few
Born with a gift,
But devoted daily
To refining it, too

My writers, my poets
This Ode is for you
Who pound fists upon desks,
Crumble paper into *****
When our words feel askew

Our kryptonite, Achilles' heel
Writer's block--If our readers only knew
Ravaging our brain for hours,
Studying fellow authors' work
For inspiration--a breakthrough

"Ah! Now it flows"
Placing pen upon paper
"No, that's no good"
Tear it, rip it, shred it
To pieces

But don't give up,
Don't get too down on yourself
Though a perfectionist, grammar ****
Believe in your words--
Worthy of the Best Sellers' shelf

For my dear friends and fellow poets
Unaware of your words reach
Remember where you started,
But understand your power--
Touching lives of so many you many never meet

© JL Smith
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