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I miss when all I could think about was love, being in love and how much I loved you
 Mar 2015 Jose Galvez
John Keats
High-mindedness, a jealousy for good,
A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,
Dwells here and there with people of no name,
In noisome alley, and in pathless wood:
And where we think the truth least understood,
Oft may be found a "singleness of aim,"
That ought to frighten into hooded shame
A money-mongering, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy and malice to their native sty?
Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.
I know you won't read this
Your eyes will meet my name and take on the role of ignoring
They will do their best to avoid its presence
And eventually it will be a skill done almost subconsciously,
Forgetting me

I know you won't respond
If I ask you what happened
If I were to wonder aloud what changed enough to make you do the same
I'm not quite sure you even know the answer
And I'm quite sure I'll never pose the question

I wonder how it is that no one ever told you not to love a writer
Or worse than that, pretend to
These word-wringing hands belong to a body with a heart made of glue
Attachment forms if you get too close,
I am telling you that you did

It's clear that no one ever taught you caution
To be careful with the girl who cares much more than she should,
Who will love you more than you ever asked for
You crossed a line written in red and the footprints are still there

I know you won't remember
The way your lips met my forehead when you said goodnight or how the same ones told me I was beautiful
Your hands formed craters in my back and now I don't know how to fill all of the empty
I am used to an excess of space,
Of vacant but this
Is just too much

I know you won't understand why it is that
People like me always let strangers inside
We open the door without looking through the peephole
And take in whatever the wind blows with open arms
It is a mistake I am not sorry for repeating
You were just one of many

I know you won't read this
I know you won't try to
You will probably see my name and move on the way I probably should have already
You will laugh at my vulnerability like being bare isn't something that takes strength
You will remember my thighs, the unsteadiness of my laugh, the freckle I pointed out above my cheek, my warmth
You will hear my voice in the title
You will see the word poetry and immediately say no thank you
And I will continue keeping the idea of you alive in a language you don't care to comprehend

I know you won't read this
I know you won't try to
But if you do,
Know more than anything else,
I didn't write this for you
I wrote it for myself.
 Mar 2015 Jose Galvez
She stood by the window
Watching the rain pour down
It was as though each drop
That hit the glass and rolled down
Was a short lie
A number of those hitting the window
Before her eyes
Yet in felt as though it was raining inside
The drops left their physical bodies on the glass
And their souls proceeded to become one with her
The cold of the floor going through her feet in to her legs
The teacup in her hand is empty
She analyzes the beautiful blue pattern
Looks like something a sweet elderly lady would have in her cuboard
On the bottom it says "made in England"
A snort of derision and dry smile
As she turns away from the rain
She catches a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror
She shortly runs her finger by the deep wrinkles mocking her on her face
Age meant nothing to her, they were not enemies
She smiled at her age
It had no power here
Gentle ballerina dance
dance your way around the world
with bold precision dance
with graceful arms unfurled

Tip toe to the passion of the tune
whirling, leaping maelstrom of romance

existential exercise of poetry unwritten
fluttering, a butterfly of souls unduly smitten
with love of life and dignity stirred all up into one
resounding splash of destiny
the last breath of a swan
for my world traveled, ballerina friend Marilyn on her birthday.
 Mar 2015 Jose Galvez
 Mar 2015 Jose Galvez
if my reality is just a program

within another verse

and white-robed lanky scientists

observe my brain submersed

then all will seem to be for naught

and every dream corrupt

but at the very least they'll know

that i would not give up
Shallow breaths,
tight chest,
blurry vision,
No rest.
by my thoughts:
make it stop...
‘give it all you’ve got.’
Head spinning,
hope dwindling.
Skin burning,
bones chilling.
Drowning in air
a sinking ship;
dying of thirst,
and I don’t get a drip.
Surrounded by an ocean
and I can’t see
I can’t hear
for the life of me.
This feeling
I swear
is killing 

“give in
don’t get up
stay home
you’re not enough.
Even if there’s nothing wrong:
walk out the door
and harm
will come”
This ubiquitous feeling
over me,
and weighted...
bet you’ve never hated
someone so much
you’d stab them in the chest
and without a moments rest
grab them at the throat
so tight they can’t whisper a note
and leave them wondering
if they’ve even given their best
after their whole self feels negated.

**This hate,  
this punishment 
or something,
over me
so viciously
is known as:
Love came
When I was on my own
Love came
When I was left in the cold
Love came
when I was barefoot
Love came
And gave me hope
Love came
And gave me warmth
Love came
And broke the spell
Love came
To fetch me out of hell
Love came!
Copyright Afrodita Nestor
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