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Sometimes I sleep with my guitar


it fills the space.
In my father's kitchen,
I grew up with Sade,
bleeding tomato sauce,
braised sausage,
doughy pasta,
and parmesan cheese.

How lucky to be raised
on such warm wooden floors,
the kiss of life kind to me.

And how I've squandered it,
listening to Sade alone with
dry pasta,
canned sauce,
soy sausage,
and no cheese

Half-heartedly dancing
with a cheerful grimace
plastered on my face: What was.

All I think now are moments.
Tiny little f r a c t i o n s of
a second of a thought,
when I didn't try hard enough,
or failed to defeat my expectations.
Maybe those fractions
make up the difference between
happiness and whatever this is,
nostalgia insists.

One day the thought of never
achieving became so overwhelming,
I disappeared, isolated myself,
lived like a pauper,
afraid of wasting time,
stoicism by my side.

But even then,
with no distractions,
I couldn't rid myself of the thoughts.
If anything they were
more magnified by the silence.

Yet all I craved was silence...

and clarity.

How strange that whatever I crave  
puts me
              exactly where I don't want to be.

Things turned out. As they continue...

had I known this sitting
on the sun-soaked floors of my Italian roots,
I'd have jumped a decade ago,
perched at the window screen,
wondering how far the fall..., I don't think...
but was it high enough?
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
 Jul 2017 latenightss
As much as you try to reassure

my mind keeps reeling

With thoughts, sometimes obscure

*One can not always help

feeling insecure
Sometimes we see ourselves in the worst kind of light
All you need to do is persuade your mind and see your self through a new and different lense
 Jul 2017 latenightss
Got Guanxi
in between my insecurities

I can’t be found sometimes,
dumbfounded by my surroundings.
in between my

i’ve been captured in the moment,
scared to say another word,
caught ,
in between my

I got lost within the essence,
talking nonsensical thoughts,
lying inside,
in between my

I learnt my lesson swiftly,
teenage years, lunchbox idioms ,
in between my
I think i'll revisit this at some point...
He said that I looked
Pretty, as a compliment
But it made me doubt;
I felt that he shouldn't have
It made me feel insecure.
A dog in the street
with such an innocence
it expresses as if in a dream
waging its tail
while it follows me everywhere
didn't know to what give
but I knew it for sure
it needed some love
which went missing!
Lovely dog I met last night who followed me till my gate and wanted to come with me but had to close the gate as I had no space to keep.
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