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she dries her hair in sun
in red frock windborne high
dreaming there's one
one day would pass her by

enwrapping in heat
sun licks her oily skin
flows down her lithe feet
craves one peep deep within

tickles her wind's mischief
its murmurs's caress
titillates her like a leaf
paints a rose on face

with her i can spin
yearns in my core
she's sweet sixteen
i'm two scores more
when in each breath waits a story to be unlocked?
10w, dinner is ready, so I have to let go the stories knocking.
She isn't writing poetry anymore.

*nay, maybe she's writing
but hiding
them from the world
pouring inks all over them
when she finishes
in her agonized realization
there's no finish
and only beginning
each time starting all over again

her unfinished story

with each poetry!
On a bed of flowers love is born.

Let it not die

*on a bed of thorns!
Leaving the papyrus for me
she leaves for the river.

Don't follow me
she says
instead
pick up my pages
unread


and with that

she goes with the river wind.

the papyrus
scattered on her trail
before I could pick them all
fly with her

to the river!
 Sep 2013 Lenni George
Mariann
How I miss your embrace
When we met in that crazy place
I miss your touch
But when you’re close I tremble
I broke your heart am sorry
Never was it my intention I swear
Someone broke my heart into a million pieces
I’m still putting it back together
Forgive me if I doubt you
I know you are not to blame
But I am broken, and
I’m not sure what you expect to gain
But just know that while you hold me and I am next to you
About the world I forget
It’s not your skin color or your race
it’s just that honestly I am afraid.
Scared to give you my all
And about me you will soon forget
I have no more tears to cry
So I’m taking a chance and giving you my heart
I just truly hope this is a decision I won’t regret.
I made some soup.
But it’s not for you.
It’s for me.
I don’t want you to change it.
It’s my soup.
Some people want to add some basil or maybe a little oregano.
But it’s my soup.
Some people think it’s too salty.
One person thought it’s too sweet.
But I told ‘em
f--k you.
I won’t change a thing.
It’s my soup.
Someone even tried to stir the ***
I grabbed the ladle
and bopped him on the head
I told him it was my soup.
Someone told me to turn up the heat
For what reason?
It’s a perfect temperature.
Someone else told me to turn down the heat.
I told him that would make it too cold.
It’s my soup.
Someone even told me I had to take some ingredients out.
But I love it the way it is.
It’s my soup.
Someone even tried to take a sip
The nerve!
It’s my soup.
Make your own.
Someone said I overcooked it.
I told her to leave me alone.
I like the smokey flavor.
To my horror, someone even tried to throw it out.
I grabbed the *** and put it back on the stove
Where it belongs.
This is my soup.
This soup…
**is my life.
I think we've all had the experience of people trying to change the way we are or the way we live our lives because it makes them uncomfortable. It's time you to take back your soup and make it yours.
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