No matter how many times I'm called beautiful
or pretty, of gorgeous, or any other comment,
I will always cry when I hear the name
You try to call me adoringly...

It is dead.
I bury it here
In the words.
I write its tombstone.

So many poems
and stories
have gone unwritten
due to fear of not being good enough

There was a time when it was all beautiful,
The time when there’s nothing but love.
A moment when things were pleasant and peaceful,
The minute when you took me high and above.

I make room
I make time
I make nothing but connection

You make reason
You make rhyme
I make nothing but exceptions

We make a fool out of me
and a hero out of you
So you are nothing but perfection

We make excuses
We make lies
But they are nothing but deceptions

I feel I have done more
than just existed
in my life

Your outlook on life changes
when certain unexpected things happen
things that are out of one's control

When you know
nothing will be different
until the day you die

You tend to live
in the middle
wondering which
way to go

                                        By Connie Hopkins

Let me thank your fingertips,
Firm caress against my lips,
Please accept this loving gift,
Yours to do with as you wish.

Persistent touch around my neck,
It keeps me in your gentle grip.

Paint a garden on my skin,
Dewdrops on a rosy flush,
Strokes to wear the canvas thin,
Make me pure in willing blush.