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Days, nights, days, nights, days, nights (bored),
Nights, days, nights, days, nights (bored again),
Insomnia, stress, insomnia, stress,...
You are beautiful
You are tremendously beautiful
You are marvelously beautiful
You are astonishingly beautiful
You are magnificently beautiful
You are breathtakingly beautiful
Inner and outer

You are beautiful
You are the definition of Beauty
Or shall I say, what is Beauty compared to you
What is Beauty compared to you ?
It feels shy and ashamed when I describe you
A weak meaning it has when I describe you
A meaningless meaning it has when I describe you
Never existed it wishes when I describe you

You are beautiful
For your beauty I searched
Every language ever lived
And every word ever existed
And the romantic era that occurred
Could not find a way to describe your beauty
Could not find a way to tell the world about your beauty

You are beautiful
Vocabulary will be invented
Words never existed
To the dictionaries will be added
In the dictionaries will live
In the lovers tongues will breath
To describe your beauty
The one and the only beauty
The living and the dead will forget about Cleopatra
Because your beauty is ultra
A new period will start, The Beauty Era
Your era

--Hisham Alshaikh
You're Beautiful. Version 1.
I find myself lost in thought
In moments curious
About the wonders of those
I lack any of
Sometimes I wonder

At these times I know not what to think of
Searching for a path
Embedded in the insanity I call my mind
Undisturbed, until placed under the guise of my curiosity
Sometimes I travel these paths

It’s a unique feeling
Finding pieces of myself
I hadn’t known were shattered
And beginning to build on what I hadn’t known
Quite a complex puzzle

I place regret in the lack of relation
I hold with those who call me close
Knowing I could never show them these pieces
In the face of what they saw as whole
Enveloped in their naïveté

Sometimes I approach the ends of these paths
Finding parts previously unknown
And in certain cases
Certainly unwanted
But I realize their place in what I seek

This path unfurls itself to me
My mind slowly revealing itself to me
Not as a continuous staircase
Rather, an intricate river
Fed by the kindness of many streams, many still unknown to me

I close my eyes to these tunes
Some playing to gentle piano keys
Others to the harsh shattering of glass, perhaps something else
And yet they all play in the same key
Performing movements to the growth of my path

Sometimes I lay terrified to these pieces I find
Yet I still close my eyes
Looking through the streams, paths, and interlaced insanities
To find those pieces I haven’t yet placed together
Reaching out to their neglected whimpers

Sometimes I wonder whether this path is wise
When most others ignore the streams,
Choosing the clear way in front
But then I think to who I am, and finally see
Sometimes never has enough

And I realize this
The need for my Sometimes
To become Always
And perhaps it does
,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)


human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed

so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder,
And I've analyzed your beauty over and over,
With your beauty that gets me high, even though I am sober,
All I've been able to do is fall for you like the leaves in October
I hope you ******* choke on all the words you spoke as lies
a sarcastic little joke too stuck on blowing smoke to act surprised
 Feb 2015 lovetowritepoetry
       o    (              (             (                  
O   )     (                      )        
            )                (      o
    (              (      (                       O  
   )     o              )   O       )        o
(    O              (     o      (         ) 
)    o                              )    (
**make me a cauldron of a witch's
brew•let it bubble and boil...;
simmer and stew• allow the con-
coction to churn•feed it with raw an-
guish and spiteful spurn•whisper my wi-
shes into shady ingredients•scatter them in
to render it potent•stir it wild...with an iron
ladle with a wooden haft•raucous incanta-
tions of a long forgotten craft• give
me a vial of the witch's brew•let it
**** me or grant me the gifts
promised in lieu•
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