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Lunar Nov 24
Do I know
Who I am on my own
Before I've met
Any other I have known?
Who am I, as a person? Is there even a portion of me that isn't influenced by others, or made up of pieces of the people I've let into my life? I'm afraid I don't know who I am tonight.

Let me be myself and write a poem for me.

(j.m.)
Lunar Nov 24
I can't smell the blood,
I can't taste the tears,
I can't see the pain,
I can't hear my heart break.

I can only feel it.
I can't even think, and/so I don't even know why.

Feel better soon, self.

(j.m.)
Lunar Nov 18
Quick drive
Strong hands
Loud mind

Both you and me
Are as tired
As daytime

Old music
Slow mail
Aged wine

But you and I
Are as young
As tonight
for aeh, my constant for the past recents.

(j.m.)
  Nov 12 Lunar
elaine
you never asked to read my poetry
maybe that was the sign.
i told you i wrote for fun,
you shrugged and moved on.
red flags went up everywhere, but i didn’t bother looking
Life
                                                            ­    has
            a
                       funny
     way
                                           of
                                  
                                ruining

      
                                                      Lives.
In the End, It will all fit together.
Lunar Nov 11
The veins on your arms
Remind me of crumpled paper
Which I hold on tight to,
Then loosen my grip,
Smoothing out the imperfect surface.

My eyes follow each string up your arm—
Untying the ribbon like opening a gift—
And back down again, to your fingertips.
My very own quiver
Like the tip of a quill pen.

I notice there are blanks to fill in,
And proceed to write my name
With my finger, onto your palm.
I write something longer,
And it doesn't tickle or bother you.

Then our little fingers wrestle:
it's a strong pinky promise.
We seal it with a swear of the hand,
And a handshake. We hold it in place,
Until our fingers are intertwined.

One more seal, with a kiss this time,
As I bring your hand up to my lips.
I won't let you go now.
This is how I write poetry
With my bare hands.
What can't my hands do, except to love you? I love you in this way: in images, in voice messages, in songs, in poetry, in waking and in sleeping. I love to want you and want to love you. If you give me your hand, does it mean you'll do the same?

to dearest aeh. feel better soon.

(j.m.)
Lunar Oct 19
I could never count
the three words
for you.

It was always
just one, two, or four.
"Us," "What if,"
And "What could have been."
I don't know how to spell it, but I know how to spell your name.

(j.m.)
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