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  Apr 2015 em
Alysia Marie
You're just like Medusa
You've turned me to stone
With one glimpse of your eyes
The ones I thought that I've known

Yet lately you're silent
That carcass begging to refrain
From the duties of your being
That slithers wildly again

So darling take a breather
Your soul is begging for the air
For venom dances on your lips
With the slightest movement of your hair

Kiss me lovely, kiss me
If that will cure your soul
It might **** me in an instant
With you, I've never had control

Your beauty graces the heavens
But your body's cold as ice
Yet your being is pretentious
I'll pay the infinite price

For this body is a messenger
But to the eye I'm merely stone
For you lose every motive to live
When you fall in love with the unknown

                                               Alysia Marie 2015 ©
  Apr 2015 em
You killed her.
You may not realize
what you've done.
You may not've killed
her physically, but emotionally
she's gone.
  Apr 2015 em
corner me in
claim me yours
no one has to know

secret kisses with
hushed moans
grab my waist

you've waited too long
put your hands
where your eyes wander

always watched over
we can't be trusted alone
and this is the reason
  Apr 2015 em
Francie Lynch
What is the difference,
Asked the educator,
Between being skillful,
Such as a *******,
And being educated,
Such as a teacher?

replied a prostitue,
One educates skillfully,
The other skillfully educates.

Which is which?
The educator responded.

Depends, said the *******,
On the pay and benefits.
  Apr 2015 em
Positive i possess the prowess to articulate a piece..
but will it bring me piece?
More probable that impossible is possible so it seems..
so my daily writing tends to cease.

I'm no writer, I just vent all my problems on this keyboard..
truthfully most of the times i erase it, because i need more...
Time to heal, mostly these paragraphs bring me sorrow..
While most of the writers i meet cant wait to write tomorrow..

I guess my sentiments differ,
If I'm not stuck at home venting, im a bartender tipper,
Far from pretender my reality came quicker,
So now i'm stuck with this liquor,

life is precious though, my mother told me that one cloudy morning..
and that was back when i was younger, hunger thoughts were barely forming.

So eventually,
These so called poems might be of service..
maybe one day i'll be better off and reminded of my curses..

the people on the block of that writer will mumble..
And they'll call me humble,
They'll call me humble..
They'll know that standing is a choice, what's a tumble?

I'm positive i possess the prowess to write a piece,
And truthfully I hope in doing so I'm bringing peace.

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