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i held a bird in my hands
his wings were broken
he begged me to fix him
i tried, oh how i tried,
but all he really wanted
was the strength to fly away
©rainecooper
Another sleepless night
3am, a bit beyond
the witching hour

A time of quiet reflection
Remembering dreams lost
& Creating dreams to be

Thinking of past sorrows
Anticipating tomorrow's
Joys

Another sleepless night

Contemplating Life's mystery
And
Marveling at the
Wonder of it all...
2/8/2015
KetomaRose
She,
blessed with shade as well as light ,
She,
gifted with two eyes,
that can actually see with a knowledge of perspective ,
distinguish others configuration ,
discriminate no matter what their form ,
voices are assimilated,
and when i get to hear the purity of her native tongue...
dull daily life is hardly ascertained.
P.S
we pretend until the end*,
the tedious concepts of fast society and upper classes are irrelevant.
There are stories in your eyes.

I never told you how
sometimes I fell asleep
with the thought that you
were perhaps the moon-

always disappearing
with the dawn.
I would awake with
nothing
but the shape of you
on my bed and the
gloom of you on
my skin.
 Jan 2015 Marissa Taylor
stas
I've tried rewriting him like he is another poem
embedded between pages of secrets
replacing his eyes with sparkling adjectives
polishing his edges
enabling him to roll off my tongue like I imagined he would
I've traded his scars for words laced in silver
like beautiful words would stop the bleeding
but broken men are not poems
they are not to be sculpted into stanzas
they are time bombs
with three seconds left on the clock
they posses oceans inside their lungs
their eyes are riptides
you cannot rewrite the parts of him
to coincide with the parts of you
they may be broken
their hearts turning black and blue
but the solution to their problem does not begin with you
you can stretch your hands as big as they will go
but it will never be enough to catch their pain
you will drown trying to keep them afloat
the solution to their problem does not begin with you
It will never begin with you
 Jan 2015 Marissa Taylor
celexaa
I knew every thread of you but you only guessed my stitches
Leaving bruises on my throat and my stomach and my hips in the pitch black where you couldn't see, my face was blank to your fingertips that ran down my back along the sore scratches you'd given me before and I was just trembling because I was cold
And in that night I became everything a woman feared, overwhelmed by some idea of lust to the ecstasy you threatened to give me
You shoved me deeper into the mattress stained with ash and her handwriting she left in permanent ink, but I didn't mind  
You'd remember my smell forever and shiver when you think of it
I felt nothing but bare skin though you were connected to the warmth of me, and when we were done your knees shook while I stood firm and quiet
I left your garage with a kiss on my forehead and some "promised" love I forgot about, smiling because you were unaware that I wasn't coming back
Walking home with a cigarette like any, high off of your cravings like under the sink drugs
Now you give the gift I gave to you to another girl,
how rotten and foul she'll feel after she adores the way you touched her like I did you
Though you admit that wasn't all you wanted, but I'm not haunted
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