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so many kinds of writers;
some with stars in their eyes and
souls on their sleeves;
some, with stony stares
and a voice that thrives in silence.
a result of observations :)
I tasted your lips in a sip of that coffee
Bittersweet, strong though it calmed me
You are the aphrodisiac that dug through
my subtlety
Awaking me with your aroma invitingly

I'd take another cup of you, be drunk on
wakefulness
Collide in our own magical listlessness
You burn my tongue, twist me in a mess
My love, my love your love does impress
How I feel about coffee. And right now my new roommate's so noisy I wanna shut off her throat for crying out loud
Hey everyone,

I'd like to propose a challenge.

Grab a book, any book, and open to page 49.
6th line.
5th word.
Make a poem, and use that word as its title.
Be sure to make sense, and relate the topic to title!

Tag your poems as bookpoemchallenge so I can check them out. I'll be sure to like, comment, add to collection, share the poems which I enjoyed reading.
Best of luck.
Please like and share this so it will trend and more and more people join on this lovely challenge!
no one really forgets
what hands look like
dripping in red.
.dnuos a gnikam tuohtiw
rettulf traeh ym ekam ouy
.nwod edispu em pilf dna
tuo edisni em nrut uoY
For those who don't like to read backwards:
You turn me inside out
And flip me upside down.
You make my heart flutter
Without making a sound.

I periodically send backwards messages to friends, so I thought it'd be fun to send a backwards poem to y'all. :)
 Jul 2015 Marinela Abarca
jacky
Was I wrong?
My mind fails me
and to conjure the right words
the answers embraced nothingness
I always think
you flawed my reasoning
you were what was missing

over and over, I say
I am not mistaken or fooled
dressed in my fantasies
the idea of you and i
we will be alive
until our bones get tired
I promise.

You are a vagabond, you always were
like a migrating flock on a foreign land
again and again,
amongst all those wanders
I begin to carve on my skin.

You will find warmth in me
and you will erase all your hues
you will begin to love me
READ IT AGAIN, FROM BOTTOM TO TOP TO READ THE SECOND THOUGHT.

I hope you all will like this.

P.s. I don't care if I'm cheesy or corny, *******. (whoever you are)
 Jul 2015 Marinela Abarca
jacky
I long for the time,
when you are not “you”,
or “she” or “he”, or any
of the words I write. Not a hint,
not sign of you being “you”,
in each line “you” appears, it will not be you.
And I have found a new definition
of “she” or “he”, not even
the shadows of my words
would tell you that it’s “you”.

And in that day that it’ll come,
I’ll look back at this piece
of prayer, that my “you”,
will not be *you
a quick one // still finding it hard to really write so this may not be the best but at least it's something right?
It seems I spend most of my time with my head in the clouds,
Oh how I wish to be like them.
I wish to be careless, free, not a bound to anything, or anyone,
but no matter how high I get, my feet never leave the ground.
I am forever stuck, rising higher, but never actually leaving.
Like the roots on the ground have woven around my feet,
there's no actual way out, there never was, was there?
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