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 Feb 2017 Matthew Harlovic
Bailey
I was happier as a martyr than I ever will be while serving myself.
Though my empathetic nature may put me at unease at times,
it is the happiness deep down within the cool, dark soil of my soul that truly matters.
I've tried so hard to change this essential part of my being,
because others told me that it made me weak,
but I see now what they fail to.
When I put myself first, I feel sick to my stomach.
There is an itch that desires to be scraped, and it is not anything that treating myself has the claws to scratch.
No, when I put others first, that is when I feel bigger than myself.
I don't feel like one of seven billion.
I don't feel like a speck in the space.
By helping and staying constantly connected to those around me--enemies and friends--I am spread out farther than I would be,
sitting inside myself.
Say what you want about me.
That I am weak and gullible and forgiving and target-worthy.
But in the end, I am happiest when I help others.
And in the end, the universe will feel the smallest, quickest brush on its hand.
And that brush will be me.
Maybe it's not about this
Maybe it's not about the way you say my name
Or about the paper planes you wrote our dreams on
And then tried to fly them from your room
To my hands.

Maybe it's not about the songs you played to me
On your old guitar
Neither about the way your laugh would come killing
Every sad minute in my life.

Maybe its not about the way you'd show me the snow and the sun
The rain
And the autumn in your eyes.

Maybe it's not about the way you've taught me
how to fight loneliness
Or how to smile and chase away the demons in my head.

Maybe it's not about any of these.
Or maybe it's about everything.


Maybe it's about the fact that I love you
And
You've never taught me
How to stop this.

All I know is
Paper planes don't always fly
Only my dreams do
All the time.

Away from me
Away from you
Away from us.
I never thought I'd miss you this much.
---
I'm not allowed to miss you this much.
This isn't about what was wrong, turned around,
Or what views of the world are upside down.
The divine truth, produced, From labored days,
taught me that I am a God unto myself, If I choose to be.
Churning up the Soil I was buried in,
once lain..
Pondering Which crop to nourish first.
My Sanity or my heart ?
It takes two to Tango,
A myriad of Facades,
To wade through.
To receive the fruits of labor, I must first bury the seeds.
Seeds of thought, what the soul can recycle, upcycle, and what Pains I can tackle..
Because without fresh air, and new beginnings, I can't breathe.
 Jan 2017 Matthew Harlovic
Cat
I'm tripping in reveries of a beauty i haven't tasted
Not a chance
So im left feeling envious crave
The envy of recognizing
I'll never taste you
One look at you is all it took
To turn you into a mania
Im dying to meet your face again
Even if it's just to reveal an unvarnished result
That you could never be my reality
Just so i know
Just so i can see
.
                                       ri
                                 o    ot     o
                               t       ri        t
                              r        o          r
                             i        t    r        i
                             o      i      o      o
                             t       t      r       t
                              r       i    o       r
                                i        t         i
                                    o         o
                                         T
Her words are ripened fruit,
Each a perfect, poignant peach
For trembling hands to reach.

Stroking first the pink flesh text,
Slowly, oh so slowly,
Relishing delicious words.

He takes a bite, sinks a slavering tongue
into creative juices,
Beginning, middle, please don't end,
He reads her with his mouth.
Please read 'Read ****** Write', I'm experimenting with different points of view.
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