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You don’t belong
In old photographs.

You weren’t meant to exist
On paper
Trapped in a frame.

You belong in a garden.

Your pristine
Manicure nails
Belong in the dirt,
Digging for bulbs
And roots.

You’re too colorful
For a scene
Of black and white,
Too intricate
To be a memory.

I watched
As your body became
An object.
I saw you stop being you
In a hospital bed.

You looked delicate.

You’ve never,
Been delicate.

You’ve been feminine
And beautiful,
But always along side

New York farm girl,
With a touch of
An elegant survivor.

You told my sister
And I
You would still sneak out to the garden,
And not to tell.
We never told.

You were never meant to be
Less than yourself.

Your blood
Runs through my veins,
Your fortitude in every step.
Your cheer in my smile,
Your movie star beauty
In all of our faces.

You were never
Meant to be
An old photograph.
My secret inspiration?
I’m painting a memory.

I’m painting sun soaked
Pink skin,
And rough wave soaked docks.
 Feb 27 Mims
 Feb 27 Mims
I like to write theme songs
To shows I make up in my head
The lead roles are much more brave than me
Guys like me in the show end up dead
The cool dudes all have a catchphrase
Sometimes there's a writer strike, for a raise
Some shows win awards
I get no praise, they won't let me up on the stage
At nights I get stressed
To make the final call
Which shows to cancel
Should I clear the decks, and axe them all
The director's chair they provided
Is complete **** for my lumbar
I used to write ****** poems online
Boy, have I come far

Can you really go off the deep end
If you were a shallow person
I see through the tissue paper
But I can't make out all the lines

I fell in love with this jaded cam girl
She's "26"
She says she doesn't have a day job
But her face looks like
A leather baseball mit
Left out all winter
She doesn't love me back
By the way
I torment this poor woman
With the comments
She can't get rid of me
I pay too good
I'm concerned with how much she vapes

The twist in this story is:

I was the cam girl the entire time
It was me dressed up talking **** to myself
In the mirror
 Feb 27 Mims
a few times of the year
the club holds a ceremony
forbidden words passed down
congregation of the phonies
for just one night
back stabs are replaced with back pats
conveniently located where  it's at
meanwhile the mass fell for the trap
No amount of time would ever be enough with you
 Feb 23 Mims
To Walt
 Feb 23 Mims
and just how far have you gone for the sake of your "camaraderie," my friend?

their half-glow hearts and prejudiced minds could have swallowed you whole,

or abandoned you, wit be-******, and genius be-******, you
might have died a pauper—

I hear they’d **** a man much more guarded than you, they might string him up,

tie his broken body to a fencepost, leave him ******,

satisfy a tyranny under the watchful eye of a loving God,

trade a boy in Laramie for a jet-black brutal odium,

**** a kid and wonder what his mother did to steer him wrong—

but still you wrote of calamus and of holding hands and handsome lovers,

still you gave us songs to sing back to our lovers, gentle songs,

despite the shame and censorship they cursed you with, despite

the threat that everything could be undone, despite the scripture,

well I must say, dear Good Gray Poet, before I fold my hand,

thank you, Walt, for giving us what you never had.
 Feb 23 Mims
I am air
 Feb 23 Mims
I am air.

You breathe me in when you feel the need
Until I get lost inside.
But it seems no matter how hard I plead
I'm exhaled and left behind.

I am air.

I touch your clothes, your hair, your skin
Just begging to be seen.
But to you, I am forgotten
To you, I am nothing.

I am air.

I know I am necessary
And all I do is strive
To make you understand that I'm the very
Reason you are alive.

I am used. I am abused.
I am alone. I am unknown.
I am everywhere. I am nowhere. I am air.
 Feb 23 Mims
Jon York
"I believe in you." Words that water flowers
                                                         ­                          Jon York   2019
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