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MJ Henry Oct 2015
I fell in love
to the scent of something I felt.
Under the moon and over the moon.
I fell in love,
and then,
I fell.
MJ Henry Mar 2015
Her heart's desire is to live on the coast,
Where the salt water from the ocean and the depths of her eyes will mix until even she can't tell them apart.
MJ Henry Mar 2015
I love the way the leaves show their true colors every year right around my birthday
I love the way the trees sigh and fall asleep every winter under new white blankets
It's the in between seasons I can't stand
The hot tears of snow running down muddy sidewalks
The betrayal of red red leaves falling into the sand at the beach
But we're stuck in an in between season right now, and it's
The ground is littered with leaf bones that crunch under my feet
The trees are bare and spindly little things
Waiting for winter.
It's an ugly ugly world
But I love it.

Maybe it's the way the ground has stopped spinning.
The clouds hold their breath,
Not a single tree sways in the nonexistent wind.
Maybe it's the smell of the air,
The smell of nothing.
In fall the air is laden with the heavy aroma of wet leaves
In winter the air is so cold it bites the inside of your nose.
Right now, it's empty.
Inhale, exhale, nothing;
It's wonderful.

We make a perfect metaphor,
This in between season and I.
Maybe that is the reason I love it so.
Two unlike things with so much in common:
We're stuck, not moving forward and not looking back,
Full of emptiness
Holding our breaths
Teetering on the edge.
I'll let you know when they fall.
The snowflakes, I mean.
MJ Henry Mar 2015
I love the idea of the tortured genius
the encaged intellectual
trapped artist
It's poetic,
Bursting with knowledge
not bursting.
A balloon one breath short of
A prison cell for ideas
Always at war
A raging internal hurricane that only escapes in whispers, occasionally
"What did you say?"
Such a splendidly gorgeous mind,
Hidden behind a shy sweater and a pair of old conflicted capris
I love the idea of the tortured genius.
The life of one?
Not so much
It's poetic,
In a tragic sort of way
MJ Henry Mar 2015
She sipped her salt water and
wore glasses rimmed in a bloodred hue.
Behind them, watery blue eyes glistened.
Not sparkled,
Mind you.
She sniffled into her hand:
"I've got this dreadful cold!"
Makeup smeared and creased in wrinkles that had nothing to do with getting old.
She lifted her lips to reveal her teeth once in a while.
But not once, I tell you,
Not once,
Did she smile.
MJ Henry Mar 2015
"Penny for your thoughts?"
His cigarette grins and meets my eyes.
Penny for my thoughts?
Heavy eyelash curtains drop and I chuckle in disguise.

Honest Abe won't buy you a piece of my mind,
You could offer me the wealth of the world and you still wouldn't win.
There isn't a level of confidentiality high enough for what goes on in my head,
Unparalled security lies behind green eyes and salty skin.

"Penny for your thoughts?"
The cigarette gives up and ashes mix with the sidewalk salt
Penny for my thoughts?
The security guards change shifts as sad laughter echoes in the vault.
MJ Henry Jun 2014
Do not store up for
treasures on earth.
Material things will fade.
You better be grateful for these
fading things.
Especially because you are so
with everything that isn't supposed to

And maybe
you're alone.
And maybe
you cry yourself to sleep at night.
You better be thankful
your stomach is full and
you have a warm bed to
cry I mean sleep

are these
things the mark of the “blessed”?
aren't we allowed to be anything
I mean thank God for this new outfit
for my birthday I would like a
I am so grateful for that delicious Sunday dinner
what I wouldn't give to find some
under the Christmas tree.

All sarcasm aside
thank God
for everything I am blessed with.
if material things don't matter
I am poor
A little love,
Any spare happiness for my
beggar's cup?
I'm not allowed to say that.
Because I am so
with these things that don't matter.
And don't I dare ask for
because I already have
so much nothing.

Cross my heart and hope to die,
I'd rather be
starving and loved
starving for love.
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