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 Jun 2017 Mona
Hope White
Sunday
 Jun 2017 Mona
Hope White
I didn't even ask
To be your sun
Or your moon.

All I wanted
was to be
Your Sunday afternoons.

How many empty calendars spaces
I wasted,
Waiting for you.
 Jun 2017 Mona
Sandoval
Broken
 Jun 2017 Mona
Sandoval
I was not born a

poet.

I was broken into

one.


*Sandoval
 Jun 2017 Mona
Poetry At Most
She
 Jun 2017 Mona
Poetry At Most
She
She was not fragile like a flower;
She was fragile like a bomb.
 Apr 2017 Mona
Jordan Leon
Get Up
 Apr 2017 Mona
Jordan Leon
You're broken
But you need to focus
Pick up the pieces and put them together
If you would just ever
Stop and look at what you've accomplished
You'd be astonished
And maybe If I told you
you're not realizing
That I wanna be you
it might come as surprising
Because what I'm actually saying
is I think you're naturally amazing
 Feb 2017 Mona
Cup Noodles
.
some things
are better left
unsaid
.
but this one probably isn't
.
 Jan 2017 Mona
leah
i searched for depth in the shallow end
of the pool, in a place where depth did not
exist, and yet i somehow managed to drown.
this is an excerpt from a spoken word poem i wrote a few days ago. send feedback if you'd please !
 Jan 2017 Mona
Unrequited Love
Sexy
 Jan 2017 Mona
Unrequited Love
The most **** thing about a guy has nothing to do with his clothes, hair or eye colour.

It's in the way he looks at you with longing, when you finally find out he wants you just as badly as you want him.

When he pulls you so close to him that there is literally no space between you, because he can't stand the thought of there being any.      

When he kisses you, so that it feels as if he is stealing the air from your lungs, and for those few seconds you forget what air even is.
    
When all thoughts go out the window and its just him, with you,in the most simple way possible.

Now that is the definition of ****.
Pure passion is ecstacy...
 Jan 2017 Mona
Edna Floretta
He lays down **** like a shadow
Thrown by a movie spotlight
He eats passion like he is
******* the juices of the last peach on Earth
He walks proudly like a naughty child
Who made a clean escape
He talks integrity like a lion
With a human child in his mouth
He pushes imagination like
A clown in a silent temple
He lays down ****
And it’s all over me
 Jan 2017 Mona
David Lewis Paget
We’d been together so long, it seemed
That nothing could tear us apart,
We lived our lives in a world of dreams
And Barbara lived in my heart,
But frost had covered the window pane
And then it began to snow,
As Barbara turned, with a look of pain
And said, ‘It’s best that you go.’

I didn’t know what she meant at first
As I looked up from my book,
“Go where?’ I questioned, but thought again
As she quelled my heart with a look.
‘I said I want you to leave,’ she cried,
And her face was set in stone,
‘We’ve come to the end of the path,’ she sighed,
‘I want to be left alone.’

Then suddenly all confusion reined
I didn’t know what to say,
Whatever had brought this mood on her,
I wished it would go away.
But she was firm, and she packed my things
And ushered me out the door,
I stood there shivering in the cold
To be back on my own once more.

I found a flat and I camped the night
There was barely a stick or chair,
I’d have to buy all the furniture
To make it a home in there.
But I sat and cried in the empty room
As the question came back, ‘Why?’
I’d loved her so and my heart was torn,
I thought I wanted to die.

I went to her with my questions, but
She slammed the door in my face,
Whatever love she had had for me
Had vanished, without a trace.
It hurt so much that she cut me off
With never so much as a sigh,
I called that all that I wanted was
To tell me the reason, why?

The roses had bloomed so late that year
Were still in the garden bed,
We’d always tended the bush with joy,
We both loved the colour red,
So I snipped one off as I left one day,
And planted it under her door,
To let her know that I loved her still
I didn’t know how to say more.

Her brother called in a week or so,
Said she was in hospital,
She’d gone in just for a minor cure
And thought that he’d better tell.
So I caught the bus and I went on down
With a quaking fear in my heart,
She hadn’t said there was something wrong
Before she tore us apart.

The doctor came in his long white coat,
His brow and his face was grim,
I said, ‘Don’t tell me the news is bad,’
He said, ‘I’m out on a limb.
Your wife just passed from the surgery,
But she pulled, from under her clothes,
And asked if I’d pass this on to you,’
In his hand was a red, red rose.

David Lewis Paget
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