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 Jul 2015 Nagilia Melendez
cloud
sex
 Jul 2015 Nagilia Melendez
cloud
***
i am innocent
i am not a ******
i have not been stripped of my innocence
i have been stripped
and teased
and pleasured
i'd love to see the look on a republicans face when i say
*** is fun
***
Making love,
a sweaty pit stop
between the sheets.
Politicians,
librarians,
directors,
janitors,
authors,
qu­eens,
kings,
moms,
you,
me,
All guilty of this bittersweet act of sticky significance.
All willing to tangle our limbs every night.
***
.
                              *** ***
                           *** *** ***
                        ex *** *** ***
                           *** *** ***
                           *** *** ***
                           *** *** ***
                           *** *** ***
                           *** *** ***
                           *** *** ***
                           *** *** ***
                    ***  ***.        *** ***
                *** *** ***     *** *** ***
                 *** ex ***       *** *** ex
                    *** ***            *** ***
How can something good suddenly turn bad
Like at a moment you were laughing
And then suddenly you were crying
How can life be so unfair?
Can it just be fair?

But then again... What is the thrill?
We would never learn what is good from bad
Without the other happening
We would never appreciate the value
Of things if life is fair

That, I think, is the irony of life
We can never have just one
It must always come in two's
Something good and something bad
We can never really choose

So, carpe diem, they said
Let us just seize the day
Live the moment
Because we only live once
Might as well enjoy it
 May 2015 Nagilia Melendez
lX0st
They say God is the most important being,
But don't they realize
He's the one
That sends us to Hell?
And don't people understand
That by teaching someone to shoot,
They become vulnerable?
Dramatic irony.
Maybe we should be
More versed in Shakespeare
Than in the Bible.
Maybe then
I wouldn't have so many bullet holes
In my back.
Isn't it ironic,
how we tell others to stay strong,
yet we cant do it ourselves?
Everyone seems to think
I am the “master” at
solving problems but,
I can't even figure out
how to solve my own…
Listening to these depressing songs.
It's ironically giving me the will to be strong,
And I don't mind if they're being played for long.
They're making the oceans of my heart rift,
Letting my soul drift in the cold water.

Staring up into the sun,
Ironically it seems fun.

Dipping in my own sorrow,
Urging me to press play,
Again and again,
Making me feel a little bit insane.

I'm enjoying dwelling in my inexplicable pain,
Making me realize,
That maybe,
Sometimes,
One can be happy by just being sad.
Sometimes,
the decision to
give up,
is made for you.
The slightest change made all the difference.

After you left, suddenly I could
look at the alphabet, and 26 letters
would form into a thousand different
memories, song lyrics became
varying explanations you would never give me,
and you were the scent I woke up to in the morning,
regardless of the fact that
I haven't been close enough
to actually smell you in weeks.
Your entire essence is still encoded within me,
like the most complex sequence the
human mind can dream up,
I have you memorized.
From the scars on your knuckles,
to the marks on your bedroom wall that put them there.
The way the corners of your mouth twitched
whenever you were thinking,
to the small shudder you gave whenever
I ran my hands through your hair,
or the little rasp in your voice when
you needed sleep, but just couldn't get it.
I am not ashamed to say I have
committed it all to memory,
right down to the outward jut
of your otherwise perfect front-teeth,
and the way your hands sometimes
felt like they were a natural born part of me,
because sometimes, it doesn't matter
how it started, or why it stopped,
sometimes, what happens in-between,
just doesn't need forgetting.

The slightest change ended a legacy.
Mark my words
Like you mark calendar,
With a bright red pen,
Because you'll be haunted by them
Like they are the date of your death.
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