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Disgruntled, deranged, you scream, insane. What is this game that you are playing? 

You cry, I stare, you fry your hair, go to the party, I don't care.

Siting at home, I wait alone. No calls or text, thinking what you're doing breaks my bones.

You say you're fine. That you are mine, anything I want you'll do on a dime.

But when I ask, you make that look. So now I wonder, what's a promise? They ****.

And they ask me why good guys say bye, and walk away when you turn their warm hearts grey.

So go, have fun. I just wanted one, one day for us to be just us.

But now you're there with ones you don't know. When you do return I'll have to go.... Forever
5
here's how it goes:
i wrote your name on my heart
in solid black sharpie,
and i can't get it out.
Sure, the big days are hard. Turning 23 while you remain forever 22. It’s almost like time is forcing me to move on as the seasons change. But everyone expects those days to be tough. They’re prepared for with family visits and pre-planned activities. What’s hard is 3pm coffee breaks and 2am wake-ups, reaching for your hand and finding cold blankets. Making an extra cup just to pour it down the drain. When I drive alone from place to place I find the limbo between activities is what makes me ache. Not the forced smiles or the fake laughter, but the moments where reality settles and there’s static where the smiles used to be. I am forced to look in the mirror and see only my shadow beside me - no one else.
Please find and take heed
Words written by a poet to read
Words of feelings that flow
That come from within the soul

Some words so hard to write
Never before shown the light
Treasured words that are shared
Given by a poet now bared

One poem reading a million others
Words of sorrow or for lovers
Each poet, to find, to be inspired
Words of passion that are fired

Give every poet just that chance
Let those words come and dance
For those that come from the dark
Allow those words leave their mark

Read them and let them be seen
Understand what their words will mean
A million poets writing in the sun set
Writing with a heart we will never forget
Copyright © Chris Smith 2009
the dance I do with
myself
somehow, deliberately stomping on
my own feet.

stopping just before the gap oh-
I mind it
don't mind if I
do pass right THROUGH it.

shoot the foot? I have holes
to the stars.

I could hang hooks on the wounds I've
pierced in my nervous little soul.

Confident bark, blink and nod.

"Padlocked and sealed," I'll say.

But through my teeth, raw, I know I'm just treading mud
and banking on the Gods.
copyright fhw, 2015
To live life in intensive clarity
you must prepare yourself a lonely house.
A friend or three, of course. Perhaps a spouse
or three, as well, though even they won't see
how deep the silent spring that feeds your soul.
Intensity, in truth, is rarely loud
or boastful; more like one who's been allowed
perspective broad enough to see the whole.
Many come to visit, few will stay.
Some believe one lesson will suffice
until they understand in full the price,
the cost it takes to find and walk your Way.
For wisdom's earned not doing as you're bid
by those who knew much better than you did.
You can order peace of mind for carry-out.  In fact, it's most strongly advised.
We seem like strangers
When around people,
We don't talk
Need a hit ?
Or a fix ?
We'll call each other
When I say I want to die;
I want to fall down at your side
I want you
I want you to want me back in ways we both know wouldn't be accepted
I want to say I love you,
but I stop myself
So long for now
So long.
Jake. <3
"You should love everybody, until they're dead."
If this is the case,
Why doesn't society accept every race?
People have relationships, young or old.
Whether labeled 'bronze, or gold."
It's in our morals to abide by the law
How do we do this, yet love them all?

There is this girl, in love with a man.
He's serving life for kicking her in the stomach again,
and again.
Her parents warned her, loving him just isn't right,
Yet she still hasn't given up this fight.

Speaking of fights,
And unequal rights-
There's a man who joins in riots;
Many years he claimed to be straight,
Although his family, never would buy it.
He's perfectly content with the man he's now with.
He still has to listen to so many myths, rumors, untrue about him, about how he's ******* with his brother's friend 'Tim".

And the girl, loving and accepting of people,
all ranges.
She's stuck in the midst of many ****** changes.
-
She's becoming a man to be with her love.
Another female named Jennica.
Jennica's gay and has been for years,
She's always been judged,
called a queer.

The 37 year old with the nasty beer gut,
Always looking for young girls to ****.
Had *** with his sister for too many years.
It brought his mother so many tears.
Even though he knew it was wrong;
He's always remember the day she killed herself,
and became long gone.

A Mexican boy sneaks over to her house at night,
after her mother tucks her in real tight.
They both know the connection they share isn't right.
All they want is to be honest, open, and true.
How can they do that?
If only they knew.

The young man with the prejudice dad,
always telling him that ******* are bad.
He loves a black girl very deeply,
if his dad knew,
he'd kick him out,
onto the street to beg and be needy.
He'd be abandoned, never allowed in his childhood Home again.

So many things prevent us from love,
all from the past,
Like Race Riots, Slavery, and the Holocaust.
People forget all about the Great Melting ***.

There's a girl, her family perfectly content with money.
Fell in love with a man who's quite funny.
He's very poor, even un-adored.
His mom was the town's ***** back in '94.
Sold her body for cigarettes in the back of the store.
He doesn't know his dad, all because of that.
She loves the man.
He loves her back.
She just doesn't understand how to hold a healthy relationship with men.
He just doesn't want to be used again.

Another girl, loves a man.
She was consumed by drugs,
when it all began.
It started with a book,
A form of art.
Written and published by Susanna Kaysen.
He pulled at every string of her cold heart.
She told him everything, He showed her all of him.
Gave her it all, from deep within.
He didn't judge the scars on any of her limbs.
Now all she desires is to be with him.

There's a boy,
Eighteen to be exact,
trying his hardest to keep a fifteen year old girl intact.
He loves her,
She loves him.
But they can't be together, it feels like ever.
One day she knows, she'll be with him forever.
Elope,
get the demon off from around her throat.
The demon, her own heathen self,
when she's with him it's the best she has ever felt.

A teenage girl, pregnant by her dad's brother,
Scared to death to tell her own mother.
Yet, they've always loved each-other.
He suggests an abortion, for they're unstable.
She decides against it;
For he's her obsession.
As she gifts her mom a bottle of Johnson's baby lotion.

This is one of the things that people don't see, the same way as me.
Everyday problems, just like these.

Please, understand,
Love is love.
Whether it be accepted or not.
Love like this, cannot be bought,
It can't be borrowed,
Traded,
Or Stole.
Lovers like these are Pure and Bold.
- Corrina Jay Haynes
4/24/15
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