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Every word gets me closer
Each answer draws me near
My sand is falling, crashing, piling
In the hourglass of my tears

The pile is quickly growing
Postcards and letters by my bed
Each day they harass and heckle me
Clouding up my head

Torn apart and bleeding
Wounds never seem to heal
Every time my plans are set
Emotion breaks the deal

This is getting rather old
And my time is running out
I sign my name and slam the cover
Terrified by doubts
on the other hand is a peace symbol,
              on the other hand is my fist.
on the other hand is seasons greetings,
              on the other hand you're on my
                                         naughty list.
on the other hand is love sweet love,
              on the other hand is hatred with
                                                 a twist.
on the other hand is a blanketing darkness,
              on the other hand, in sunlight I'll
               bargain your soul in a will-o'-the-wisp
Me
I know how I see myself
but
I can't stop myself from wondering

who am I in the eyes of everyone else?

when someone asks me a question
during a discussion in CWP
and everyone hears me
as i stumble over my words
in the center of that quiet room,
trying to answer the simple question-
"how does that makes you feel?"
and i wonder,
how does my stumbling and stuttering
make them feel,
about me?
does it change anything?

Or when i go to bed
thinking about
the conversations i've had during the day
and wondering how those friends see me.

I've never asked,
never had the guts.

My self esteem has always been low
I've always hated myself,
Sometimes i just hope
the smiles are true,
the friendships, true.

I've never asked

Who am I?




©Brandon Webb
2012
It's rough, but i had to get that off my chest. It doesn't even express half of what it's supposed to, definitely gonna have to edit or re-write this.
Sometimes I hesitate to touch you after
The beads of sweat
The sticky sheets
The heavy stench
The shape of your face in the pillow
All mirrored in the panting of your breath
And I can’t help but feel like it wasn’t enough
Like I’m not enough
And that’s why it’s done
Why you’re static and disabled
Why you don’t look at me
And So I just sit and wait for something
                Nothing
To happen

And then I remember how you laid me down
The unraveling of clothes
The heat in the room
Those words you uttered
Under your breath and against my neck
And even below my stomach
And then I realize it was enough
I am enough
You’re moving a little
And looking at me right in the eyes
And so I just sit and wait for nothing
Because something already happened
mothers and fathers, without their child.
siblings, without their brothers and sisters.
the young and the innocent, killed in an act of anger and hatred
by a man who didn't even know their first name.
26 families with presents under a tree, never to be opened.
futures and potential, never to be fulfilled.
promises, regrets, last-words and mistakes.
these are the things that 26 families will be remembering this holiday season.
A time for joy and celebration, only a reminder
of the deepening hole in their hearts.
praying for all those effected by the Newtown massacre.. my heart goes out to you and your families. I can't imagine not having my little sister come home from school one day.. it's heartbreaking. rest in peace
I had a dream last night
                                          




            ­                                                    I lost you

You ended us


                                                          Al­l I know is I broke

Knowing there could never be

                                                           Another you and me

I couldn't  do anything

                                              To escape from the nightmare

Except wake up

                               Because I can't even live in dreams


If I don't have you.
 Dec 2012 Nigel Obiya
Tim Knight
A well cured woman with
tied back hair and
a Mac for fashion,
with also a mac for all weather action,
sat across from me on the train.

Probably sexually active and
without a doubt physically attractive,
she wore morals not money.
PETA badges peppered her lapel,
as she toyed with the check-in details
for the Four Seasons Hotel.
Never will I forget her scent;
high class, high art, high culture,
all distilled within a single
sculpture of smell.
My word, how she spoke so softly,
on the phone or too herself,
even when she asked me for help.

Definitions aren't embodied
in a person that often.
Maybe ex-girlfriends define hell,
but sitting-on-a-train-Mac-user
personified beauty, love,
and the everlasting man seducer.
From www.coffeeshoppoems.com/
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