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 Jan 2015 Passion fire hope
I love how I can see things in your eyes
There's the obvious blues
The silvers
All churned together like ethereal ice cream
So heart wrenchingly bright
Vacuums of cool space that **** the air from my lungs
Shimmering like the Pacific
But there's other things too
When we stand underneath the tree outside my window
Strung with golden Christmas lights
Drops of buttery sunlight on this cold, white marble
They pool in your eyes
Gold and silver coins at the bottom of a fountain
Not a ***** tile fixture in the mall food court
But the geometric bursting pools of the Louvre in Paris
Blue and slick and fresh
I can see feelings
When I stroke your face with my fingertips
I see smiles in your eyes
They match the pink smile of your lips
But I like all three best together
The TriForce of cuteness
I can see love in your eyes
They don't need to be open
I kiss your forehead and feel the furrows of your shutting lids meet my lips
I pull away and whisper I love yous until
You're squinting so hard I worry
But I run my thumb along your wrinkles
And you soften like clay
And your eyes open up
And they **** the air from my lungs
And you kiss it back into me
will you still
love me

when i choose
the comfort
of blades

instead of your arms?
if he crawls will you crawl too?
if he falls will you fall too?
he cries in silence can you not see his tears?
all kinds of hope dissapears.

no one sits with him cause he doesnt fit in,
but you feel like you do when you make fun of him.
it's not like you hate him and want him to die
but he might go home and think suicide

no one talks to him he feels so alone,
he's in so much pain to survive on her own.
he lives on the edge old enough to decide,
his brother who wants to be him is just nine

but she will be gone too soon

Hello my name is Anorexia
I will make you an obsessive freak
You will hate yourself
I will make you hungry and weak

I will turn your meat to bones
You will lose excessive weight
You must be super skinny
Food you must hate

Skinny is perfect
So your diet is strict
You live struggling
Because you are an addict

Do not eat breakfast
The scale numbers matter
Do not eat lunch
Do not get fatter

I promise to make you beautiful
I am your best friend
I will make you so skinny
Even if your life might end
 Aug 2014 Passion fire hope
The shoulders of your shirt are stained with my tears
Because you're not here wearing it
The beauty of a woman
is in the poems she's wrote,
the dreams she's weaved
and all the stories she's told.

The beauty of a woman
is in the adventures she's taken,
the lives she's touched
and all the minds she's awakened.

The beauty of a woman
is in the caring she gives,
the sincerity in her laughter,
and the passion in her griefs.

It's not the expensive clothes she owns,
her body size, the diamonds she's worn.
Measure not the beauty of woman in gold,
for the beauty of a woman is reflected in her soul.
Dedicated to all women out there with an amazing mind and a beautiful soul. We are the gift of nature, soft enough to touch the core of others and strong enough to protect that and those important to us. I love you all. Believe in yourself and the world will believe in your power.

I'm honored to have it as the daily poem.
The WORLD is a poem...

Upon waking up on each new day,
you face a variety of views, of people,
animals, things, events or scenes...
They start to unfold before you,
they capture your eyes and
stimulate your imagination.
It could be a spectacle, a tearjerker,
sometimes, an eyesore...
from the nearest place,
right there in your garden,
reaching out to the farthest in sight...

A rose is a poem in itself,
from its leaves, down to its roots,
to the colors that adorn its whole being
even the thorns on its tough stem
have messages to relay
they are loud verses themselves...

The birds by the trees that greet you
early in the morning,
the geese, always in a huddle,
chatting, honking with the others,
near or far from the water,
those who stray further,
waddle by the nearest puddle,
seemingly interested at first sight of a human being...

The lonely eyed cats and dogs on the streets,
with no roofs on their heads, rain or shine,
just like the homeless people, the street children,
there's a lot to read from their faces..

An after breakfast walk
could take you to the streams ...
walk further and you see the bigger seas,
roam your eyes, to reach those hills and plateaus
all have hidden stories to tell...

The seasons of the year,
slowly shifting from one to the next,
they make themselves known to you
through the changing colors of the leaves,
the hibernation of some animals, the naked trees,
much more of God's miracles are revealed,
amidst your surroundings,
just open your eyes...

The sun, the moon and the stars
the comets and meteors flashing across
a firmament of blue or charcoal black,
give you so much to wonder about...
they, too, are sources of rhymes,
they are a flowing spring
of vital informations
Teeming with inspirations...

Morbid, scary thoughts accompany
a cold coffin, but
maybe a chest of drawers,
an overloaded bag, a blender,
a faded and dilapidated chair, a table,
or the old but firm toothbrush
could generate a lot of positive thoughts...
Even a whole kitchen
would speak if it could,
you just have to pause and see,
feel, listen to what they express
in their silence...

Those bridges you cross
sometimes by car, other times, by foot,
they connect you to distant friends, relatives
or people you've never met, never seen
people who are deprived, abused,
hungry, even killed...
bridges take you to places where a battle is
about to start, or already raging,
where help is needed...but never given...
bridges are brimming with events to share,
they would have spoken...
but they could not,
it is up to you to be sensitive enough
you must be aware, you must know...

Every thing, every one on earth
has a message to impart
All of you are to be their voices...

You should be most grateful,
and love this WORLD you live in
it is a most precious gift from GOD,
You should all be one in saving the source,
a great volume of verses:
this universe....

Save me, now...
I am your poem,
I am the WORLD.


Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
From out of the blue, these words came out.
I am keeping my fingers crossed...
 Aug 2014 Passion fire hope
I love to use words and write
About her. There's so much.

How her lips curl and dance up
Into her smile, or how --
The deep brown in her curls drips
Onto her cheeks in soft freckles -- and
Her deep brown eyes pour into thick
Eyelashes and beneath them --
All her real beauty blossoms

But she can't be captured in words;
Angels were never meant for them.
But I try anyways.

Love inspires stupid things.
 Aug 2014 Passion fire hope
I inhaled deeply, feeling the air rush into every curve of my lungs, strengthened from my cardio and breathing exercises. I pushed the air out of me, tightening my diaphragm. The little puffy dandelion seeds zoomed into the wind, little broom shaped pips spinning through the sky. I could you feel you watching me.

"What'd you wish for?" you asked softly.
I looked at you and leaned in to kiss your cheek. Your thin beard tickled my lips. I pulled away and wiped your cheek off with my thumb. In that moment, every moment of the last year rushed through my mind, every kiss, every poem, every laugh, every movie night, every time I caught you staring, every time I've stared, every time we've started at each other without anything to say besides "I love you", every present, every second, every prayer, every sickness, every thing you've every said.
"I think I need you."
"I love these places. Where I can kiss you without opening my eyes. Where I can see you with my lips."
"I am so infinitely, wonderfully in love with you."

Every tear, every smile, every thing. You were all there was.

"You." I replied.
"You have me."
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