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I did not know
that first poem
of this day would be
a love poem meant for thee

you coffee fed, snack too,
talking chattingly with a
woman bff, in the sunny parlor,
friend, sisterly, you smother with affection

you are a model, a star for the UN,
you care, and take care of the sad ones,
who knew but lack, the now passion of
a steady lover, you step in, a pledged step-sister

on top of the boon of companionship,
you two play and entertain and chatter~banter,
like only two women can, for hours, without end,
an amicable amazing miracle, to a man who cannot same

for a man, it is different, we love our brothers,
but silence is welcome, understood, appreciated,
we could fish contentedly side by side, guffaw, share
a philosophical nugget, a good story, a back slapping

and I down the hall hear you both, and wonder how,
just how, you two go on endlessly and never run our
of affection, and mutual attention to each others needs,
and here I am writing a love poem, kind kid,  but different,


but not really, for my heartbeats exude love
for the person you are…a truer friend no human
could ever admire more….
i wasn't ready for you
and i knew you weren't ready for me.
i was scared to show you the mess between my ribs and the hurricane inside my head. i was afraid you'd cower and run.
but they say time, time is the true narcotic for pain
and they were right.
because now i am more than willing to cut my heart open knowing it would only bleed your name
i am willing to tear every layer of my skin to show you what i'm made of.
everything that makes me, me.
my scars, my fears, my hopes and my dreams
my "night pieces" ; the pieces i only share with the moon.
i will show them all.
because i want you to know that i am not perfect
(i am tired of trying to be)
i am a storm beneath flesh and bones
i am made up of tiny cracks and holes that could never be filled
and they are what makes me whole.
i will be your biggest tidal wave.
but darling, if you accept me for everything that i am
and everything that i'm not,
i promise to love you like you've never been loved before.
Philophobia is the abnormal, persistent and unwarranted fear of falling in love or emotional attachment.
The poems doesn't speak to you.
It sings, it whispers, it screams.

The poem isn't going anywhere.
It dances; glides or crawls.

The poem isn't written.
It is cried, bled or shivered onto

Paper. The poem doesn't care.
It's just there. Where it belongs.

It doesn't mind or like.
It loves, adores or despises from its

Soul. The poems isn't created.
It blesses the poet with its birth.
1.  No matter how much sleep I get , I am internally exhausted.
2. Every time some one breaks my heart I find myself.
3. The rain gives me permission to grieve.
4. I've never seen anything as put together as your face and those blue moons.
5. I am scared to let someone new touch me. I don't want another reason to miss your hands.
6. I don't think I've ever bared naked my heart. I don't know how persuasive that would be.
7. I mean I don't know what staying feels like and I don't want you to leave because I've shown you.
8. I am both beautiful and broken.
9. I don't have to put together these pieces all by myself for me to be deemed worthy.
10. Too much of the wrong thing will weaken you.
11.Too much of the right thing might make you forget that not all women are good. Not all hearts yield with no conditions.
12. I hide because the right person might find me, want to listen, and I may pour over.
13. My biggest fear is being too much. So it always ends up looking like "not enough" and I am sorry.
14. Please forgive my human.
15. Sometimes these stitches come apart and I end up forgetting to remember I'm not pain anymore, I am not turning corners searching and waiting for him.
16. I want to break and come together like ocean.
17. I'll know you when I break and come together like the ocean.
18. I want you to see my October
19. I want you to see my October and stay a while.
Forward is a difficult direction to move towards.

Walking away from him is moving forward
But staying with him is moving backward
And ten steps towards the bottle is moving backward
And ten steps away from the bottle is moving forward.
So how do you know what way to point your compass when the direction you're told to go in  is completely arbitrary?

When I was younger moving forward meant success.
Getting A’s and B’s and staying out of trouble.
But as I grew up the little details that used to be irrelevant started twisting the path and what was once a straight shot is now a complicated maze of dead ends and trolls under bridges.

Moving forward was put on hold when puberty set in and the idea of body image made me obsessed with every mark and shape of my skin. When boys were no longer gross but objects of affection. When friends became more than friends and best friends was synonymous with jealousy.

Moving forward became more fuzzy when a new substance was introduced to me that made walking in a straight line more difficult than usual but when it got dark I wasn’t so scared of what lay on either side of me.

Moving forward became more interesting when you could inhale giggles and laziness or melt rainbows and dreams onto your tongue.

Moving forward was stopped completely the second time my best friend was ***** and I had to leave my path to hold her hand as she tried to move forward on her own.

Moving forward slowed once I made it back to my own road but checked behind my shoulder every few seconds because I now understood that there are really ****** people in this world.

Moving forward complicated itself when love became the ultimate distraction.
When I stopped mid journey to take the scenic route in another human being and thought I was still moving forward but actually was getting hopelessly lost.
Then he left me in the thickest part of the forest and I started to move backwards to retrace sunken steps in a ground I was too naïve to realize was muddy the first time I had walked it.

And I have to come to the realization that moving on and moving forwards  are not the same thing because my feet can place themselves one in front of the other all day long but it does not mean that my heart drags far behind in a state of helpless nostalgia that moving due north will not solve.

Soon enough distractions no longer sway me from my path.
My surroundings are a blur because everything that makes me full of light I have already passed and I am told over and over again to keep moving forward.

So I will no longer stray.

I will keep my eyes on the horizon and hope the soles of my shoes along with my spirit do not wear down before I arrive at my destination.
I have no idea of where I am going but maybe if I keep moving in the direction that is “forward” I will get there
And maybe one day arrive somewhere that makes me feel whole again.
kind of a slam poem i think. more evocative when spoken but thought i would share.
I cut myself on the future
I thought of kissing your picture
I detached myself from
lullabies and sorry eyes
only to realize:

I want to make love to you in November,
just before the empty of December.
Where snow blankets
and suffocating leaf-beds
aren't the only dreams
to fall asleep in our heads.

I could hear your voice trip
as my hands started to drip
around your hips and thighs-
You could tranquilize
with your lips and byes.

You look so sleepy-headed
Many words I have threaded
to weave a dream
desperately
but you prefer my
reality.
 May 2014 Rodney Mendoza
Hayleigh
Take all that love and care,
You have to share,
and give them to the person who needs and deserves them most,
the ghost
of yourself.
The sensuous drool from the luscious lips
Dripping on your chin, and confluence
At the *****, where, eternal love resides
The glistening stream of consciousness
Only the two conscious souls are waiting for
To take a leap of faith, and drenching the souls
With the crystal clear consciousness of love
Where passion resides at the bottomless bed
Entwined like the eel, slithering to further depths
Exploring the pearls of sensuality, cocooned in shells
Hidden away from the worlds, only for the One to
Take away all the spoil, the bandit of the heart
Who uses the sword, with not the intent to ****
But he uses it deftly to rip open more passion
Leaving the mermaid wanting for more
She is still unsatiated, and the game has just begun
Gasping for breath, underwater,
In synchronization like the ballet, they both emerge
For a while, oblivious of the world
Concerned only about the treasures, deep down
And together they dive down, again,
The bandit is always eyeing the treasure to be exploited
Ready to drown, along with treasures of the heart





© Amitav (Radiance)
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