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  Apr 2016 m i a
Peter Balkus
Poet lives amongst people,
in the land of sadness and happiness, where they live,
he dresses up like them, speaks like them,
in their language he had to learn.
But when he is on his own, he speaks in own tongue
to not to forget it.
He speaks with the dead, he keeps in touch with them,
to make sure everything goes according to plan.

He is afraid to tell what he sees,
in case people put him down and disbelieve.
He forces himself to keep his mouth shut,
he knows the price. He can't just die,
he's on a mission. So carefully
he smuggles in the truth in his poetry.
  Mar 2016 m i a
Rina
"Take a hug and pass it on"
m i a Mar 2016
since when did being sad,
become beautiful?*
since when did tears,
become beautiful?
since when did cuts,
become beautiful?
since when did mental illnesses
become beautiful?
Since when did depression
become beautiful?
when did all of this become, beautiful?
no.
i want you to think that when i smile, and when i am happy is beautiful.
i want you to think that when i laugh, it is beautiful.
i want you to think that when my hair dances with the wind that it is beautiful.
I want you to think that when my eyes reflect the moon, that that is beautiful.
Sadness, pain, and everything does not define my beauty.
It should be my happiness that does, *
shouldn't it?
; this refers to anyone. whether your a boy, a girl, genderfluid or whatever. Sadness shouldn't define how beautiful you are.
m i a Mar 2016
sometimes i have to breathe in,
and breathe out,
so i can remind myself not
to doubt
my existence
so i can remind myself of
the distance
between my room and my
mother's
so i can remind myself to not give her another
gray hair
so i can remind myself that
someone out there
probably does care
so that i can remind myself that
i matter,
though my heart
may shatter
and the art
within me probably
won't matter
sometimes i have to breathe in,
and breathe out,
so i can remind myself that i am alive
and that i can survive.
just breathe, you can do it.
m i a Mar 2016
you're lovely

*he said
and suddenly
her cold heart
was dead
and the art
within her
begin to bloom
like an april flower.
in which a girl finds love again.
m i a Mar 2016
he was a masterpiece,
you can even say
that he was much more vaulable than a timepiece,
and everyday
he would always seem
to make my heartbeat increase.*

for he was such a lovely masterpiece.
darling, you are a lovely work of art.
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