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Doghouse Poem

Not knowing how to say things
I sometimes make mistakes
Regret the words that I use
And hope it's not to late

I ask you for forgiveness
For actions that were made
Knowing that I understand
The hurt inside I gave

I sometimes hide my feelings
But hope that you will see
What it is I feel inside
How much you truly mean

Please know you are so special
Your love I hold so true
I give my thanks to God above
Each day that I have you


Carl Joseph Roberts
Ok, make this trend and add it to some collections so I can get out of my doghouse for a stupid thing I may have said.
 Nov 2014 Selio Aras
Harley Hucof
Shirley!
Shirley, Shirley bo Birley Bonana fanna fo Firley
Fee fy mo Mirley, Shirley!

Lincoln!
Lincoln, Lincoln bo Bincoln Bonana fanna fo Fincoln
Fee fy mo Mincoln, Lincoln!

Come on everybody!
I say now let's play a game
I betcha I can make a rhyme out of anybody's name
The first letter of the name, I treat it like it wasn't there
But a B or an F or an M will appear
And then I say bo add a B then I say the name and Bonana fanna and a
fo
And then I say the name again with an F very plain
and a fee fy and a mo
And then I say the name again with an M this time
and there isn't any name that I can't rhyme

Arnold!
Arnold, Arnold bo Barnold Bonana fanna fo Farnold
Fee fy mo Marnold Arnold!
A song by shirley ellis ( the name game)
very fun to hear and play lol
Try it with your name
Content with tangible feelings or small talks
Bothered by a handless palm or quiet walks
Love is destructive through silence
Were all just desperate for someones guidance
 Nov 2014 Selio Aras
unwritten
she was a poet,
and he was her pen.
in him,
she always found words to write,
songs to sing,
thoughts to think.

he'd smile,
and kiss her softly,
and say,
"write me a poem."

and she would.
she'd put poe,
and whitman,
and shakespeare to shame,
and she'd write a poem that made his eyes water.

she'd compare him
to a rose with no thorns,
a book with no end,
a world with no poverty --
the things we all wish for,
but can never attain.

//

he asked her one day,
"what am i?"
and so she picked up her pen,
and began the usual:
you are the shining sun after a hurricane,
with rays that open the eyes of the blind.

but he stopped her after those two lines,
and said that this time,
he didn't want any metaphors,
or similes,
or analogies.
he wanted the truth.

and so on that night,
as he slept,
the poet picked up her pen,
and she wrote.

she wrote,
then thought better of it,
then started over again,
and this cycle continued well into the early hours of the morning,
until suddenly,
she wrote, frantic,
if i can't love you for what you really are,
have i ever really loved you at all?


this, too,
she thought better of,
condemning it to the trash.

the next morning the poet was gone,
her final work a mere two words:

i'm sorry.

(a.m.)
this is more of a story than a poem but i like how it came out so leave thoughts & comments please
I sit here in silence
trying to write
a task that will see me
far into the night.

Struggling with lyric,
wrestling with word
finding all my idea’s
absolutely absurd.

My mind a fiasco,
scrambled and locked.
Sentences stumbled.
My talent is blocked.

Though I sit concentrating,
my mind being a fighter
but there still is no tapping
on this old typewriter.

If just one idea
should reveal to me
an happier person
I know you would see.

If some lyrical phrase
would just come to my mind,
no longer amnesiac
and no longer blind.

I would wear out my fingers
typing what I desire.
Digits covered in plasters
whilst machine is on fire.

I would pick up a pencil
so I may carry on,
scribbling madly
till the lead is all gone.

But alas there is nothing
not even a grain
or anything else
floating round in my brain.

My nerves they are screeching,
my sinews in shock.
I pray never again
do I get writers block.
28th July 2013
Sometimes, we seem to lose sight of who we think that we are;
Something can happen, and it feels as if we are broken into pieces.

You forget who you are,
You forget why certain things in life had or have meaning to you,
You forget how to smile with the same enthusiasm as you once had,
You forget why you found happiness around certain people or in certain events,
You forget your reason for living.

Yet, you pick yourself back up, give yourself a pat on the back and carry on.

You remember how to smile,
You remember how to laugh,
You remember how to be yourself,
You remember how to live again, and go on with your life as if nothing had ever happened.

In each relapse and recovery, however, a small piece of yourself is lost in the process. You cannot feel it, but you can see it when you take a step back and reflect upon the past.

An old habit is replaced with a new fixation,
A new characteristic has taken over in your personality,
An old friend is no longer on speaking terms with you,
A plethora of old notes and keepsakes were destroyed in an erstwhile fit of rage,
A sweet memory turned sour by a recent event.

Each time we fall into this cycle, we lose a small piece of ourselves.
We change, sometimes for the better, but sometimes for the worse.
Some never leave the cycle, while others simply relive it one too many times.

Valuable people, places, memories, recollections, and thoughts lost to the past, pieces of you that you tried to keep but ended up losing in the process. You don't want to change, you don't want to leave these pieces behind.

But each time you break you forget to pick up the pieces that fall off of you, or you lose them. You can never fully heal and return to the way you were before you shattered into shards. Without certain fragments, you can never be put back together the same way.

Yet, people grow, people change. These missing pieces grow back and manifest in new and strange ways, and it isn't all anxiety and melancholy.

Eventually, we can learn to live, love, learn, act, and behave freely once more; we can use the new pieces of ourselves to change into something great, new, exiting. We can flourish in another form, because sometimes, we are meant to be something other than what we had originally started out to be.

Sometimes, we seem to lose sight of who we think that we are;
But then something can happen, and it feels as if we are made whole again.
 Nov 2014 Selio Aras
Just Melz
I say "Hello?"

Automated Female Voice: (you know the one)

"All of our representatives are currently busy with other calls, please hold. Your call is important to us."




"*****!!.... YOU called ME!!!"


*click
I get these calls on a regular basis...  Like, seriously...  Don't call me then try to put me on hold like I care who the ******* are...  ****..  ****** me off...
Kiss me
with every breath
you're willing
to deprive yourself
of.
It's an addiction
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