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Shanay Love Feb 2015
Write about me
Hold the pencil (as if)
It were my waist
Whisper of your mishaps
as  if I were a page

And as your guilt trips
exude the  bitterness
of your heart...
allow me to explain
why you're in my thoughts

Graphite can decipher
yet so little
To write about you
(Your feelings aloof)
Would  be the story
at minimal

So, I hold the Pencil
Loosely, without claim
I refuse to explain lust
Next Time I write,
It'll be about us
I wrote this during my instructional focus class.  Its about this boy... He writes too; hopefully , one day it'll be about us.  For now, we'll be friends until he can forget about his ex.  I doubt it.
  Oct 2014 Shanay Love
Morgan sb
There are two types of people
The heart breakers, and the broken-hearted
I cannot be the heart breaker
It pains  my body, as fear pulses through my veins
knowing i will be broken again
You ripped the muscle from my chest
And left a scar that bleeds each time
you kiss her, touch her, think of her
don't kiss me, don't touch me, and don't think of me
It aches and aches
Why have i let you break me?
There are two types of people
heart breakers, and the heartbroken
how can you destroy me by loving her?
How can you break me and remain unshattered?
Why can i never be the breaker
Ripping the souls form others chests
Turning their advances into worthlessness
turning their love into loathing
turning their hearts to stone
like you did mine.
Shanay Love Sep 2014
I Humble Myself,
My knees on the ground
Silence before his greatness
My head is bowed
Riches cannot protect us
All will be destroyed
But my God is merciful,
leaving the good untouched.
  Jul 2014 Shanay Love
Jorge Love
Are you through being lonely?
Tearless , hiding yourself.
Searching for what lies false within.

Singing songs of love.
Catching feeling from them,
But never knowing them.

Does your heart ache beneath your ribs,
Yearning for someone uniquely yours.
Someone finding you lovely to love.

Do you tire of being all fire,
Quenched in icy loneliness
Still loving... But loving no one.

I am sick of being grey
Shimmering colors wavering,
Left half alive and fraying

I suffer! sick of beating my breast.
Cursing my heart for still feeling.
Telling myself love is lost;

and not believing...
Shanay Love Jul 2014
laid with oblivion;
We didn't love
with the same intentions.

The softness of my
skin roughened;
Your touch lacked

The whisper of my
voice grew volume;
His voice lost consolation.

       But Please,

Acknowledge me,
Even if I become
any less beautiful,

  Jun 2014 Shanay Love
i know you look at yourself
and see years of desperate shame and avoidance
despair pooling in your eyes
regret slipping out of your mouth
through clenched teeth
which match your fists
you believe you are an unnatural disaster
you are a casualty of a ruthless life
you are a flower
blooming in the middle of winter
in the darkest storm.
you could be falling
and still find time to catch me on your way down
if you were drowning you would give away your last breath to a stranger
simply because you saw them smiling as you sunk down deeper and deeper
remember, to catch yourself first
remember to catch your breath first
remember yourself
  Jun 2014 Shanay Love
Sally A Bayan
I never got to meet my father...
He died when I was nine months old,
But his presence, I always felt
While I was growing up,
Even up to this day...

He would often visit me in my dreams,
Told me not to worry or despair,
Took my hand,
Told me I could go with him..
Which I almost did...

A few times, in high school
I felt a light push on my back
When my Home Economics teacher
Almost caught me nodding...I was
Too bored, to focus on her sewing lessons...

I was always saved from falling
Each time I climbed the guava tree...
I feel some kind of force stopping me,
Standing ahead of me,
Whenever I cross the street, even now...

My late aunt said she found me
Looking up and giggling
When at three or five years old,
I played by myself beside
My father's tall and sturdy book case...

I see his face when I go through
His dwindling collection of
Edgar Allan Poe books, including his
Law books, and a few western pocketbooks left,
All, with mottled pages now...

The matrimonial bed he shared
With my late mother is still in use...
His portrait is hung on our wall...
Today, the fifteenth of June, his birthday,
I look through his eyes, and-----

In silence, I greet him,
"Happy birthday, papa,
Happy Father's Day, as well."
In my mind, my father lives,
And my own stories of him therein dwells...


Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***Happy Father's Day to all fathers here on HP! ***
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