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I need you, and that's what scares me.
 Nov 2015 shannon stambaugh
Kj
dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.
You are my coffee
Not just in the morning
You keep me awake even at night
With thought of you that's never ending
Thank you for chosing this piece for the Daily.  This is my first so I am so happy, grateful and more inspired to write.
 Nov 2015 shannon stambaugh
Skai
I swore
you were an
engravement on my heart.

I loved you from
a distance,
short of a stop.

You left,
without a
note left in my
pocket.

I have torn
ideas of what we
were and what
have always been.

A flower
that will never
bloom again.

Your touches
are burns on my skin.

A sting that will
not fade.


You were an engravement
that was never on my
heart,
only a memory
on my
skin.
J, I will love you forever.
She was a picture of monotonous monochrome.
She was deathly quite in one jaunty home.
She lied in wait of eyes that could see through her bleakness.
One who could see the beauty in her , beyond her illusory mess.
People gazed at her and noticed the lack of chroma.
Then a man , destitute of vision , approached and followed her aroma.
He gazed at her with the touch of his finger.
And time stopped as he started to linger.
His gaze took him , in the depths of her beauty.
And she spilled colors and made him sooty.
With no vision he espied her coloration.
and world was hysterical
at their love in
such
excommunication*.
---

if you peel back the onion
be prepared to cry



SoulSurvivor
(C) 11/23/2015
TRUTH
Thanks to Reinna M B
January cold desolate;
February all dripping wet;
March wind ranges;
April changes;
Birds sing in tune
To flowers of May,
And sunny June
Brings longest day;
In scorched July
The storm-clouds fly
Lightning torn;
August bears corn,
September fruit;
In rough October
Earth must disrobe her;
Stars fall and shoot
In keen November;
And night is long
And cold is strong
In bleak December.
What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow:
What are brief? today and tomorrow:
What are frail? Spring blossoms and youth:
What are deep ? the ocean and truth.
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