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  Dec 2014 Christian HM
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.

this is more of a story than a poem but i like how it came out so leave thoughts & comments please
  Dec 2014 Christian HM
Sal Gelles
It's the worst when you have to convince yourself
that the lies you're laying on everyone else
are the right ways to justifying actions
instead of dealing with a guilty conscience
Is this where you wanna be when Jesus comes back?
It is scary for a writer to not know what to write
it is like you are lost at sea
with no way home
sailing for days on end
no food no water
just you and the fish
If you have any ideas of what i can write please
meesage me
email me at
  Dec 2014 Christian HM
The track is
Like the thoughts in my brain
And the flat line sounds like my heart
Christian HM Dec 2014
Let’s talk about the way my mind is spinning daily.
Morning never feels like evening,
And each day never ends plainly.

Always must there be a shout,
don’t forget to remind me how I’m always wrong,
you never fail to drown me out.

My mother dearest,
once she was, has she now been replaced?
this version be the queerest?

A year of pain
nothing gained,
I’m lost in this endless burning rain.

The boat is breaking,
drifting two ways,
twas difficult decision making.

Let our goodbyes be swift,
praying for the days we say hello,
I’ll greet you with a kiss.

Goodbye, dear mother.
The tears are swelling, my heart is pounding,
better days, we must discover.
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