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 Aug 2014 jennifer ann
Yarelis
There are good sounds
and bad sounds.
There are those we want to hear
and those we don't.

There are sounds that make some smile:
     the voice of a person,
     a baby's first cry,
     the melody of a song,
     the chirping of birds in the sky.

There are sounds that make some frown:
     the sound of a gun firing,
     military trumpets at a funeral,
     the sound of a phone ringing
     when it's an unwanted call.

But those that make some frown
also fills others with joy,
and those that make some smile
could be the misery of a young boy.

Sounds can repair,
and sounds can destroy.
8/18/14
 Aug 2014 jennifer ann
k-d
It took me one sleepless night of writing
poems about you 
poems about us
of quietly suffering under the sheets of my bed
of letting the darkness around me enter
of letting desire consume my head.

It took me one sleepless night of writing
to promise I'll always put myself first
to hold my own hand
to lift myself up 
when I'm at my worst.

Because darling, you may have the most tender fingers
But who got me out of the sheets today?
It was myself
because I'm here alone
and you are so many miles          a w a y.
I do not want my heart any more.
Its a burden, filled with grief.
I'm certain it wasn't like this before.
I want to be heartless; I need to feel relief.

Your memory tortures me everyday.
Your smile holds a tight grip on my eyes.
"Please! I just want you to go away,"
But my heart knows I'm full of lies

Are you entertained, watching me languish from above?
Do not worry for I will be seeing you soon, my love.
If I unlocked my pages,
Would you read me?

If I showed you my chapters,
Would you remember my details?

If I opened my heart to you,
Would you accept me?

If I let down my walls,
Would you care for me?

If you ripped one of my pages,
Would you mend me?

If you scratched my cover,
Would you heal me?

If you completed me,
Would you toss me out?

If I didn’t intrigue you enough,
Would I be forgotten about?

If I served my purpose,
Would I be kept near forever?

Or would I return to the shelf?
Collecting dust,
Never again to be cherished or touched.
Until the silk of my pages lose their beauty becoming foxed.
As if I were not recently in your arms.
Enjoying the warmth of fingertips slowly turning my leaves,
Adoring the tender gaze set upon me,
While nearing a closing inevitably,
Why should I break my seal for you?
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