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 May 2018 Sierra Blasko
celesti
i wrote you
a letter every day
letters to tell you
just how i feel

written in neat, curved
writing i told you
just how sweet
i thought you were
how you made my heart
glow

letters in which i wrote
with various colors of ink
pouring out my whole being
to you

i wrote you
a letter every day.

i wrote you letters in which
i told you how you made me
bloom.

eventually
i found myself
pressing harder on
the paper
than i had before.

creating tears in them
similar in shape
and size
as the ones
inside of me.

i began to send
letters
with creases
and bumps
and stains
splattered with tears

pouring
from my eyes

as i wrote
the anger
bubbling within me.

my last letter
addressed to you
contained
no words

but was blank.
because
i had none that

could reach
as far

and deep

into the cracks
of my
heart

to describe
just
what you

had left
of me.
a draft i decided to finish because it took a totally different turn than originally intended.
0 followers?

Dear New Poet:

Then I'm your man,
your very own
Northern star,
one leg up of a
3 legged stool,
upon which all,
we, enthroned poets,
the world-over,
do rule

the honor you
bequeath me  
to be,
a first follower,

your very own
first responder,

cannot be
disdained
nor
diminished

this case,
this birth,
novice revival,
heart transplant,
makes it
the greatest
to be the first—

the quencher
of your thirst
so long in the parching,
the throat burnt

by a desert sojourn
of a now ended,
forty years

so come to me!

message me
a message,
find me a find,
your poem so fine,
I here now vow,
our embrace will
ne’er be broken

give me this
honorific!

let us together
be terrific,
raise our glasses,
arms entwined
toasting you  
all that mind and 
breast of yours,
bursting full of 
future~contains,
the full release of, 
bringing longer life
to us both

I am a father.
I am a grandfather.
I am a First Follower.
I am a First Responder,
for all who need a leg up,
so step upon my heart,
the first step upon a ladder
with no top, no end ensighted

my legs are as old as time, but,
measure me not by the rings and 
the metered scales of gray hair aging,
shock of white, a cain mark, wizard-wizened

but by the muscles
of my deep affection,
the solemnity of this,
my irrevocable promise

this,
the blessing
we both earn and make
when you write,
while we wait
in quiet attendance -
for all your good works,
your kept promises

Blessed
are You Lord our God, 
Ruler of the Universe
who has given us life, 
sustained us until now,
allowing
the reader and the writer, to reach,
meet, embrace and
greet this day,
this new born poem,
with hallelujahs

                                         together
love to chat & encourage new poets
 May 2018 Sierra Blasko
Carolina
The mind of that girl is a pain sanctuary
whose aching decreases due to a world that's imaginary.

From home she goes out to get away,
and all those nights in stranges she relies.

The soft morning breeze
tenderly dries the tears in her cheeks,
and childishly it peeks
through her bloodshot eyes looking for a trace of peace.

Nobody could really tell
if she, bones and flesh, is still alive
or if she's just a wanderer ghost.
Probably the only one of her kind.

The dark circles under her eyes
are a proof of the restless crying nights.

The tangled auburn messed up hair
tells she didn't sleep at home, but no one cares.

Picking up flowers on the way back home,
humming songs that once made her feel whole.
She rests for a few hours and once awake she grabs a pen,
she writes down a poem before she gets drunk again.

Somehow she finds calm
in the simple things of life,
and she tries not to think
about the coldness in her eyes.

Barely getting through, day by day,
trying not to be absorbed by all the grey.

Amassing countless heartbeats
to the final point where life she quits.
 May 2018 Sierra Blasko
mari j
i am so small
compared to the mountains
i am so little
compared to the sea
i am so tiny
in comparison to the islands
and i am so large
compared to what i thought i would be
Eight letters,
Three words,

I love you

I didn't know its worth,
Till I met you.
my anxious thoughts are
a flock of birds
focusing on a worry
and swarming it
consuming it
and carrying it with them
but now they are
scattered
a storm has come through
sweeping them around
and around
where they are so scattered
they focus no more
and I can’t decide
whether the clear, direct anxiety
or the dull, all-consuming anxiety
is better
but i still hope
the birds soon flock together
again
I’m scared to admit the storm might be depression
Sometimes I wonder
if we were really meant to be,
if our irregular edges
wouldn't fit better elsewhere,
if our promises weren't made
by two totally different people.
But then I remember,
there's no such thing as "meant to be",
we weren't molded as two
completely fulfilled entities in one,
people change,
and love can and will,
be found where chemistry strikes.
But our partnership is a choice.

And maybe it was foolish to choose
to anchor two seaworthy ships,
both headed for adventure
on opposite seas
so early in their journeys.
And yet, there are so many
places I would not have been,
things I would not have felt, and
conversations I would not have had,
without you.

Not all days are smooth sailing,
and I still intend to see other shores,
but we know that now,
and we have each others' oars.
We belong to no one,
And yet, I'm yours.
 May 2018 Sierra Blasko
mk
~

who came first
the art or the artist?

i find myself
humming to your favorite songs
and wondering if i love
the music or the person behind it.

i was never big on bollywood movies
until you asked me to watch one with you
is it the plot and the dances that i enjoy watching
or is the memories of having watched it with you?

everytime i choose an outfit to buy
i think back to the colors you liked to see me in
i end up wearing shades of white and lining my eyes with black
perhaps to look beautiful, perhaps to look beautiful for the ghost of you.

my taste in art has changed vastly
i am in love with the culture, color and music
of the east and it makes me wonder
whether it is the brown skin of the people
or the brown skin of you
that has left its impression on me.

who came first
the art or the artist?

who came first
the love or the beloved?

who came first
me or you?

~
sometimes it feels as if you created me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrdRHsIkK_c
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