Her distinct voice
Her soft skin
Her pretty eyes
She’s a Woman
She never ceases to surprise

She looks in the mirror
Men marvel at her buxom beauty
But for some reason
Those catcalls were getting to her
She didn’t want to be just a hottie

Her red lips
Her exposed legs
Her protruding hips
Her ***** *******
Is what made her body picturesque

She professed, she knew she was cute
When men looked, she took it as a tribute
But it was getting old
She wanted to be liked for who she was
Instead of fantasizing what she looked like unclothed.

She was smart
She was driven
She had ambition
She’s a woman
She is beautiful.

Because trying too hard is a ticket to Hell,
And the Devil won't take the soul you would sell.
If you walked from LA to a Jupiter moon,
You'd realize that it is not quite yet your doom.
It's something much worse. You are where you're at:
Caught in between peace and a heart attack.
Heartbeat was racing, but the gun did not shoot.
Intent versus action, the argument's moot.

'Once upon a time' and 'Many years ago';
I begin with an idle thinkers' reminisce-
A past, flowing into the future
As a waterfall cascades down the valley
I am delicately delivered,
Intricately fed into the senses of a curious listener-
I am words, sometimes arranged into a ballad,
Sometimes haphazard and tragic;

I'm known by speech and the word of mouth,
My identity laced into the syllables that people whisper,
And sometimes it slips into the conversation out of the blue;
I wonder and wonder,
As I find myself moulded into verses that don't rhyme
I begin to question the veracity of my existence
Dubious as I am, I find-
myself compiled in wrinkled volumes of pale history books,
Sometimes constructively reconstructed, from my toe up to my hood
Fabled into gossips, garnishing lunch and dinner;
My world reduced into words- sometimes a saint, other times a sinner.

I find bits of me scattered around in peoples' lives, bigger stories,
But not a minute passes
When I don't loath or despise,
The shallowness of perception
As my depth is undermined.

Unknown and unfortunately misunderstood,
My story carries on and on-
Masked by words that fail to define,
Who, what and why I am
Slowly ageing and spent away by time.

Alas, I lie untouched:
Abysmal, surrounded by darkness-
Alone, having become
the perfect manifestation of what they'd thought of me,
My words are fiction and so am I,
And this,
this is my story.

(https://theextrainextraordinary.wordpress.com/)

There's a knot in your throat, but it's not so bad.
You used to tremble into the night, sleep,
The sunlight tore you out of your dreams.
You'd wake, and say:
"Is it over yet? Did I wake up?"

"Is it still there?
It's still there."

You used to think
maybe the fear turned you into a piece of art;
maybe laughing for 2 hours made you art.
It didn't make you art.
There aren't any museums around here.

Day-long anxiety attacks,
months, years,
you still don't feel where you are
and talking about it hurts too much.
Let's
stop
talking about it
for now.

The moon and the sun
Together once stood
When the heavens were young
And the world yet good

They sang together
Across the blue sky
Of far off things
Unseen by the eye

In time however
They grew apart
No longer together
Of one shared heart

The sun grew lonely
The moon jeleous and bitter
As they took their turns
Setting the world aglitter

Long ages past
Infinite orbits revolved
Yet the two celestial's problem
Could not be resolved

The pain of loneliness
And that of regret
Struck the two bodies
Every time that they set

Tired and lonely
The sun reached out
And lended its light
That healing might sprout

And though together
They could never again be
They shared their light
Over both land and sea

That is why the moon
Carries the light of the sun
Long after it sets
When the day is done

And Ever do they sing
Carrying on that ancient tune
That once they sung together
United sun and moon

I.

No, don't go now. Please
don't go now; the fog is creating ghosts
out of people and we're breathing clouds out of our mouths.
Tell me about that time when you held your breath
under the lake for six years and still survived;
tell me how if I do that, it'll never work.
I'm not a sea God
any more.

II.

My knees tell better stories than my tongue
ever did, please don't; wretched hive harangues
the mind in a plague, can't you see I'm holding you down
and telling you you're all I ever wanted,
you're all I ever wanted; your head is the stuff of dreams
you're all I ever wanted; you can put your arm
right through me and only feel mist;
I am fog. I'm creating ghosts out of you.

III.

Make it up to me in a rainbow of hues of grey;
at the end of it I'm holding my ribs open. I've never
been more colourful and sad at the same time.
You're the mirrors to my house; stay
has always sounded better than don't go

yet neither seems to work anymore.