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 Jan 2017 stephanie burrows
Taija
Nights are filled with the harsh winds of winter,
The darkness from dusk to dawn toyed with you,
Lights are dimmed but shine as you re-enter;
Eyes filled with tears as wet as morning dew.

You fall onto the bed, your heart is aching,
I stand there not knowing how to fix this,
Silence fills the room, you are breaking;
You go numb, I give you a final kiss.

As I shut your eyes... I cry out to you,
The once silent room is now filled with screams,
My world without you is a dark grey hue;
My life is to be ripped all at the seams.

I must end it all to be with my love,
Heartbreak can ****, I will see her above.



                                     t.h.
Our bodies are facing
The arms of dawn.
Conflicts of our skins
From night's reverie
Floating with fading purple.
Still lost in the depth of
Your starry mouth,
Particles of me
Merging into the universe.
Mingled thoughts
Under mingled fingers
Making galaxies crumbled
Time after time
Inside my closed eyes,
As I'm being washed by your
Warm luminosity.
I'm overwhelmed as Merged got selected as a daily poem. It means a lot to me. I'm grateful to all the poet-readers of HP. I wouldn't be able to achieve it without their support. Thanks a lot ❤
 Dec 2016 stephanie burrows
Em
Anxiety
is a breath never released
suffocation of the lungs
and the whole of your mind
Anxiety
is a clock
that never stops ticking
with the constant click, from past to present
Time never ends
and oh darling
nor does anxiety.
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

------------------------------------------------
my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
Love and lust

cannot be found without the other.

Love has a hidden hunger,

while lust seeks for comfort.
A short poem.
 May 2016 stephanie burrows
niamh
For tears that fall
On hollow cheeks
When the weeks feel like years
And the years feel like weeks.

And you sit by a grave
Where the roses grow
But the rose that you seek
Is buried below.

You have my heart
Heavy with sorrow
For the velvet rose
With no tomorrow.
Absolutely over the moon (if a little shocked) to see that this piece made the daily.  Thank you all so much for your comments - I promise to reply to you all individually at some point soon.  It was an extremely emotional, difficult, but ultimately cathartic write. Dedicated to our wee Shane, who we will never forget ***
You were told:

"You are tougher
than you think,"
When in fact that is a lie.

You are only as tough
As you think you are,

So think great thoughts,
And be as tough
As you know.
Since I was born I couldn't feel 
what others feel
I never had anything that was real
Actually it doesn't matter...
It was real enough to me

They told me it would be fine
but they locked me up, took what's mine
What they did turned my life into dirt
Actually it doesn't matter...
I don't feel and I can't be hurt
But one day I will myself on them avenge 
****** revenge
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