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I am really tired,
but I need to keep going
just for you and me.
If people ask me if my Christmas will be merry,
My answer to them will be "Not very."
The last Christmas when you were still alive was back in 2012.
My brother and I no longer have you and it's ******* ourselves.

I would give anything if I could spend another Christmas with you.
I know that you'd also love to spend another Christmas with me too.
My life would never be the same on the day when you were dead and buried.
I wish you a Merry Christmas, Mom but sadly, my Christmas won't be merry.
Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013. (This poem was written in 2014.)
Some changes hurts others.
Even if it's to benefit you.
Some will drag you down.
Spread rumors all around town.

If you changed your life around for the glory of you.
And others hates your views and perspectives.
Just say , "I'm following Jesus".

Maybe, you were a drug dealer.
Maybe, you was a woman selling her body.
Maybe, you was various things in society that led you wrongly.

But once, you wise up and accepted your past to change.
Let none you know formerly in your past stop you from saying...
I'm following Jesus.

His life, his path serves a purpose.
His death served a reason.

It leaves a everlasting effect upon you.
I fell in love with words.
Yours, especially,
imagining them like penciled fonts
with the black tipped crown of an i,
the curves of your tongue as
you uttered blossoms of a promise.

You letters would curl through my mind,
stronger even than the lips
pressed against my forehead
sending me off to sleep,
where I dreamt of the
intricacies hidden behind
the words you'd say.

Pencil fades,
and over time,
so did you.
So instead I was left with
blotted, ****** sheets
as you erased your words
from me.
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