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Melody Mann Sep 14
It is not a mere assortment but a testament to the sentiment we share,
A bundle of heartfelt glee I present to you,
An array of colors crossing symbolism itself,
A gesture reigning classical to say the least,
A bouquet of roses for you my dearest,
My sincerest regards.
our second of two lasses conceived
sometimes within a blink
the exact moment auguring conception
difficult to identify or pinpoint

whence seminal liquid
******* from a ******* *****
birth of second daughter thyself and spouse created
while immersed in the ****** drink

generally occurred during
our naked lunch sans primal cop
yule la shun, via carousing with amorousness
when a seminal dollop
of passion circa May 1998 that pregnant verity
became definitive when the ultrasound
evinced a miniscule glop

pronounced by obstetrician and gynecologist
with an impending due date
yet unpredictable until the wife did evince
a swelling abdominal area, an ordinary fate

once pregnancy without doubt
ascertained both of felt great
lee excited at prospect thee eldest
would become “big” sister,

which less than total devoted attention
she would naturally hate
upon begetting youngest punim
indubitably saw her (Eden) irate

yet any jealousy temporarily deferred, offset
and thwarted upon the birth
of Shana, whose anniversary
she exited birth canal when a dearth

of being cocooned in the womb
suddenly necessitated adjusting to life on Earth
when formerly inducing
a bulge within the uterine hearth

and this papa nearly nineteen years
wept tears of joyful delight
with a complete set of anatomical features,
and gender as the girl found wife excite
head, cuz decision asper circumcision,

a moot point re difficult conscience fight
club and prediction as per average adult height
of female progeny, number two found the sight
a biologically whipped miracle I held tight.
A hippodrome as smoke adjourn
those can wrap Havanas blunt
while Manila fish for sordino
they reek of harvest yet exhume Moro
then San Mateo shall not a maraschino bane
whether they've sought bastion in Italy then
once their hopes shall keep ships ahoy
and Sabatini sing San Marino here
that sandcastle star await his lover in
"The Sea Hawk" a fine costume whence sail
those Antilles with a conquistador as buttress
in this play they call Those Philippines alas meet
El Duarte in a duet with his song set aflame with
great sleeves in such kleptocracy worldwide again.
Valora Brave Aug 2015
I unpacked your boxes too quickly.
I exposed the whiteness of your thighs
freckled by the reddish-brown hairs
I uncovered the wrinkles in your blue iris
the lies and tears behind your front teeth
evenly crooked

I wanted your words to flutter from your mind
but they dropped from your throat to the floor
I wanted your laughter in your core to be kind
but it came from a shallow, envious drawer

I pulled strands and veins out of boxes
Found bundles and tangles
that I assumed should be unraveled
but when I pulled and twisted one straight,
you left in your car with a crunch in the gravel
Drove straight into the arms of
Malbec wine
at low rise tables with one chair,
an excerpt from a novel bent at the spine
and the sweater you never let me wear

I drank from the pint glass you brought home for me
and it wasn't a statement.
I wore no mask.
I simply sipped.
It's only meaning to transport water to my lips
Calmly, coating my belly
So slowly I'd wait
Imagining water burning like *****
Barreling down my throat
like an interstate

I wanted it back
the feeling of feeling
the fear that walks with revealing
the love, the artist, and the lunatic
all cooked together and left to steep

I pulled out my own strands
the ones anchored deep.
I worked endlessly to straighten
You wrapped yourself in my veins
to tightly
You were trapped in the bundle
so you ran, then came a stumble
forgetting that I was anchored too
and so you pulled me right down with you.

And I left you there
with your tearful stare
I bunched up these strands
and laid out my demands
I carried them off, the tangled mess
You once announced was yours to hold
but you overestimated yourself
and watched me become cold
A block of ice, you could never melt
you were not all, you were not my wealth
you were only the weight I felt.
Syreena Phelps Aug 2014
I sit on the porch,
a cigarette in between my fingers,
thinking about how I don't know,
and the thought lingers.

I take a drag,
then let out the smoke,
could this be the end,
of the midnight's ****?

There's still a chance,
a chance this isn't happening,
that this i got lucky,
or i carry a being.

Too young, too scared,
I sit alone,
wondering how many months,
till i get kicked out of my home.

If i can't take care of myself,
how can i care for another?
No job, no money,
too young to be a mother.

Sit still, breathe deep,
this happens to a lot of teens,
but they survive the task,
and make princess queens.

Take it down a notch,
there's still that chance,
and with it, being young,
you could still dance.
Yeah, definitely not my best. Nope..
Daylight 4U2C May 2014
I get the crust and the gristle of a thistle once a missile shooting out into the sky and I cry, wonder why. Never sure what I feel for the meal of a deal and then words more like air slip the breeze in my hair, butterflies in the skies killing what kept my alive. Oh too bad, well how sad, if the songs last lines din't matter it'd harm, it'd make the soul so very mad. Here I fall, there I stand like a robot dancing to the tunes. It's demand. Hear I laugh, hear I cry. I hear the screams and feel the burn, so why? Why unsure, of what's telling me my life is so impure. Threatened heart, from the strings that wrap it, tearing it apart. Feel the clench of a bundle of what you yourself have drench and so benched. And you threw to me the horror show, I never so have thought would reckon me to be. I, to be, it's master and it's longing family, here I cry. Hear "I" cry. For I exist in heart, but never, not in mind. There I stand once again as a memory of all that I pretend. If I tried, to be real, the pieces fall apart inside. So I hide, then I quiver and I shake as 'me' is inside. I can touch to the shelter covered in the unbelieving, underachieving to be who I know I am to be. Or at least what you see. I crush the old me and start anew, though I grew. I, immortal to myself have stomped the true. And I become something greater than simple little shrew. Do not lie! For I see with one eye, the look through me. What you see is a host, not the ghost, that lives on. "Awh, look at me. I'm so strong!" Laugh along. Child there. Where? Oops, forgot to care. Now I stare, towards the end that's never ending like this script. Never ending. Twist and bending. Don't kid me, I'm no kid. I'm the body of a youth, but I am dead. I've destroyed myself, if others didn't do a perfect job. Hold up stop! I'm letting go, a bubble that will pop. It will burst, destroying me, if it doesn't **** me first. Here I stand. Hear I cry. There I go. I have died.
I don't know if I posted this before, but I don't think so.

— The End —