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This sadness starts out
like sitting on a balcony in the evening and its cold so you slightly shiver but not cold enough to freeze
wraped in a blanket
holding a warm mug of coffee and lighting a cigarette, or two, or five
coffee is bitter with half tea spoon of sugar and full fat milk
then suddenly your mug is empty and the ceramic feels cold on your skin
- there is no more cigarettes to light
all thats left is a blanket that slowly slides off of your body
and now you are
Freezing
Payton Feb 25
Rock n’ roll music, Folger’s, and paint-smeared hands.
Dresser drawers filled to the brim with undeveloped camera film.
Blue bonnets and overgrown grass, pecans and crunching fall leaves.
Dirt roads and river-rocks, typewriters, polaroid cameras, and feather-quill pens.
Those hand-me-down blue eyes and brown ones that are “sometimes hazel.”
Crystal clusters and Lord of the Rings.
Countless mosquito bites and play-pretend games in the clubhouse.
Early-birds and night-owls.
Trudy; and Randy Hayes.
“Don’t touch everything you see,” and “If you say you’re bored, I’ll find work for you to do.”
Sweet tea and okra and southern dishes blackened and drenched in cheese or gravy.
Grandma always burned everything to make sure it was fully cooked, and to her, it was never burned, just “well-done.”
Cigarettes and carpentry and cookbooks. Wild blackberries and birthday parties at the lake.
Sleeping in all day and staying up all night and procrastination.  
Shepherd's Pie, potatoes, and four-leaf clovers.
“Nil Desperandum. Never Despairing.”  
I’m from a whole house that eats eggs for breakfast, and I’m allergic to eggs.
And trees as tall as buildings and buildings as tall as trees.
“You should never take the lord’s name in vain,” and “Jesus loves you, so you should love others.”
Day-dreams and stargazing and thunderstorms.
“All or nothing,” and “There is no try, only do.”
Old family pictures in dust-glittered frames.
We are crystals. We have facets, each one makes us who we are.
With only one window of our lives to express, we’d merely be glass.
I am a part of each of these things just as much as they are each a part of me.
This poem was written in 2017.
xjf Feb 22
Enemy
within
Empathy
sparked
Compromise
is killing me
Slowly in the dark
Some old thoughts on whether or not the current relationship was worth it.
P. S. it was.
Denver Feb 20
i changed my bed sheets when you left

you got on the coach
and i went home

   and changed my bed sheets

i wanted to burn them but
i loved them more than i
loved you

  so i washed them
and hung them out to dry

while they dried
     i watched the sky and wondered

which plane overhead
you were in by  now

since then
i've been to many of the places we visited

        together

places that were special to me
that i shared with you

i wish i hadn't
     i wish i hadn't shared me
with you

it's hard

trying to erase you
from those places now   places i love

home

so i visited them again
on my own      and now
the last time i was there
i was alone

i wanted to burn them but  
i loved them more than i
loved you

so i looked up at the blue sky
above my rolling yellow cornfield

and smiled that you were
so many miles away


but you still haven't let go
still watching         me
while you
go **** people

husbands and their wives
laughs



i wish i didn't share my sky with you
i wish you hadn't felt my
                 sunshine on your face
     hadn't known my love
my skin
    my cornfield
my bed sheets



i miss the me that i was
before you

she's in here

somewhere
random ****... you ate all my food and had a freeeeee holiday three times a year and my ******* dog liked you even though you fed her things that were bad for her. ignore me i'm just having a moment.
Ashley Moor Feb 19
Nothing is sweeter
than waking
to the silence
of snow
of the movements
your chest makes
before the closed-eye smile
stirs
the ancient Woman in me.
I crawl into your arms
like stepping
into the sunshine abyss
of my childhood
like conjuring
the music
of my sister’s laugh
like conjuring
the dead.
Some mornings
I wake
so full of love
that it takes all of my
strength
to keep my chest
from hallowing
my ribs from cracking.
At 6 a.m.
on a
snow-covered lawn
the revelation
of love
accompanies a cigarette
and cup of
watered-down coffee.
All of the words
you whisper
my porch cowboy
are stuck to me
on a morning
so unaware
of its own
beauty.
I lit a cigarette
Then I enjoy it with a cup of coffee
My poetry paints its own words
Indonesia, 10th February 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
There’s nothing like a frosty winter morning,
when the sky has had enough
of trying to look nice and welcoming
for you today,
but instead decided to take the day off
and retreat under the soft grey fluff of a blanket, and you too,
have done the same, in a show of comraderie,
cracking the window open just enough
to feel each other’s breath
across the zipping air
that won’t stop fussing
or biting off the skin on your right thumb.

There’s nothing like such a morning
when a bottomless pit of steaming hot coffee isn’t enough, though your heart-rate
is through the roof, but you pretend that’s good
for you, as if it’s pumping blood and heating up
your insides.

A morning when the requirement to stay inside
is no longer a discomfort but an opportunity –
for some calm piano tunes,
just like the wind
converging then diverging,  
to serenade you in the background, while your rough
cold hands, stretch out in their familiar spider web
but this time in a slower
motion stretch
and take you to the keyboard once again,
because there’s nothing like it on a frosty, freezing, gloomy winter  
Morning like this.
Icy & Cloudy
A surface of snow on my glasses
Would it be a memory that obsesses
Me with a song?
You with a letter?
Hearing the rhythm of passion
In between a coffee cup
& Some kind sound of slow street
& A heart race at speed!
Karly Codr Feb 9
there's something satisfying
in sitting by yourself
in the dark
at 10pm
and watching
Harry Potter
while drinking coffee
and eating starbursts
this may or may not be what I am doing right now...
old willow Feb 5
Sitting at my desk, is a cup of coffee.
A sip to burn my tongue,
I feel at ease with warmth.
No longer do I ponder of truth
nor hearing any owl hoot,
the street that is an isle
is now not so wild.
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