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jerrey Jul 2018
This is a man
no other has yet seen.
I want to keep him forever
but he’s not mine to keep.

His face is new and young;
what an angel I have found.
This man is with no sin.
His feet have never touched the ground.

I won’t let him go
now that he’s seen me with those eyes
and now when I look deeper,
I can see that they are mine.

His cries are sweet and soft
like his heartbeats in his rest.
I feel his gentle skin ****** my own
as I hold him against my breast.

I love him with all my body;
my heart and chest, they ache.
He gives me warmth and heat
that I refuse to let them take.

This is a human,
a human I have sold.
He should be mine forever,
but now I’m freezing cold.
I hope you can tell what this is about with me explaining but some people say I write obscurely. Also, I’m trying this new thing in poetry: punctuation! I’ve never liked using it before in poetry but now I’m kind of liking it.
Zero Nine Jul 2017
What is maintenance? My life has to be cold,
planned, full of calculation. Otherwise, what?
Otherwise, I'll be old at thirty-five, bold, but too close

to a tragic slip, toes in the grass by open graves,
when peers gather, grow on pavement past the gates.
My life has to be cold, planned, full of calculation.

Otherwise, the most vital, underlying systems
yell in warning lights, compromised. You may
not think it problematic, but I can't interpret
signs of my demise already six feet down,

now can I? That's why I (we): clean, sort,
scrub, update outdated thoughts, as if
otherwise, I (we) cut the years I'll (we'll)
survive.

Open my chest for me, you,
lovely human you. Your
scent rises through the rain.
Could I live the way you live,
I would. But I can't, and I know that.
So let me react to your input,

open my chest for me
open my chest for me

open my chest for me
open me

— The End —