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My dearest Gianni,
I would never had imagined this feeling could be so deep.
You don’t know this, but I love writing poetry,
this is how I let out my each and every feeling.
I don’t even know what I’ll say about it,
all I know is that every word I’m about to write is coming from within.
I just hope one day you’ll get to read this,
‘cause it’s when I experienced love at its purest.

You came into this world on February 17, 2004;
by coincidence, the same day I came to visit unannounced.
As soon as I found out about you I went to see you
and when I saw you in your mom's arms my heart melted to the ground.
I still remember your mom's face when she saw me.
It had been 3 years since we had seen and talked to each other.
I quickly held you in my arms and put my finger between your tiny hands.
You’ll never remember that day, but I’ll never forget what that day did to me.
On that day you changed many lives, including mine
and I’m so glad that I made it just in time.
For the world you may be just another child,
but for me, you're a very special one.
You should know that this world we live in, sadly is difficult to deal with.
As you grow older, you’ll understand what I’m saying.
Dreams will come true and dreams will get broken.
You will experience life and all its wonders.
You will learn a lot, both good and bad things,
but if you choose well, you'll see that life is a beautiful thing.

PS, you have given me so much
in the short time you’ve been with us.
I am thankful to Jehovah for you
and I will always be here for you.
Written on February 27, 2004
Composition number: 174
My right hand is very good at it








You ask people

They say it's in between the sheets.

Real love is dead. We murdered it through death camps called elementary schools.
The tender child is so naïve
That the smile of a stranger is always found
With an open heart.

How cruel is the wolf
In sheep clothing!
We adults know this too well.
Why do people want to lose it so bad?
Is it that bad to have? I though it was scarce.
Barely ever seen. At least you have a choice.
I love that you have a choice.
Mine was stolen from me, I was robbed
of my innocence. I didn't have a choice.
Most girls' don't, remember that.
I awoke in a cold sweat—
alive, alight, horrified—
from where I peeled back her pretty pericardium
and made what I found within to Be Mine.

As if love and butchery were the same vein,
her jugular, traced in my fantasy
by the tip of something sharp, only enough
for that sweet, uncouth look in her eye
I’d never have the honor to see
if her life weren’t in my hands.

But I realize: it's wretched to wish I hadn’t slept at all.
Dedicated to Alice, savvy and so forgiving, unduly or not.
I remember being a little kid,
who nobody was worried where she will be lead.
A girl only too friendly to be friendless.
Too curious to be clueless.

I was too ordinary to be picked for the school play,
a kid that never broke a cup or a tray.
I was a shy child,
with nothing to hide.

I once woke up with my daddy gone,
I was so shook that from speech I was foregone.
Luckily it was only temporarily,
for when he came back I punched and yield in his arms so loudly.

A sensitive soul I was,
which I thought would be just a phase
But I'm still as fragile as a vase.
flashes from my childhood
Meg Feb 8
you told me i was gentle
a reed in a world of sharp swords
malleable and wavering
breakable

you told me i was vulnerable
a grain of sand
pulled along with the stream
unable to swim against the current
for fear of making waves

you told me i was sensitive
a petal in the clammy palm of a child
who could not resist the temptation
of pulling apart a flower
so delicate and sweet

this was my weakness
my weak-ness

i became a sword
cold and unfeeling  
wielded by an
unbreakable insecurity

i became the moon
bending the tide to my will
uprooting the silt
upon which it sits

i became a wasp
a parasite
feeding from flowers
that so naively welcomed me in

or so i supposed
i suppose

i endured them
the swords my mother warned me against
the currents that drag  
down down down
the wasps that hunt and hurt
with their poisonous sting

and with dismay
and with relief
i was gentle
to be gentle is not to be vulnerable
it is granting others the freedom to be so
Jiya Feb 6
the blink of an eye was enough to scare
poor little julia into despair
clutching onto her favourite teddy bear
our poor little julia found herself dead

murdered
stabbed in the chest
an excerpt from a song im working on at the moment
Ormond Feb 6
.
In a forest clearing deep in wood,

I spied the grace of doe and fawn

And stopped my track as I should,

To set my gate about face in song.
.
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