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Äŧül Nov 22
A kleptomaniac was born,
His specialty was hearts
That he whisked away
In a real short time.

An oriental angel ascended,
Upon him she descended
In a way that changed
All of what was his.
My HP Poem #1814
©Atul Kaushal
Arisa Mar 2
I made this skirt from
Pierre Cardin's spring collection
Where a thief stole a pound, and I paid a nickle.

I made this shirt from
A pretty curtain
That I ripped out of a groovy bungalow

I made this bracelet from
Beads drifting down river Arakawa
A child's beads, probably thrown in a tantrum.

I made this pendant from
A glass marble from a goldfish bowl
In the small classroom of an elementary school

I found my socks in a dumpster.
I found my shoes in a runaway train.
I found my coat on the shoulders of a model.

And so I plead not guilty.
I once dreamed of a Kleptomaniac making excuses to a Jury and their Judge. I listed those excuses in  poetic form.
Misha Kroon Jul 2015
I want to steal your kisses,
And your time,
And your love.
I want to breathe in your air,
And your feelings,
And bits of your soul.
I want to inhale your history,
And your sadness,
And your happy.
I want to wrap my arms around your shoulders,
And your heavy heart,
And your splintered spine.
I want to take your heartbreak,
And your worry,
And your tears.
I want to wipe away your jutted lip,
And furrowed brow,
And damp cheeks.

I want to steal every single part of you,
And only give back,
The good stuff.
Inspired by the title of a slam performance, I think called 'Notes on Loving a Kleptomaniac'.
Just a generic use of an illness you demonstrate love.
Not entirely sure where it came from.
Also not entirely sure I like it
We'll see.
kaye Dec 2014
he walks by me
his scent lingering in the breeze
seeming so innocent--
oh so innocent--
in his faded jeans and white muscle tee.
the soundwaves fills with his voice
as he sings along
to the uncountable stares
prevailing in his presence.

our eyes never waver
as he fades out of our view.
but as we look back
at our unimportant,
unnoticeable selves,
all our chests had were gaping holes;
empty and desolate.
for he had cruelly,
but unintentionally --
out of fleeting impulse --
stolen our hearts.

— The End —