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Angel M Jun 2015
And now that I’m in that first page of our story,
I’m not sure what to write
There is a multitude of possibilities
Endings we can’t foresee
Conversations that might be too much for paper
Scenes that should just stay between you and me
I always think way too much
So I threw all cautions in the wind
There’s a tinge of excitement in my veins
A scoop of fear in the back of my mind
Yet I will let our prose unfold
Maybe it’s a story to be told…
moon-kissedstar May 2015
I've been through illusions- feeding up my delusions.
I called this love- while your's infatuation.
Love or infatuation?
Marisa Lu Makil Mar 2015
Happy Birthday.
I know I am mean.
I know I hurt you,
I know I seem like I don't care.
But
I
Do.
I care so much
I just don't know how to show it.
Please forgive me.
Happy Birthday.
I
Love
You.
Happy tenth to my little sister, M. I love you so much, and I know I don't know how to show it, but I do.  I also know that your birthday isn't till tomorrow, but still. Thanks for being my sister. I prayed for 3 years for you, and I love you.
Andrew M Bell Feb 2015
I see you at my door,
huddled against the night
in your Kermit-green jacket
and purple pants
like a refugee from a rainbow.
Patiently waiting
for my enfolding arms,
to spirit you upstairs
for flannelette passion
which makes us feel safer
than the safest ***.
Copyright, Andrew M. Bell. Thanks to the Valley Micropress, an Upper Hutt-based international publication in whose pages this poem first appeared.
Andrew M Bell Feb 2015
Walking home alone on Saturday night,
social sounds spilling around me then
fading in my slipstream,
I round the corner of my street and
an image of your face rises
to combat the cold that searches for
the marrow of my bones.
Hope flutters like a wounded bird into
the pale sky of a vision desperate
with longing.

Forgive my physical hunger.
You were right to deny it
because by morning
you had given me
a far greater nourishment.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell, thanks to Valley Micropress, a Upper Hutt-based international poetry magazine in whose pages this poem first appeared.
Andrew M Bell Feb 2015
There he is,
between the Siberian Tiger and the Maui's Dolphin,
**** Mobilis Nullius.
She does not own a cellphone.
Text for her is the letters and words
that make up a book.
If he wants to take a picture,
he'll use a camera, thanks.
She doesn't want to download, upload,
freeload, overload,
girl, you've got to carry that load
of debt to the telco company.
He watches movies in the cinema
and he doesn't want to be hooked up
to the internet
or caught in the ever-widening net of commerce.
She's happy with the ancient ways,
songlines on the landline
lines on the land
where a woman can walk away
and hear only the ringing
of bird song,
lines on the land
a man can follow to the heart
of somewhere lost
and know only peace.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell, reproduced with kind permission of "Presto" magazine, Christchurch in whose pages this poem first appeared.
Deanna Jan 2015
Shivering hole in my chest
whimpering your name
it begs the universe
to let me fall in love with you

I want to ask you
which broken pieces
of your childhood
have influenced
how you want to
raise your kids

I want to listen
to you explain
what you had for
lunch today
on the edge of my seat
to know why
you chose the tacos
over your usual sandwich

I want to wake up
in the middle of the night
and find you there
asleep beside me
I want to memorize
your eyelashes
as my mind
turns itself back off

whimpering hole
deep in my chest
begging the universe
to let me see you again
to let me get to know you
to let me fall in love with you
Is it sad that late at night when I'm trashed I still miss you?
#m
Parker Louis Jan 2015
I secretly sat at your secluded spot on the lake
I languidly listened and watched the Sunset
writing this while I cease to worry
because I was wrong.

They were wrong when they pigeonholed
you in black and white as one toned ordinary
when you're really vivid shades of hazel
More than meets the eye & captivating
as many shades as in the Sunset
I've been watching from your spot.
Colour me interested because I want to see what hue we'd make mixed together
Yours would compliment and supplement mine
into a vibrant tone
brilliant enough to paint  a whole canvas
with the full spectrum of our shades in our union.
1/19/2015
Rassy Jan 2015
thank you for giving me happy memories
you go on
and don't remember
forget everything
Grace Jordan Dec 2014
Its happening, all over again.

Nothing is wrong, nothing has happened, there just feels like there is a gaping hole in my heart and nothing can repair it, like there is a part of me missing and I have no clue what it is and where to go searching.

I used to think the missing part was friends, or family, or anything I loved. But as time goes on, it seems to hit me that the exact problem is not that its anything I am able to find; no. There is simply just a part of me missing and there is nothing I can do about it.

It breaks my heart. I sit here at my desk crying, uncertain what to do, because it appears there is nothing i can do. Its just a section of my heart is missing, always will be, and nothing can ever fix that.

The words do not come, I have not much to say, except my heart is missing and I know it won't come back today. Or any day for that matter.
#m
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