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You own every part of me,
Take my heart for it only beats to you,
Take my eyes for you are all that I see,
Take my hands just so you could hold them tight,
Tale my everything for you are all I need.
i knew that night that she owned me. the night where i moaned her name and she moaned mine, i knew it was time to surrender. i am hers as she is mine
JL Dec 2020
Love:
To look is not to see,
To hold is not to be.

To have is not to possess
And to own is not to free!

But to hold and yet see
What it means to set free,
With no aim to own, must be
The true nature of love..
Lunar Nov 2020
Do I know
Who I am on my own
Before I've met
Any other I have known?
Who am I, as a person? Is there even a portion of me that isn't influenced by others, or made up of pieces of the people I've let into my life? I'm afraid I don't know who I am tonight.

Let me be myself and write a poem for me.

(j.m.)
A M Ryder Nov 2020
Seems unreal
And abstract
A string of zeros
That exists in some
Strange place of its own
Cross Boundry Oct 2020
seem to fall from my tongue
more easily than my own
rarae aves Jul 2020
To live a truly satisfactory life
Its vital that -
We discover our own terms
We become our own person
We live for ourselves.
The most painful & satisfactory process, journey, lifestyle.
The beauty of dream is,
Its not real...
Good or bad probably doesn't stay on memory long .
It could be bitter or a sweet song.
100% your own and to only you it belong.
James G East Jul 2020
Here, yes yours to use.
Keep begin, even if once begun, again and many times.
As much as it takes, fight or don’t, find, strive, make do if you wish, survive, but don’t ask, not any more. You’re answered, always have been.
Blatant in the past with no malice meant, while being written not read.
That’s right there’s no one way, right and wrong not or.
It’s yours to use, choose or seek.
Poetoftheway Feb 2018
she writes me from Paris

wanting a command,
exactement comme moi
all her own.
to scribe.
in “a style with strength”

exactement comme moi
exactly like me

where the ideas percolate
for the precise gestation period
and the birth-born poems a-coming
without and within silent no belabored pain,
making the child appear as if it was only waiting
already, on its own good time. for saying thank you
for your patient waiting and who is really in
command?

when the overwhelming light orders “write”
I am gone from yesterday and the safe of picayune
does that sound like I am in
command?

you wish to command?

join the navy, the army,
become a paratrooper,
command in poetry is illusory,
for it comes from the bell tower rage of madness
of what my ancestors planted and bequeathed genetically,
and I have wasted the better half of a century appealing for
relief and making it clear who commands and who is the
“poetoftheway” slave

rejoindre la marine, l'armée,
devenir un parachutiste,
commande en poésie est illusoire,
car il vient du clocher de la rage de la folie
de ce que mes ancêtres ont planté et légué génétiquement,
et j'ai gaspillé la meilleure moitié d'un siècle attrayant pour
soulagement et en précisant qui commande et qui est le
“Poetoftheway" esclave

exactement comme moi
exactly like me?

exactly.
This is just a simple poem,
It may be short but I call it home.
This is where my feelings are thrown,
My drafts are either in a paper or a phone.

In here I write emotions that I have not shown,
Read by people who are unknown.
I can tell that I have grown,
In these poems which I own.
Stay safe everyone!
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