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Cjf Jan 2020
I’m forming a shell around my heart that shouldn’t be there with her. I’m so scared of loving her fully because I don’t want to be broken again.. I won’t survive it Ezra, I really wont. But she doesn’t deserve this half love I’m giving. I’m trying so hard to love her the same, to feel that excitement that I felt with you, to feel that eager nervousness. I can’t. I feel apprehensive. This life after you isn’t the same sunflower seeds you left planted in my heart.   They wilted and nothing is left but the dried leaves and the
crunch
Crunch
Crunching
Echoes throughout my abused heart
But who says weeds can’t beautiful too??
I love her too
May 26th 2020
Nerissa Dec 2019
As if waking up
Natsukashii - been a while
was this lust I feel?
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
There's been a disruption
in your body's

p a  tt  ern,

b-r-a-n-c-h-i-n-g
river ways
                                                          ­                 form a road map,

             a
maternal
             mosaic,

z
i
g
g
z a g g i n g
                                  a   c   r   o   s   s

peaks
.
.
.
and valleys,

******* >
           bums ~
                   hips ~
                         and (~) tummies.

Vividly hued
in pinks or reds
or silver threads.

One-of-a-kind,
universal at the same time.

Glitter                                      stria,
      ­           shiny, sparkly,
oh-so                                     pretty.

  Worn with pride!
                                                          ­            Or do they hide?

They test you,
                      like any child,

REFUSING
to alter their behavior,

REGARDLESS
of how nicely you ask.

                          Baby's left her mark on you!

Love those lines
as artistic souvenirs,
acquired
on the long journey

                                                        ­               to becoming a mother.

                                    Like
                                    Love
                                    Letters
                    ­                they always have a story.

  What does your story tell?
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
I dreamt it snowed
Nectar and powdered sugar,
Dusting nature's lips.

I recall the kiss from her
Not-so-innocent curiosity,
Come-hither in her arched brow.

How the morning breeze
Grew wanton,
Lifting her nightdress,
Until naked she pirouetted about
The cloister garth.

I dreamt of flowering moonlight
And his potent stem,
Filling her
With stars and shivers,
As she burst, for goodness sake,
From all the little blissful parties
Drumming her garden wall.

I dreamt of fecundity
And funnel cakes,
Soft and sweet and round,
Her milk a spring,
Laden with gift of life.

Intuitive opaque areolae,
The shape of things to come,
The very ones from which
She'll nurse their young.
To the amazing wonder that is a woman's body
C F Nov 2019
Allow me to bend
At the knees.

Allow me to weep.
Uncannily.

Over a basin,

A nearby water source.
Outside of my own.

I could be compared to

Those giving birth
Naturally.
Maybe.

I quite honestly Don't
Particularly,
Give a flying ****.
It's not about you.

But understand this
I am not over
I am not ended

Unceremoniously.

I am whole,
Though I am missing
Parts and pieces.

Lungs.
Bones.
Brains.

A newborn heart.

Hungry mewling
Whines.
Cries.
Tinkling laugher.
Unending diapers.

I lack those.
But still I am whole,
Even though I am only one.

I am whole.
And I need not
Nor want
Anything more.

I am whole.
As I am.

I have not ended.
I am not an uninhabitable
Husk.

I am me.
I am whole.
Just as I am.

Just allow me
To Weep
For a moment.
Just one.
Àŧùl Nov 2019
Massage it,
Shake it,
Think about her.
Massage it more,
Shake it till you blast,
Experience the ephermal joy.
Avoid premarital pregnancy.
My HP Poem #1796
©Atul Kaushal
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2019
You won't remember all the fuss you
cause, my precious microcosm

This strange bewildering exhausting
global economy you dwell in

Apparently the lease expired and your time has come

Driven by grievance more than strategy

It sets the stage for fireworks and confusion

In one dizzying morning into afternoon

I'm searching for who to blame

Histories on the episode may well spend a chapter on
your mother's unhinged notions née crazy talk

It becomes clear in real time how the risks
of an escalating trade war

give a centimeter, take a centimeter

And the fraying of longstanding ties

Could quickly outpace the ability to evict you

As your mother, the normal first responder
to your distress, I can do

Absolutely nothing about it but push

In what seems a shoot-first approach to such
a delicate moment

The escalation, the unpredictability, the erratic
nature of developments

Is central to what is going on

Something is breaking

That something is me!

Our world is on edge

Looking for a sign of what to do next

The labor market drops and you're crowned
a royal pain

Peace is found, it's proportional

And by all measures you're quite hale
quite beautiful!

This offsets the damage of a messy exit

The disconnect I incessantly prayed for offers
melancholy over relief

In our opening act you're already moving
away from me

While the female body is a powerful tool

It cannot provide a settled rule book for
such internal battle

Still, this adventure, scary and catastrophic as
it was, is well-suited to the wonders that I am

For that I'm grateful to my Creator

The lesson of the last several hours is that forces are unfolding
that we can't do much to contain

We're merely nesting passengers en route to
a foreign destination
This is based on observing the miracle that is childbirth.
Ali J Fogwood Sep 2019
Forgotten to take the pill, was it?
Or perhaps somehow the ****** split -
An accident, or surprise?
Just the sorts of thoughts suspicious minds
Might have of couples
like you.

Not that anyone said those things with you in mind,
But I think there are other suspicious signs;
To begin, I'm wary of a child born on a midwinter day,
cursed with snow every third birthday,
Or maybe I'm suspicious of the harrowing sight
of a miniature pair of shoes,
Or a child returning, smiling (or teary eyed)
from a first day at school.

When we go on, with us die (at least it is said)
our first snowfall, first kiss
First rush of joy to the head,
The first (and last) love
vanish too when we come to be dead.
Not so sad a thought, I say, for just to be born
Is to be handed a road-map, and that job is yours.
The map must take us entire from hither to yon
So put clear crosses on the junctions beyond
To spotheights that matter, that you yourselves found;
First last dance, last love
Second **** (perhaps), but surely first bike,
First time to lay awake with friends too late in the night
First getting up and first falling down
And to know the outdoors and be cosy inside
To be loyal in friendship, and savour the ride
And know, that for all your love
Noone survives.

But with all that aside, I conclude,
What it is that I mainly suspect, (far worse than the rest)
Is the thought of a child so ignorantly blessed
To have been born to such wonderful people
As you.
awknight Sep 2019
Your eyes, over breakfast, are where I find
my morning prayer to an unknown God. Thanking,
loving, and worshiping the divinity
reigning down on my head as small toes
wriggle  within my body.

My mind is overwhelmed with wound up
time, ticking, endlessly without ceasing
into the prism of your soft, searching soul.
Hands inside, hand outside — we find our solace
in you. A creator of the created, still both in womb.

Stopping time is your specialty
over breakfast, I see you — seeing me.
answering my prayer.
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