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x Jul 2018
you are everything
you are everything good
and sweet
you are everything i deserved
but not anymore.
i am not what you deserve
you deserve more
than a damaged girl
that can’t quite
get over
a boy that has tried
to destroy her
Umi Mar 2018
Holding a pen in hand, preparing pitch-black ink for a blank paper,
I begin with gentle, delicate movements, letting it slide over it.
One line follows another, one without any bother, any care to it.
A regular starshaped polygon, surrounded by a simple circle has been made, one which holds meaning to it, hidden underneath ink.
Some might gaze at it as a sign of a greater evil, heresy or worse,
Others might watch it in awe, a sign of protection a symbol of hope.
A maze with two ends has been made, each with its own belief.
However, my tired eyes, which have been worn, gaze at it and see beauty, the connection of each line contains grace, closed by the circle.
Thus a smile has been cast on my face, as I look at it another time,
Noticing how the black ink has taken the papers purity my cheering sight perishes, saddens in an instant, what I had drawn had become unrecognizable, as the paper spread the ink and distorted this image.
The broken in the light, moist and now fragile, drops through, in wonderous, ominous distraction, leaving a great hole in the middle.
Unable to be ever repaired the paper finds its trail into the trash,
A puddle left of what it was, mixed with the pitch black, had to be cleaned up, so that another attempt could be made, another try.
So I pick up my pen once again and connect the lines with a smile.

~ Umi

she waded
she waded
on my
alarm clock tension
we have awoken dragons
just to piper them back
flutes notes cling to my lips
as i blow to whisper
thunder is
lightning has no choice
but to keep the sound from me
yes yes yes we scream
chaos erupts
playing to the multitude
an sway takes over
gravity has
but me loose
looking down now
clouds are below me
this tropical paradise
with me
she waded

exhaustion drips
my sweat
empty seas Dec 2017
            how we try                          
                                  with feeble hands      
        to keep everything
                                       our broken minds                    
     from falling apart
Sometimes I feel like everything is futile
Kewayne Wadley Jun 2016
It was never my intention to leave you standing outside.
I never heard a knock on the door, an unintentional contradiction of the welcome mat beneath anxious feet.
Though small, the hall extends to a larger room. Surrounded by two more rooms across from each other. Fair in size.
Prints of bare feet seep through thin socks;
The sharpness of your gaze. Cluttered in thought.
Remnants of the last place you stood.
Admiring now replaced siding.
The last time your back pressed against the side of the house, broken promises chipped off.
Nails pulled out and replaced with screws. An extra layer of tar paper.
You promised you'd return but never came back,
The decor of your essence repainted with a light tan, border still to be sanded down and nailed against fresh paint.
Moving from the room at the end of the hall,
Walking toward the front door then forgetting what I was going to do
It is not so for those who's hearts are broken, to love.
Yet we find their seeking of a bandage.
They grasp our sticking and we repair the broken pieces.
Where there they love.

*Where There they love.
I do not authorize the duplications of my writings, photography, or personal information.

— The End —