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don't go
stay,
stay,
and
stay.

even
if
you
go
away
today,
i'll
follow
yo­u
until
my
sole's
run
sore.

i
tried
to
run
after
you
but
lost
you.

where
are
you?
i'm
delusive
now.

come
back...

i
haven't
imagined
anything
without
you.

nothing
makes
sense
without
you.

So,
ple­ase
come
back.

i'm
still
here
but
won't
be long.

An
old
acquaintance
of
mine
came
to
meet
me;
he
has
no
face,
no
voice,
yet
troubles
me.

he
can't
talk
but
makes
me
feel
the
pain.

pain
of
letting go,
pain
of
not
seeing
you
again.

don't
worry
he
is
shy;
won't
hurt
you,
won't
indulge
you.

but
i
think
you
might
like
him;
he
is
like
you.

he
keeps
me
alive
and
you
don't
let
me
live.

don't
worry
he
likes
strangers
but
you
are
none.

so,
please
come
back...

i'm
waiting.
resemblance.
a fickle word it is.
.
.
brings you joy.
brings you faith.
brings you reason.
..
to live.
to laugh.
to be happy.
.
.
resemblance.
a fickle word it is.
.
.
brings you honour.
brings you pride.
brings you rejection.
..
to resent.
to be proud.
to despise.
.
.
resemblance.
what a fickle word it is...
Jay M Nov 2019
A wing
Carved of wood
An inch in length
Painted black
With red and blue details
Swirls and dots

Bought at a beach
From a street vendor
Selling hand-carved trinkets
Bought by her parents
When they were together
Before their child knew of their disagreements
Before chaos entered

The last good thing
Embedded in that little trinket
That little wooden Pegasus

The child decides
Then places it in a box
Upon a soft blue cloth
The box; black with fern patterns

"This,"
Decided the child,
"Shall go to the best thing in my life."
So
She prepared the gift
For her love

Meeting with him
Talking, spending time,
Then him having to return home
Seeing the child in a few days
Forgot the gift with the child
The child promising to bring it with her to him

Leaving it where she would remember
The child goes to carry out her day
Forgetting it
Until she looked out her window
Seeing the remains of the gift scattered
Shredded outside her window
In pieces in her backyard
Her dog standing over them
Wagging his tail

Shock and disbelieving
The child runs out to the remains
Trembling as she picked up the pieces
Relieved at finding the gift itself intact
The only thing ruined being the box
Once so beautiful
Now ugly shreds

Returning indoors
The little wooden pegasus wing in hand
She wept, her tears falling to the floor
For the last good from her childhood
Was almost ripped away from her

This last good
She wished to give to her love
As a symbol of trust and unity
To show her affection
Yet
It was so close
So nearly stripped from her
Almost swallowed by the jaws of a mut

- Jay M
November 23rd, 2019
This is true...I have no more words than those you see above...
Rashmi May 2019
She had her sparkle in her eyes,
She had his smile on her lips.
Maa remembered once he told her , " If we have babies, they will have your eyes".
Babies are the blessings
Cori MacNaughton Sep 2015
When I gaze into the mirror
my mother's eyes peer out
on the first day with a twinkle
on the next a wistful pout
Though our eyes are different colors
more alike we are then no
still her thoughts to me a mystery
she may never choose to show

The mirror on another day
my grandmother becomes
watching birds at breakfast
saving them the finest crumbs
Formidable and frightening
she could also often be
all too human and imperfect
still she helped to make me me

Great-grandmother another day
the mirror then became
though much lighter of complexion
now the eyes were much the same
Though a humorous and honest soul
emotions quite repressed
she affects me still more deeply
than I ever would have guessed

Today within the looking glass
the only face I see
is the youngest culmination
of these elder women three
And I see them all within me
in my talents and my quirks
still I wish that they had taught me
how to stay away from jerks.
Originally written 14 April 1999; posted today in response to a poem and subsequent conversation with Bill Hughes.

I have read this poem in public, but this is the first time it appears in print.
PaperclipPoems Aug 2015
I cried.
Not because you shattered my dreams or ripped my heart out of me.
Not because you destroyed every hope I ever had in men.
Not because you learned to hate me and abused my body and soul.

I cried because as I chopped this onion it forced me to cry. That's just what onions do. Kinda like you. That's just what you do.
i really don't know where I was going with this

— The End —