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Andra Sep 11
he was always a mystery to me.
no matter how much i thought i could observe him from afar.

i know
his style
his gestures
the way he lights up a cigarette
how he argues
how he jokes around
i know the dimple in the corner of his mouth that appears when
he smiles.

i never had the courage to even hope of being next to him.
it's strange to work with someone you admire in a way
you don't even understand.
cause it was not a "fell in love" type of feeling, but more like a weird chemical reaction that was happening
within me.

and last night
i thought i was discovering him.
that i will get to discover him.
but he only left me with more mystery.
with every thing he showed me
everything he revealed to me:
the affection
the caress
the kisses
even that birthmark,
the more mysterious he would get.

today i discovered
how much he wants to be a father
how much he wants someone
how sensitive he is.

and i know i should not be sad thinking now, alone, about what happened
but i should be happy that the moment existed.
that for a few instants,
in the intimacy that we built together
he was mine only,
he gave himself to me entirely
and let a few masks fall.

"Coffee, yes?"

and now i ask you, stay!

but i'll pour another glass of waiting. this bar is never closing.
Steve Page Sep 7
Before you take up your blade, Sharon
who do you see?
Will you be cutting to heal
or incising to free
some carefully hidden,
some up-til-now unbidden me?

When you take up your blade
and test the fresh edge
do you have an image of a me
fixed in your head?
Can you see in your mind
a kinda-me roughly out sketched?

When you make your first cut
do you have a clear vision
of what I'll reveal
have you made your decision
as you press down and carefully cleave
with loving conceiving precision?

When you lay your blade down
do you see I've appeared?
Do you know I'm complete
when the excess is cleared?
Or when you sleep do you wonder
whether there's a less of a me
maybe a more of a me
silently waiting here?
You need to see Sharon Walter's art to fully understand this.  She cuts away at images to reveal something new.  Quite remarkable.
samra fatima Jul 16
I m sitting alone with guilt on my head
N regretting on my breast
I know all the people who did worst
But still I m treating them best
I m sitting here on sand
With all blood on my hands
Even I m unable to stand
I m regretting and wanna know
All answers of my heart
So I will take care of myself
I visited that place where
I spent so many years with him
Crying remembering on all the things
When he said its alright
these things doesn’t matter
I still thought will it be matter
I m sitting here in the memories of him
Thinking he’s gone for good
I am sitting here ready to die
Wishing may be I see him in the sky!!
Would I blame him that he didn’t stay ?
Or would I just look away?
Em MacKenzie Jun 30
I broke at the shore of the ocean
but lovingly embraced the sea,
let it wash away each stain of emotion,
but got carried away and ended up drowning.
While the surf invaded my airways
and the salt brushed to my skin,
my mind flooded with memories of the sun’s rays,
unconsciously my lips found a grin.

I outstretched my arms and pried apart my fingers,
survival instinct set off alarms, but the beat in my chest lingers.
I was pushed and pulled with the current, dragged away with the tide,
my fear of aquatic lifeforms should act as a deterrent, but I decided to enjoy the ride.

Do you see the invisible strings and lines
that intertwine each life and path?
The subtle clues and the flashing signs,
the chemistry and the math.
Sharing the same air and skies,
the same language and the same view.
Similar perspective through different eyes,
different soils but it still grew.

I stood firm and unmoving on a patch of grass that wasn’t green
and I failed to remember the only thing I tried to forget.
Flashbacks and hauntings of every back that I have seen,
walking away with head held high with no regret.

And my body still aches and trembles
with all the days lost it never seemed to retain heat.
But each day gains a shimmer of the past it resembles,
and now I’m warming up except my poor circulated feet.

Do you hear the silent music and unspoken words,
that tell a long story only two or three truly know?
Drowned out by passing cars and chirps of birds,
carried away gently with the wind’s blow.
Sharing the same air and skies,
the same language and same view.
Hand on left I promise to tell lies,
because even the promise wouldn’t be true.

I saw a vision in front me that day,
I didn’t even have to block out a single shadow, I didn’t have to try.
And I smiled unknowingly, not knowing what to say,
even so the words nestled in my throat, I choked but didn’t die.

I’ll gift a map, and I’ll provide clear and written direction.
I’ll mark off each trap, and reveal the secret route to avoid detection.
Ylzm May 11
The Book of Lies
The One and Only
Divinely Uttered
Written in Stone
Inerrant and Irrefutable
Proclaimed and Enforced
Guardians in Flesh and Blood
Unsheathed Swords
Dripping Blood.

The Books of Truth
Man’s Handiwork
Divinely Inspired
Copied and Re-copied
Encrypted with
Error Correction Coding
Trampled and Desecrated
Consuming Fire Descends
To Reveal not Destroy.
Darryl M May 8
Spotlights of love shine upon you from all fellas.
If mine be blinding, would you fall for me?

I want to be that too good to be true moment in your life.

My thoughts on you are an investment,
But feel like an expense.
I’ve been looking for ways to cut corners.
Your love curved in on all corners.

Patience I don’t have.
But you nourish what my heart withers.

When my feet walk not,
Would you step down on me?
Would you roll down and lay dead my heart?
Or would you be the crutches of my heart,
Step by step, reviving me?

Things grown old are young of death,
But I see your coffin next to mine.
I see a unified tombstone.

If I opened the closet and revealed the skeletons of the heart.
Would it be cremation to my love?
Or would you be an everlasting flame?

Do I love? I don’t know.
But the heart echoes pumps to your love.
myrrh Jan 7
Feeling mundane on a Monday
Feeling like a Sunday every single day
Need some kind of healing,
But instead I'm concealing
Don't want to be revealing of my inner disarray
Steve Page Dec 2018
Let me see beneath your perfection,
and look behind your Sunday best.
I want to see if you're super human
or if you're more like the rest of us.

I want to test your holier than thou,
your upfront semblance of flawless.
I want to check that you're all that we see
or if there's less beneath the surface.

If you think you have no cracks or dents,
if you have no room for improvement,
I'd really like you to meet my friends -
as we need a new source of amusement.
Nobody's perfect.
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