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K Jul 2017
3
at three years of age,
love was
your imaginary friend Jessica
or the battered hippo toy you got in your baby basket
or being able to eat dessert before meals.

three years later,
love was
when you could stay up past 9 watching the tv
or getting to play with friends past sundown
or waking up in your own bed after falling asleep on the couch or in the car.

three years ago,
love was
whichever boy would ask you out
or hold your hand
or touch your face.

three years from now,
love will be
staying headstrong in your career
or marrying your soulmate
or fighting for what you believe in.
K Jun 2017
you were mine
but then you weren't

the waiter looks like you
the uber driver sounds like you
the stranger smells like you

but they weren't
you
K Jun 2017
is it true
that
you need to
rid yourself of the
past
to make way
for the
future
K Jun 2017
at 8:03
dad woke me up

at 8:36
i washed up

at 8:58
i made coffee

at 9:03
i sat outside

at 9:04
i looked out

(and)

at 9:07
the horizon disappeared
K Jun 2017
the thing you
fail to understand
is
who i am now
is who you
told me to be,
showed me to be and
taught me to be.
even if it wasn't what
you envisioned me to be,
it is who i am and
was guided to be.
  Jun 2017 K
A Thomas Hawkins
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
K Jun 2017
I’ll start
but
it never finishes.

Words flow
but
nothing truly

Thoughts come
but
hardly are

Love blossoms
but
never ever

Pain jolts
but
it doesn’t

You’ll die
but
your legacy lives.
An attempt at playing with the structure of poems.
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