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 Aug 2017 Tianna Jacquez
mei
would you believe me
if i told you
that you are the universe
in which i live in,
the air in which i breathe,
the land on which i walk?

would you shake your head
in disagreement
if i mentioned how
your smile acts as my sun,
your voice a melody
that lingers in my favourite songs,
your eyes as lambent
as the beautiful
night moon?

would you think of me
in the far future
on quiet evenings by the windowsill
as you reminisce the times
we spent together,
the memories i replay constantly
in my mind,
of days i wish will never die?

would you?

i hope you do.
i hope you do.
Do you remember who you are to me
 May 2017 Tianna Jacquez
Onoma
Wounds heal like
hell frozen over--
abstracted blood
never blends in
with the territory
fast enough.
Your long, sharp,
superintelligent
fingernails stake
their claim.
Always repeating:
'oh you poor thing'...
while picking away.
 May 2017 Tianna Jacquez
Holly
I tried to write of someone new,
But everything I wrote down,
Made me remember you.

I wanted to talk about his dazzling smile.
And the way it makes the air around me glow.
But then I saw your face.
Plastered on that smile that always knows.

I wanted to write about his eyes.
Oh, how the sun makes them gleam.
But then I saw your gaze.
That one that makes me look away.

I want to find out his personality and charm,
But then you start reaching out your arm..
And tell me things like,
"If only time was different."

I can only think that he'll be another you.
All of his dazzling features to haunt me in the time coming soon.

I guess I haven't grown very strong.
I still can't see your face and feel nothing at all.
 May 2017 Tianna Jacquez
Kee
5.19.17
 May 2017 Tianna Jacquez
Kee
my feet are pounding the ground
but it feels like im flying
my heart is beating like drums
but i can't feel it at all
all i know is that im a few steps away from freedom
can my feet take me there?
maybe i can leap to it
i can't fail
i need this
i need to be free
i want my own air in my lungs
no, not want
need
i need
i need to be free
in economics class
mr. gardner is talking too much
When a poet loves an artist
something
Oh, something
Clicks
In a way where
her art
becomes
his word.
his words spent
trying
Oh, trying
To capture the beauty that is her work
Like the tide to the shore
He'll throw himself into attempts
Only to find
he can only bring with him
The surface.
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