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 Aug 2021 Camille
Notepad
Cold coffee,
Drought soul,
Pale blue,
Broken bones,

Chapped lips,
Tired skin,
Plain vanilla,
Broken again,
The fragments... of my being
I feel like an open book
not just some words on paper,
with still some story to tell
trying to mean something greater.
perpetually surrounded by stories but finding one for yourself is almost like a needle in a haystack!
Years ago
A pen was found
Its grip was blue
Slightly chipped

It wrote
Everyday on sheets, white
Flawlessly on the lines
Words did glide

It had a special place
Where it rested
After a long day
At the desk

Its home was warm
A wooden drawer
Strategically placed
Easy to fetch

Now it has been years
It longs to see the desk
At dawn
A practice now clearly gone

It lay still
In the wooden drawer
Cold and blue
Ink-less dry
 Mar 2021 Camille
SassyJ
The vinyl record just rotates
in circuits of unforseen loops
queued in the unending circles
revolved strains of melodies

Yet every song remains the same ​stamped of a watered down clef
rooted fragile moments of numbness
gated inside notions with bricks

Even if the sun roars in a trumble
she remains that inhibited builder
a human, that fragile sort of a woman
a protective rooted architect of life
 Nov 2020 Camille
Ash
Apologies
 Nov 2020 Camille
Ash
I’m
sorry but—
I love you.
My first Hay(na)ku
 Nov 2020 Camille
Traci Sims
Sometimes I'm not sure
These love robes can be quite snug
I need a tailor.
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