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Still born babe coffined.
Mother broken heart and head,
her first baby dead.
I am writing this as I lay beside you
for the last time.
In the morning I'll leave the strawberry yogurt on the counter,
I know it's the only flavor you can stand.
Don't bother running to the door,
I'll have been gone for hours.
Did you know that your eyes flutter an awful lot when you sleep?
And it's sweet how gentle your hands look laying on your chest.
You have a freckle on your forearm,
I guess I never noticed
because as much of your body I've seen I guess I never really looked.
And I'm sorry we skipped introductions,
like your favorite song.
I wish I knew it.
Instead I spent my time memorizing how you breathe;
choppy at first, then gentle.
And I could remain by your side until you to love me back,
but I'm too restless,
and you'd never notice.
And now I am left with an unfinished poem in a book you'll never see,
so when you read this note keep in your mind
that I have loved you as flowers love bees
but the sting has become too much to endure.

*Goodbye my love.
A note I never delivered.
Somber and sympathetic,
the rain spoke patterns
you never could.
i’m too shy
to tell you
how i feel

so i’ll hide behind
timid smiles
and soft hellos

i’m afraid
if i ask you

“what do you think of me?”

your reply will be

          
                              
                               “i don’t.”
i love your laugh
all your little quirks
the cute nicknames you’ve given me
and our late night confessions

but i don’t want to

because one moment
i feel euphoric
and the next
i don’t even know
who you are

you are not my sunrise
or my brisk winter day

this constant turmoil
of zeal and distain
is too much for me to bear

sticks and stones
may break my bones,
but you will always
hurt the most
 May 2013 Vivienne Luong
Isabella
This body once active is now motionless
As pale as a ghost, your soul is no longer the host
Your eyes are closed, and your all dressed and posed.
 May 2013 Vivienne Luong
Isabella
A blank piece of paper to me is like
A blank canvas to an artist, and
We can both make it into  
Whatever we want,
however we want,
and whatever we believe.
Exactly like I was born,
Life was blank to me.

— The End —