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He’s a creature of habit,
He has morals and goals,
He strives to be better,
He makes this girl whole,

He gives to the takers,
He never says no,
He’s the sweetest and kindest,
He makes my heart glow,

He makes love so manly,
But tender and soft,
He outdoes all others,
To me he’s the boss,

He’s mine and i love it,
He means me no harm,
He works hard to please me,
He’s like my right arm,

This man in my life,
Is the best in the world,
I’m eternally grateful he chose me as his girl......

(c) [email protected] 2018
This is a work of fact..... For the best man ever..
i miss the sound of your
voice,
the words in which you
spoke,
the love that lingered quietly
in the pauses of time.

i miss you in the sense
that i am no longer whole,
just a part of a poem
floating in the sky, looking for
eyes who are eager to read me.

i am not of the Fierce Lovers, love.
i love too softly, too quietly,
and perhaps, a little too deeply.

in the subtle touches of your
hand, i will be content.

i miss you...

so much that there is hallow
place inside me.

i wish you knew...

maybe you do.

maybe i don't cross your
mind as often as you cross mine.

but even then, your love
blooms in me.

in the gloomiest parts of my
soul,
you are the most beautiful,
most incandescent,
flower.

and you bloom gracefully, love.
gentle, like the petals that
fall with every passing day.

brushing softly against the
bone white cage.

i miss you, love.

a bit too often, a bit too much.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zx6gr_Ch9x8

^^This reminds me of you...
During the night,
I can already envision the early morning,
when the city breaks
and the sky overhead
begins shading over its stars
with lighter tones of blue paint.
Around seven, traffic will emerge
and carry on into the distance,
dad and I stuck in the left lane
while the bikers pass in a blur.
Up ahead, the buildings and sidewalks
will be brimming with people
shuffling along,
making up a solitary flowing crowd
of masked,
expressionless figures,
one that I will have to blend into.
In the room, the seats in the middle
are usually claimed first
so I go and sit up in the back
with my notebook open,
scratching and scribbling away,
filling up blank pages with my blank mind.
In a room full of people,
I am a nameless face in the crowd,
and it has become my conditioned
preference of a lifestyle.
On smooth buses jammed full,
and on sidewalks and through intersections
full of people always crossing
to the other side and back,
I am emerged in the movement,
and engulfed in the crowd.
I can envision it all playing out
in my head,
while laying on my bed
and staring at the ceiling
at one in the morning,
because all of it has already
happened before,
over and over and
over again.
10/08/19
  Oct 2 winter sakuras
JT
You can’t compare yourself
With the unbroken girls
Surrounding you
You already shattered
Creating
A new form
Of beautiful

-jt
a somewhat older poem
during the nights
i barely scratch the surface of sleep
before the sun pours over my eyes,
reminding me of another day i cannot
bear the strength to carry  

i am stuck, it seems, in two different worlds
      wedged between the conscious
               and unconscious

i am a nomad wandering the
middle ground of two realities,
caught in the crease of two pages
of the same book

i am bound to nothingness
or perhaps nothingness is bound to me

        an ache sifts through me,
drawing out the years from my life
leaving me to count my days in sighs

during the night,
sleep leaves like an old friend and
i cannot stop the tears
when he says his last goodbye.

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