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Show me how to heal, not to hurt.
Show me how to feel, not to strangle.

Tell me how to mend, not to destroy.
Tell me how to defend, not to attack.

Teach me how to share, not to be selfish.
Teach me how to care, not to fear.

I want to tell the truth, not to lie.
I want to live, not to die.

We are imperfect.
 Jan 2014 wonderland sam
Drew
What is it about a woman’s naked body
that is so beautiful to me?
there is nothing complex about it
it could be described simply
nearly uniform in color
with soft curves and small dips
light shadows emphasizing
her beauty
and tan lines 
showing if she is expertly ****
or lack there of
showing delicate new nudeness
muscles showing determination
or fat showing satisfaction
and the look upon her face
that says she is proud of what she has
or a curve in her back
that shows she knows what she’s got

I could see a thousand naked ladies
and still want to see a thousand more
do that with anything else
and I’d become sick of it
there is one simple thing
that has to be fulfilled
They have to be naked
stripped of clothing, makeup,
and shyness
because those takes away from the natural beauty
yet
the most beautiful part about
any woman
is knowing that she is happy
with her own naked body
 Jan 2014 wonderland sam
Sarah
Locked up inside
he fell,
now will inwardly reside.

In and out
she lied,
now dashes about.

Fallen out love is found all around.
She was pretty.
Scratch that.
She was beautiful.
Scratch that too.

She was more beautiful,
Than a sunrise on a winter morning.
Or a rainfall on an autumn day
Where the leaves dance in the wind
And fill the sky with life.
More beautiful than a flower
That breaks through the cracks
Of a concrete garden
And brings color to the air.
She was more beautiful,
Than any poem that's ever been written.

She was beautiful.
Scratch that.
She still is.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
©Sebastian @http://hellopoetry.com/sebastian/
 Jan 2014 wonderland sam
gd
I tried to
make a playlist
of all the songs
that reminded
me of you
for the sole
purpose of burning
them entirely
and listening to
the rest in peace,
but I realized
every single one
was laced with
your name
so I ended up
burning everything
to the ground
and it still
wasn't enough
to get you out
of my head.
Home is a funny place,
its somewhere between love,
and a warm bed.

It lives between a building,
and a sole.

It is a place,
an idea,
and a person.

Home is where you can be yourself,
where you don't need to try,
and you are loved.

Home does not need to be where you live,
or where you sleep,
or where you keep your things.

It can be in a hallway,
on your way to class.

On a beach,
in the middle of summer.

In a restaurant,
surrounded by people.

In a studio,
in a hug,
on the street.

Home can be a place,
but it can move.

Though your address may never change,
your home could be always moving.

You may think that you lost your home,
but maybe you just lost yourself.
When you find it again,
you will see,
it has always been waiting.

Home may not always be the easiest place to be,
it needs constant upkeep,
and it is not always simple.

Everything you put into your home,
will come back,
and the more people you invite in,
the larger it gets.

Dare to let them in,
dare to be hurt,
dare to build a home.

My friends,
thank you,
for building a home,
with me.
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