"I lay in bed and my eyes close tightly, my breathing"

Is that what we wake up to every day?

Fast food and gas stations are forever stamped in the corners of my eyes as they are looking through the glass of minimum wage to the red flashing lights of a man hoping to get back to his children safely.

Is life is a pointed dagger then my blade is rusted and dull when I wonder why I even try some days.

Do I dare defend my pride and still demand something more than this? Is this a call for engines in the air or wings made of wax? Death would be more alive than waking up to another day of shampoo commercials and microwave dinners.

You are always whispering in my ear though dear and telling me that you're more than just a particle flown into my imagination from a world so oh very different than ours.

Are your eyes as bright as I imagine? Will the glare from them blind me from the tax collectors whip and will your laughter drown out the screams of onlookers who are throwing peanuts through the bars at my feet?

Will your kiss melt me and cause me to fall into wind like leaves in a storm, a tornado of color and beauty..?

I lay in bed and my eyes close tightly, my breathing slows and thoughts drip into pits men drown themselves in, the murky waters of nihilistic cynicism...

Though my hand will still not be closed around yours when the sun rises, the whisper lets me know you are still awake and searching for me too...

"Your half of the bed."
Angela Moreno 

This morning before
I ever lifted my head,
I turned to see
Your half of the bed.
And what a harsh reminder
Of how I'm growing old
With your side of the bed
Still unbearably cold.
Your sheets are not tossed,
Your pillow unpressed--
All lovely reminders
Of my current distress.
Was it not merely a month ago
That I was curled against your skin?
We were perfect puzzle pieces,
Your shoulder to my chin.
All day long
We would curl up and sleep
With nothing like time
And business to keep.
But what a terrible disease
Lurked inside my mind.
I never thought I could be
So selfish and unkind.
If only I had known
I was capable of such sin
I never would have let
Our cursed romance begin.
I could promise to never
Let it happen again.
I could take my pills
Like I refused to then.
I could be so much better,
My darling, please see.
If only, if only
You'd come back to me.

"nestling on our bed,"
Melody W 

Unblinking night
illuminated by those
long forgotten auras

We linger together
in unveiling separation,
peeling tangerines in the dark

Wordlessly we wait,
our searching palms
exchanging silent energy

And as the night air sighs,
nestling on our bed,
we embraced oddities
of another kind

strange rivulets trickling
down our upturned faces,
undeniably more than this
faint reminiscence
of tangerines

"As you shared a tiny bed with a "sisterly figure""
Melody W 

Like nauseating, velvety notes
of your Thierry Mugler wafting,
you pinned me to the wall, shocked;
in that pause, you stayed a while

I dripped with naivete
suspended in midair oblivion
tethered to the structure of your mind
as I greedily swallowed your saccharine words

Like primitive man,
you had few functioning tools
save for that seemingly vast
territory comprised of your self

three long years now but a blur
though resistant in my troubled mind
spotlight on your barely concealed indifference
As you shared a tiny bed with a "sisterly figure"

Like vermin caught on unforgiving electrical wire
you reek wholly of noise pollution
and I, inadvertent eager participant,
screamed till my hoarse throat could offer no more

repeated trauma, punishment bestowed upon my jaded self
until that final orchestration of my innermost being
demolished our hateful bridge, expelling your torment
as I crumpled to the ground, weeping rivulets of relief

"Beneath his bed sheets on that futon mattress."
Sally Michelle 

High-school kisses came easy
In the morning on the bus
Next to his red locker
Ignoring the reprimands of teachers,
Who surely thought our embraces sweet.
And when we’d skip class
We’d spend the day intertwined in secret
Beneath his bed sheets on that futon mattress.
Then conversation spilled with fervor from our mouths,
Knowing we’d never run out of things to say.
And now, years later,
We have silent conversations
Like plants who know,
Through chemicals carried on the wind,
What their neighbors are thinking.
This morning when he kissed me,
I smelled a familiar fragrance
Between pricks of stubble on his cheek.
Beneath his soap
That smells of cloves,
Was a scent
Like morning,
Like easy love,
Like yearning,
That reminded me of high-school kisses.

I have never considered myself a poet. Well, that isn't true. I did in high school, but I am certain every high school pupil with a pen thinks they are a poet. My best friend is a very talented poet and author, and she inspired me to take a stab at it. I mainly focus on fiction authorship, which you can read about on my blog. :)

This poem was written in honor of my fifth anniversary to my husband. I am a young wife and mother who's been with her high school sweetheart for nine years.
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