"I never thought I could be"
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.

"devoid of thought, donning"
Melody W 

harsher critique doled out on a Thursday
devoid of thought, donning
flimsy membranes of indifference

while rain-slicked pavement
shroud a multitude of transgressions,
and unseeing onlookers absorb

only the merest visual of
yellow brick, gone as a dream
in the winds of fleeting youth

and red brick, stilted upon vast acres
compounding with visceral wisdom
of a stain that was never allowed

to exist

©MW
"Who surely thought our embraces sweet."
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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