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SS Jan 2022
i used to hate having
     my photo taken

to see every flaw and imperfection on display.

i used to hate
    the photos taken

the ones you glued into our scrapbook.

but now?
i love the photos given

& what they do to me.

for before
it felt like memories stolen

a painful reminder of
love
lost

today?
it reminds me of memories given
all the love we gave

it's scrapbooked in my memory
and brings a smile to my brain

so thank you for the photos taken
as they no longer bring me any pain.
hello, poetry. i'm healing and back home.
Charlie Chirico Sep 2015
Muse For Hire!*

Step up, form a line, take my hand
and explain a smile. Kiss my neck as I grasp a pen and scribble a word. Let my eyes open to see a world, where you've existed well before the given chance of becoming an afterthought consumes me enough to hark your dimensions, mark my words.

Cathartic energy is depleted faster than tubes of paint used to create thick brush strokes that compliment thin lines purposefully, yet with enough spontaneity to frame an abstract thought. Your symmetry can be manipulated, but only on paper, that which can be brought to life in sessions. In little moments.

The culmination of those little moments are scrapbooked, each picture slipped into a corner slot, behind paper that reminds me of your scent. A scent that makes me close my eyes. One that I can taste, and feel, and describe with hand gestures.

Embrace me and help me understand the definition of infinite. Watch a candlestick melt with me
as the sun rises.

Let me order you a coffee and say, "I'm not buying you a coffee, but rather your conversation."
absinthe Nov 2016
show me novel ways
let’s shovel up old graves
my inhumane unveils
revives former dull flames

and i see the beauty arson hides

i always never did at times
set indecisiveness aside
if for nothing other than the sake
of confronting fronts i fake

unearth wrath of the plague
at times i sideline my sides humane
and as much as i hate
these dark scars
i’m
not
    unfair

like the first degree burns
my skin scrapbooked back when
i took the scenic route down my path
and watched it turn each page to ash

though it showed me much more
when i saw paradise and its light
and it taught me new morals
when it told me that the only
way to see the light
is by cruising through the fire

as is arson's ignited flames
scaring strangers to pain
while behind curtains you and i sit
engulfed in light that grows
more beautiful the darker it gets

— The End —