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"woken" poems
I could’ve woken you up in the morning and could’ve been the sun that rises even when we both live in a place where it never does. I could’ve taken you to museums, at least 2 of where I’ve been to. The first one, we’ll have to take the bus because I’d tell you that I’m too lazy to drive but for the second one, I will tell you that I’ll drive you there. My car would look at me as though it knows that there is another soul seating in the passenger seat – it was no longer some books, a box of pizza, or my dog. I could’ve taken photos of you in that place, post them everywhere but subtly so that they can see that there are at least 2 forms of art in that photo — the one you’re looking at and the one I’m looking at. I could’ve talked to you at night under the stars, in the same rooftop where I told you that I liked the cathartic experience of doing just what we could’ve done; the same rooftop where you talked about your life, at least some pieces of it. I could’ve brought you to where I used to study. We could’ve walked the halls that stared at me for being too alone and too lonely only so I could tell them, “Hey, here he is, finally.” and they could’ve smiled at me because they know how long the longing lasted. We could’ve taken a stroll in the shade of the trees or could’ve had a picnic there while watching the joggers and the sunset. I could’ve introduced you to my friends – they’ve been meaning to meet you. They too know how long I’ve been stuck on an island by myself. They know who I was when I was eleven and when I was sixteen and I bet, if you gave them a chance, you could’ve heard the crazy things we did. And maybe they could’ve liked you. They could’ve told me how lucky I was and probably would’ve warned me that if I hurt you, they’d stick with you instead of me. I could’ve introduced you to my family — my mom liked you even then. I could’ve introduced you to my little brother who I would consider as the biggest and most important judge of character because I believe that children can sense goodness in people and he could’ve seen that in you. I could’ve written you letters, could’ve left random little tokens I would've used for all the words I cannot muster to say. I could’ve played the piano for you even if I just know, at most, 3 songs; even though I don’t really know how to read notes at all. I could’ve introduced you to the artists I like and I could’ve known more of yours. I could’ve listened to them and I would have had to remember you every time. I could’ve held your hand, could’ve eaten brunch with you, could’ve read you a poem. I could’ve loved you — could have – if I was the given the chance. But, I was and I could’ve used it but I didn’t.
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Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:01 PM UTC
Because Today is the Last Day
I could’ve woken you up in the morning and could’ve been the sun that rises even when we both live in a place where it never does. I could’ve taken you to museums, at least 2 of where I’ve been to. The first one, we’ll have to take the bus because I’d tell you that I’m too lazy to drive but for the second one, I will tell you that I’ll drive you there. My car would look at me as though it knows that there is another soul seating in the passenger seat – it was no longer some books, a box of pizza, or my dog. I could’ve taken photos of you in that place, post them everywhere but subtly so that they can see that there are at least 2 forms of art in that photo — the one you’re looking at and the one I’m looking at. I could’ve talked to you at night under the stars, in the same rooftop where I told you that I liked the cathartic experience of doing just what we could’ve done; the same rooftop where you talked about your life, at least some pieces of it. I could’ve brought you to where I used to study. We could’ve walked the halls that stared at me for being too alone and too lonely only so I could tell them, “Hey, here he is, finally.” and they could’ve smiled at me because they know how long the longing lasted. We could’ve taken a stroll in the shade of the trees or could’ve had a picnic there while watching the joggers and the sunset. I could’ve introduced you to my friends – they’ve been meaning to meet you. They too know how long I’ve been stuck on an island by myself. They know who I was when I was eleven and when I was sixteen and I bet, if you gave them a chance, you could’ve heard the crazy things we did. And maybe they could’ve liked you. They could’ve told me how lucky I was and probably would’ve warned me that if I hurt you, they’d stick with you instead of me. I could’ve introduced you to my family — my mom liked you even then. I could’ve introduced you to my little brother who I would consider as the biggest and most important judge of character because I believe that children can sense goodness in people and he could’ve seen that in you. I could’ve written you letters, could’ve left random little tokens I would've used for all the words I cannot muster to say. I could’ve played the piano for you even if I just know, at most, 3 songs; even though I don’t really know how to read notes at all. I could’ve introduced you to the artists I like and I could’ve known more of yours. I could’ve listened to them and I would have had to remember you every time. I could’ve held your hand, could’ve eaten brunch with you, could’ve read you a poem. I could’ve loved you — could have – if I was the given the chance. But, I was and I could’ve used it but I didn’t.
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16
If I travelled, across the landscape of my mind, And, I chose to take you with me – guess what you might find? I’d talk you into many things, I’d make you see the sea. We would buy some wood Pay by cheque, which you would check And build an arc upon an ark. And you’d, set sail with me! Whether we had the weather or not We’d sail a week, and you’d feel so weak You’ll beg me for dry land! And so, we’d end the feat on our two feet And, tow; toe-to toe. Until ashore, we land. We’d shout aloud, if that’s allowed? To see if we’re alone? We’d find we are and start to panic But get woken by the phone. Steve Collins. 24/8/10
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Aug 24, 2010
Aug 24, 2010 at 1:06 PM UTC
Homophone Dream
I wonder if you’d want to know I named all of my demons after you and they haunt me in my sleep when I was 14 I fell asleep in April and dreamed of bones and I’m not sure I’ve really ever woken up since when I lost 5 pounds I never saw a difference when I lost 10 my mother said I was looking good when I lost 20 she told me to stop and handed me food and I became anemic when I lost 25 I stopped drinking anything because I felt water had calories when I lost 30 my mother held me on her lap and held my bones together for me when I lost 35 I started fainting every morning and the doctors could no longer easily find my blood pressure when I lost 40 people started to stare and food made me cry when I lost 45 it hurt to walk and to lay down it hurt to eat it hurt to breathe and I started throwing up my empty stomach the mind plays tricks on those that decide nourishment is not needed Eat.
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Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 10:07 AM UTC
Anorexic Dream
i dreamt of you once again- i wish i had not woken up.
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Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC
reunited?
All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.
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13k
All That is Gold
Wake up pleasured, I feel it as you lick my Stiffness awoken from sleep, "ARRR, Your tongue feels rough, but I like it woken Pleasured from my sleep. I open my eyes turn my head to the side There you are still asleep, panic on a face, As what is under the sheets still pleasuring Me more, just one more minute, NO.... Under the sheets I do look woken by pleasure But  not any more. There are two pussy's I see as I look under the Sheets, one shaved, one hairy and its the hairy One licking while looking at me. I am pleasured, but animal style, this cat is out The door. Violated am I, never to tell the woman I love, that another ***** has pleasured me nearly Releasing the milk that would have made it purr.
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Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
Morning Pleasure
A new Prometheus breaks through with the light not taken from the sun but from an unknown forgotten one. Not up from the sky nor from down the bottom of the ocean, rose from the null!    The witty one then shows up like a candle, flame on the mirror! Everything around it starts fading except the flame in front of the mirror. More and more eyeballs look on it only to be sure anything like it was never seen before!    By now the world woken up at the first light perhaps except the one who could tell the truth what was that looking in the mirror? Everyone's guess was as good as other's
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May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC
Flame and the Mirror
Its just a fantasy the only regret is permanence, The life of a modern day gypsy, an unknown destination. I wake up to new faces from past day's bruises, A long journey into some town, exploring the unknown. Green sanctum reflecting the temple top, Woken up by the gong of the ancient metals. Treated like a royal guest, offered a lot of the harvest, Walking down the symmetric coconut grooves. I see vessels carrying newest of the goods, But here they still stick to their roots. True its a gods own country, abundant beauty, I'm lost amidst the hills sipping the Malabar coffee.
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Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Kerala
Upon the wings of doves it was pure Their purest white Feathers Glided, Floated, Nestled Its clearness, Its symbolic touch Upon my yet to be woken heart, For this beauty showed what was In front of my eyes, Feathers did come down like snow Not only touching mine, Awoken, Revived, Vitality Sprung forth, emotions were flowering Everywhere, My heart was touched By a feather of purest love, That is when our eyes meet, I saw a feather Caress your loneliness and we Were transformed from Solitude, Seclusion, Sorrow To hearts that were now awoken, The true feeling stirred from inside, To love at first sight, We were like the feathers Our hearts had taken flight, We were in love as white feathers fell, The symbol of love had opened our hearts To what was always Within our now flourishing hearts.
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Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Doves Feathers Awoken Love
we lay together, 6:00am, body warmth touch-sharing, as the June morning summer chill coming off its night nadir coolness surrenders very reluctantly, full length pajamas, blankets and coverlets in use, keeping cold out while bodies touching generate heat - a big difference through these layers of cotton controversy, my right arm, my cunning, falls awkwardly upon her, advising I am woken and aware she is as well, hear her earbuds emplaced, make shushed whispering noises re the future of artificial intelligence and other such mental knottings my awkward angled arm rests on her landscaped outline of shape, coming to rest where legs meet at the top of an upside down V spot, which makes no request, but accepts my bequest of steady stroking of her ****** as an unnecessary but atheist-acceptable to her morning prayer ritual, kept at the intersection of the physical and physics theorems funny how some prayers, where recitation comes thoughtlessly and routine, uttered without any contemplation are yet deep comforting for their inherency, so I pray a stroking repetitive on her body, well hid neath a summer coverlet, wordlessly chanted, wordlessly accepted, silence connoting approving permission I comfort her, above and through a floral coverlet for her floral coverlet, till the sun rises enough to truly warm up our plot, my praying reaches the end of its rope, where quality and quantity achieve unanimity resolution no longer needed, but am appreciated, besides my arm is cramping, not designed for the rising, unleveled angle of her breathing bodice my comfort is her extra comforter, an offering of coffee my reward, for my daily work has begun, and I have many more poems stillborn that require coaxing stroking to become witnesses to living
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Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
I comfort her ****** a coaxing
we lay together, 6:00am, body warmth touch-sharing, as the June morning summer chill coming off its night nadir coolness surrenders very reluctantly, full length pajamas, blankets and coverlets in use, keeping cold out while bodies touching generate heat - a big difference through these layers of cotton controversy, my right arm, my cunning, falls awkwardly upon her, advising I am woken and aware she is as well, hear her earbuds emplaced, make shushed whispering noises re the future of artificial intelligence and other such mental knottings my awkward angled arm rests on her landscaped outline of shape, coming to rest where legs meet at the top of an upside down V spot, which makes no request, but accepts my bequest of steady stroking of her ****** as an unnecessary but atheist-acceptable to her morning prayer ritual, kept at the intersection of the physical and physics theorems funny how some prayers, where recitation comes thoughtlessly and routine, uttered without any contemplation are yet deep comforting for their inherency, so I pray a stroking repetitive on her body, well hid neath a summer coverlet, wordlessly chanted, wordlessly accepted, silence connoting approving permission I comfort her, above and through a floral coverlet for her floral coverlet, till the sun rises enough to truly warm up our plot, my praying reaches the end of its rope, where quality and quantity achieve unanimity resolution no longer needed, but am appreciated, besides my arm is cramping, not designed for the rising, unleveled angle of her breathing bodice my comfort is her extra comforter, an offering of coffee my reward, for my daily work has begun, and I have many more poems stillborn that require coaxing stroking to become witnesses to living
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40
As the ripe of night passes by he lays on his back and looks to the sky. A bold gaze he holds in his eyes as he covers hêr gently under the sheets. Staring in the broad open he thinks of how all the universe came to be next to him. His fingers run along from her thigh to cheek as he counts all the stars reflected from her ivory-hued skin. A creature delicate, painted in colors contrary to the night, seems like she was chosen to be even long before those stars gave birth to their light. As morning comes by, even before the Sun, she illuminates the sky. He has never seen something so beautiful, as that slow waking of her eyes. No other sight in this world could feed his gaze like that half-woken confused pale face. And as she whispered, still in her dreams, he silently laughed and thanked all, all that stardust throught the years, for gathering into something so rare, so rare, he saw only in her wild untamed hair.
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Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
Wild Hair
The Sun was slowly Sinking. The Day was almost Done. When Darkness fell around Us, We readied Ourselves for Fun. I felt Her, with My Eyes. To Memorise Her Golden Spot. She Kissed Me on My Lips and watched Me turning Hot. With Her Ten gentle Fingers, She guided Me to Her Door, The Lion in Me got Woken and We both landed on the Floor. Hearing Her Moan and Whisper, I went fondling Her Curves. Each stroke that I rendered, we're Tennis Aces one Serves.
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Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 7:56 AM UTC
A Night with Tennis Aces
If you can keep your dignity when all about you Are losing theirs and pretending its not true, If you can avoid contact when all men want you, But straight faced act like you want them too, If you can force a smile and never tire of smiling Or being fake, never believe the lies Or being grabbed, never give way to slapping And yet listening to ***** just bat your eyes If you can dance – and use it to men master If you can flirt – and not fancy, play a game If you can have nights o’ triumph and disaster And come back to work just the same   If you can bear to hear some filth to you spoken Uttered by fathers to get off on, the fools Or watch brothers pretend they’ve just woken And to our sisters, say they play by the rules If you can make one big heap of cash earnings And not think you won’t ever make a big loss And save, and start again as if you’ve no savings And never boast or act like the boss If you can force your mind and body and sinew To serve endless men like they’re the only one And be a drunkard, when there’s not drop in you Accept it’s a job and it’s a job to get done If you can talk with rich men who have no virtue Or sit with ****** – not attend to their crotch If neither boss nor floor staff ever alert to you If all the girls like you, but none too much If you can stay how you feel this minute With your innocent heart pure and head clear Yours is the strip club and the cash that’s in it And – which is more – you’re a stripper, my dear!
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Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
If (You're a Stripper)
If you can keep your dignity when all about you Are losing theirs and pretending its not true, If you can avoid contact when all men want you, But straight faced act like you want them too, If you can force a smile and never tire of smiling Or being fake, never believe the lies Or being grabbed, never give way to slapping And yet listening to ***** just bat your eyes If you can dance – and use it to men master If you can flirt – and not fancy, play a game If you can have nights o’ triumph and disaster And come back to work just the same   If you can bear to hear some filth to you spoken Uttered by fathers to get off on, the fools Or watch brothers pretend they’ve just woken And to our sisters, say they play by the rules If you can make one big heap of cash earnings And not think you won’t ever make a big loss And save, and start again as if you’ve no savings And never boast or act like the boss If you can force your mind and body and sinew To serve endless men like they’re the only one And be a drunkard, when there’s not drop in you Accept it’s a job and it’s a job to get done If you can talk with rich men who have no virtue Or sit with ****** – not attend to their crotch If neither boss nor floor staff ever alert to you If all the girls like you, but none too much If you can stay how you feel this minute With your innocent heart pure and head clear Yours is the strip club and the cash that’s in it And – which is more – you’re a stripper, my dear!
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32
asked for death, but was given life how dare that god ignore my plea! should've never woken up
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Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
ignored
A thought sometimes forms I live too much yet I do too little.     Woken at strange hours, never asleep.        Rapt in raps        or wrapped in riddles Chained to links or hammered to handle     stubbed to bone Mens et                Manus There is time yet, I swear         To flourish To dream         To make To be         To do         To create Will I? We'll see There's time yet to tell Be yourself, they say     The best you you can be But once more— Will I have time         To edit I live less         I do less     Portfolio: empty     or at least, locked away.         Excitement too.             Blank slate Blank palette Is there any paint? Can I truly make         excitement saturate? Will I be able to place         value as I see fit?     Can the world be hewn slimmer, slicker Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger Tis daft I think, to amuse such a notion But not necessarily so daft to be wrong Emerson called it misunderstood, Shaw found it unreasonable But ay, theres the rub That bed once made, must be lain in and all dreams which might be had are alone not enough Bloom effects don't work outside the movies. Ideas are trash, these are recession times Deflations made them a farthing a dozen                                                                   Started 10.03.11                                Unfinished                                D.B. Guy
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Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
A poem for Photoshop
A thought sometimes forms I live too much yet I do too little.     Woken at strange hours, never asleep.        Rapt in raps        or wrapped in riddles Chained to links or hammered to handle     stubbed to bone Mens et                Manus There is time yet, I swear         To flourish To dream         To make To be         To do         To create Will I? We'll see There's time yet to tell Be yourself, they say     The best you you can be But once more— Will I have time         To edit I live less         I do less     Portfolio: empty     or at least, locked away.         Excitement too.             Blank slate Blank palette Is there any paint? Can I truly make         excitement saturate? Will I be able to place         value as I see fit?     Can the world be hewn slimmer, slicker Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger Tis daft I think, to amuse such a notion But not necessarily so daft to be wrong Emerson called it misunderstood, Shaw found it unreasonable But ay, theres the rub That bed once made, must be lain in and all dreams which might be had are alone not enough Bloom effects don't work outside the movies. Ideas are trash, these are recession times Deflations made them a farthing a dozen                                                                   Started 10.03.11                                Unfinished                                D.B. Guy
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53
stuck in a hollow room, handfuls of pictures of years, now simple past, rain still bound, fallen, the quietness of absence, the eclipse of your dissolute smile; one day, years ago, I must have woken up, and forgotten to stay in love, or just realized, I never really was.
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Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
(falling-out-of-)love letters
I was woken up by a nightmare. I woke up in the middle of the night when I had fallen asleep and a poem was finished. The silence makes the painting  in the air I breathe, feel heavy, feel suffocating. My throat is dry. And on such a thirsty night, a poem ordered an inkbox and a piece of paper, and I ordered a bottle of beer and a cigarette and also a lighter, and night ordered itself for me.
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Dec 28, 2021
Dec 28, 2021 at 2:49 PM UTC
A Thirsty Night
Family Reunion Had dinner with my parents tonight, this week was the first time I’ve seen them together in my entire life, honestly, and even though I left home at 14, all of the blame, can’t really be put on either them or me, because my parents had broken up, since long before I was woken up, separated for so long, I often wondered if they were even ever together, I brought them together for my birthday, October 2016, my father flew in from The States, we all met in Thailand where my mom lives, dinner was difficult, my mom is losing her mind, while she’s sitting there spilling her soul, my dad just sits there and asks meaningless questions, my mother sitting there saying how she has no money, how she has no family other than us, how she has no shoes on her feet, and no real place to call home, like I’m supposed to feel guilty for that, like I don’t send her money all the time, like I wasn’t in Thailand just to visit her, like I’m a man now so she chooses to blame me, like she’s chosen to blame every other man that’s ever been in her life, how many husbands has she had now, 4 or 5, maybe 6 or 7, I don’t know I’ve lost count. Seriously, ridiculous, what do you say to your mom, when you think she’s a **** and I know that might sound like a terrible thing to say, but it’s the truth and I refuse to censor myself, my, self, doesn’t even feel like me anymore, not even sure if I’m a human let alone a man, man, the Atomic Family is more like an Atomic Bomb, what a mess we’ve made, and all in the name of what, I have no idea, honestly, well, it’s all probably a simulation always, at least that’s what Elon Musk says, “There’s a 1 in billions chance that we are not living in a Simulated Reality.”. Makes me want to tell my parents, that they are just part of a computer program, but they’d probably just call me crazy, and then just disappear… ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆ from The new book '777' available worldwide on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1548700746
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Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 10:53 PM UTC
Family ReUnion
Family Reunion Had dinner with my parents tonight, this week was the first time I’ve seen them together in my entire life, honestly, and even though I left home at 14, all of the blame, can’t really be put on either them or me, because my parents had broken up, since long before I was woken up, separated for so long, I often wondered if they were even ever together, I brought them together for my birthday, October 2016, my father flew in from The States, we all met in Thailand where my mom lives, dinner was difficult, my mom is losing her mind, while she’s sitting there spilling her soul, my dad just sits there and asks meaningless questions, my mother sitting there saying how she has no money, how she has no family other than us, how she has no shoes on her feet, and no real place to call home, like I’m supposed to feel guilty for that, like I don’t send her money all the time, like I wasn’t in Thailand just to visit her, like I’m a man now so she chooses to blame me, like she’s chosen to blame every other man that’s ever been in her life, how many husbands has she had now, 4 or 5, maybe 6 or 7, I don’t know I’ve lost count. Seriously, ridiculous, what do you say to your mom, when you think she’s a **** and I know that might sound like a terrible thing to say, but it’s the truth and I refuse to censor myself, my, self, doesn’t even feel like me anymore, not even sure if I’m a human let alone a man, man, the Atomic Family is more like an Atomic Bomb, what a mess we’ve made, and all in the name of what, I have no idea, honestly, well, it’s all probably a simulation always, at least that’s what Elon Musk says, “There’s a 1 in billions chance that we are not living in a Simulated Reality.”. Makes me want to tell my parents, that they are just part of a computer program, but they’d probably just call me crazy, and then just disappear… ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆ from The new book '777' available worldwide on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1548700746
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59
Every morning I wake up and cry. I wish I hadn't woken up again. I only want to die. Because in my dreams, I am not alone.
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Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
Alone
The intimacy of being known The intimacy of doing something without being asked The intimacy of doing literally anything with that person Only because it's that person. The intimacy of waking up next to that person The intimacy of being woken up by that person The intimacy of remembering what someone likes The intimacy of remembering what someone dislikes The intimacy of not needing to remember just doing it The intimacy of reciprocating the energy of that person The intimacy of being that energy The intimacy of feeling human with someone The intimacy of making someone else feel human The intimacy of doing something only for that person without them knowing it was you The intimacy of having something done for you without your knowledge of who, when, and how The intimacy of appreciating someone's existence The intimacy of your existence being appreciated The intimacy of being in their presence The intimacy in knowing if one were to explain how they felt they'd only being annoying and everything they said would be pointlessly wasted and feel meaningless to the reciprocant The intimacy in having no ability to stand up for oneself against someone The intimacy of being able to work through PTSD for someone The intimacy of being able to ignore instinct for someone The intimacy in learning oneself with someone The love we don't see, is the most important to me
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Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 6:05 PM UTC
The Love We Don't See
Now you realize what you did, 
 you took it too far, 
this time it was to deep, 
to raw, now its going to be hard for us both.   I asked for your help ' Its never ending, I again want to die. Please tell me why? Be my Soul Mate now just talk to me help me find my life again. Not with you, just my life. ' I couldn't get your abuse out of my system you repeated "You need to do the leaving" "Let's die rather then not be together" I said "Only with You". The ongoing flashbacks of pressurizing demanding me to do what you wanted heightened in Athens. Questioning all that happened what did it mean just ******* my soul and body So abused I couldn't disentangle from it So violated And you continued it with your talk and talk. Your lies of reflection and regret Your abuse of my love and belief Then my desperate wish was granted You made contact via a third party On reflection to address the end, to answer my questions, to give us some meaning, to help us move on with our lives you cared about my life, to be honest. the day, the place, the time, the third party all set then you renegade last minute, no explanation, once again shut me out without a thought for my life, you willful behavior, ongoing abuse. So finally now I know you are a pathological liar. I don't  give a **** about you anymore. Its like I have woken from a nightmare I have no more energy for you I am not afraid of the fall out of exposing you I will no longer protect the secret. The legal proceedings will tell the truth And you will have to face your demons. I will move on with my life which is so much bigger than yours. I will fight on to free myself from your abuse. My life no longer tenuous. This is the end of my series of poems - love and deception. The courts will be my voice.
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May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 11:03 AM UTC
'Only with You'
Now you realize what you did, 
 you took it too far, 
this time it was to deep, 
to raw, now its going to be hard for us both.   I asked for your help ' Its never ending, I again want to die. Please tell me why? Be my Soul Mate now just talk to me help me find my life again. Not with you, just my life. ' I couldn't get your abuse out of my system you repeated "You need to do the leaving" "Let's die rather then not be together" I said "Only with You". The ongoing flashbacks of pressurizing demanding me to do what you wanted heightened in Athens. Questioning all that happened what did it mean just ******* my soul and body So abused I couldn't disentangle from it So violated And you continued it with your talk and talk. Your lies of reflection and regret Your abuse of my love and belief Then my desperate wish was granted You made contact via a third party On reflection to address the end, to answer my questions, to give us some meaning, to help us move on with our lives you cared about my life, to be honest. the day, the place, the time, the third party all set then you renegade last minute, no explanation, once again shut me out without a thought for my life, you willful behavior, ongoing abuse. So finally now I know you are a pathological liar. I don't  give a **** about you anymore. Its like I have woken from a nightmare I have no more energy for you I am not afraid of the fall out of exposing you I will no longer protect the secret. The legal proceedings will tell the truth And you will have to face your demons. I will move on with my life which is so much bigger than yours. I will fight on to free myself from your abuse. My life no longer tenuous. This is the end of my series of poems - love and deception. The courts will be my voice.
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I wait for you to come closer, To draw closer and tell me That you can't deal with me Any more. Not with my Insane, bordering on Psychotic, behavior, and My bipolar mood swings. But, you draw closer And you smile right at me, And draw me into a hug For a second, that little voice, Which I am always aware of, Which tells me I'm never Going to be good enough For anyone to accept or like, Let alone love, Fades to the back of my mind. I let myself relax Into your warm embrace and I let myself be and believe. I turn to smile at you... Before I can see your face, Your features, I am woken up From my daydream By the bell signalling the End of school. I pack my bag And head towards my carpool, My movements sluggish- Even cheerily wave goodbye to A few stragglers. I reach home and eat lunch alone. I go for tuition, let myself Become numb to everything But learning and understanding. It becomes darker and it's almost 8, I come back home again. I had been out from 7 in the morning. This time, my family's there and We eat dinner together, though, I am barely there with them. They're discussing important Things like business and will Talk to me later. I finish eating And go sleep. Tomorrow's going to Be the exact robotic same.
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Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
Monotonous
After an exhausting day at work, I eagerly lie my restless head down Plunge into my bed and put on my pillowed crown Regardless of how soft and cool my pillow may be The other side of the pillow, keeps beckoning me And be one man, long I thought For the previous night I had forgot How the other side of the pillow feels? What comfort the other side reveals? Although, both sides equally lay I contemplated flipping my pillow the other day For in the morning I awoke in hot sweat And wished I changed my previous bet So tonight, I flipped my pillow over with ease The coolness of the surface came over me like a breeze Oh, how magical this side of the pillow can feel Oh how happy am I? To have made this deal I doubted if I should ever go back Knowing what the other side may lack Somewhere ages and ages hence, I’ll tell this story with a sigh How overnight that side of the pillow grew warm and dry Because in the morning my pillow was wet For I had woken up in a hot sweat
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Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
The Other Side of the Pillow
fields of lavender as far as the eye can see, in rows of scented purple growing insatiable idiosyncrasies, our minds are a rich, deep soil and the children of our thoughts run free, run free and light, run free and careless, like a river to the sea. the heart is programmed to be broken, to let in the light, and the earth in us is woken, our heart will open, it will open, when we take in our first breath of this heaven.
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Mar 25, 2025
Mar 25, 2025 at 6:38 PM UTC
A Breathed-In Lullaby