She Goes

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Credit: Monika Luniak

She dresses in see-through.
She’s opaque and clarity, fiction and reality;
she’s perfection.

She would never look my way.
She knows my flaws; I know she knows.
I can’t compliment her the way she deserves it.
I best express my spoken words
in creative, nonsensical poetry.

Before she walks away,
maybe I’ll keep my
ten seconds of doubt

I’ll approach her,
tell her she’s beautiful,
grab her by the hand,
put my finger on her lips
before she can respond.

All before she goes,
I go, and my illusory mind
wanders off, again.

Press My Lips

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I write better in ink,
words are dangerous.

Some words burn deep, others
speak of love in whimsical ways.

Air pushed through lips, softly,
can speak the harshest of curses
or the most beautiful of melodies
in rhyming lyric
and coherent thought.

As for me, I’ll drench my emotions into letters,
press my lips firmly against yours, and
refrain from dangerous, spoken words.

 

Uncensored

 

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Credit: Giuseppe Cristiano

 

Never would I dumb down my words,
take off their clothing,
add double-layered context, hidden messages,
and poetic flow on top of their naked beauty.

Love, flowers and smiles
are fiction, readers enjoy them.
Blood, pain and desire
is non-fiction, readers shy away.

So go ahead, criticize me
for my pure emotions and opinions;
honestly, I don’t mind.

I write reckless.
I edit nothing.
I am uncensored, raw, me

Guitar Strings

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Together, we can give voice to the voiceless,
sew a broken soul, and tell
stories in  minutes.

We’re missing a heart, but we
have fingers and a voice.
Not artificially, no,
the words aren’t our own nor
will they ever be, but
strum us together
or apart
and let us
tell unwritten stories
through the melody of music

Artist’s Palette

It’s fun to imagine
the taste and touch of a colors,
and not just their appearance.

Red is said to be hot and burning with passion,
but mixed with black, the color of fear,
no one would give it a second glance.

But what if red is ice-cold and blue
is ice-hot then maybe colors need
more than just sight.

As judged on appearance alone
it would be a terrible, terrible life
for a world full of colors

colors down drain

One Reader, One Writer

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between these lines,
within these margins
stories are told.
With a few letters
strung together
into words and
a hint of feeling
it can spark an emotion

and connect between
two strangers.

One reader,
one writer,
one journey both
can have,
together.

When words run out
and the lines turn blank the
reader leaves
writer writes,
and both go on
living parallel lives
miles apart.

Always connected together
through the simplest of words