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I seem to have forgotten the sound of my own heartbeat
Splitting apart my limbs I've found the source of my insanity
Coiled around veins and arteries
Star dust and a lazy man’s drug
Has put me to sleep under fictitious pretenses
Of forbidden apples and two faced prince charming’s
syndrome is a really pleasant word, syn-dro-me it's so lovely in the way it rolls off the tongue
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We’d sit on porch steps
Insecticide burning our lungs
Awkward and gangly attempting to grow into our limbs
You with freckles dusting your nose and I with a small dot on my cheek
You called it a beauty spot and I said god was too lazy to give me freckles

We were 15 and lust driven amnesiacs
Dissolving our flesh with cheap gin in your tree house
Throwing pebbles at the sky hoping to shatter it
We were an epidemic of the underdog prognosis
Playing encores to an audience of cowards

For some reason we’d always rush across rail way tracks
Metal bars quivering and our broken sneakers stumbling
We were branded in mistakes and embellished in thin silvery scars
Battle scars we’d say laughing because there was nothing else to do
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I will thaw out my
frozen ice box of a chest
for you
I will pump and resurrect
the dead tissues
so I can write about you

I will write about your
drug store Romeo smile
and the way you
hold your hands behind
your head like its the only
thing that will stop it
from rolling off your shoulders

I will write about the way
your eyes crinkle in the corners
and the way your dimples are uneven
when you laugh

I will write about the
tiny vampire footprints
you leave on my skin at night
when we're sat outside
on the sidewalk
contemplating Aristotle and Cobain
Like bleary eyed philosophers

I will write about the way
your fingers flex when you're excited
and how your knee
jitters when you're nervous
and how you like
lonely places
because they're so much more
intimate
than movie theatres and shopping malls

I will write about you
until I run out of words
and I'm sorry
I'm not poetic enough
to cover the breadth of
your firecracker soul
but I hope you know
this is the best
I can do
and I hope
that's enough.
I was told to never fall in love with a writer, because they will write about you even after you leave. You will become their obsession and their muse, they will cement you in their words and try and reanimate the curvature of your spine. They will make you live within their musings and they will frame you and place you on their bedside table to stare at longingly. They will not approach you again, they will allow you to shine brightly within someone else's eyes because they know that they were too quiet, or sensitive or intense and that a person like you shouldn't be pinned down in ink on paper. I was told to never fall in love with a writer, so instead I chose to be one.
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The era is now passed through which I lived and favored,
and my patience then packs its bags for hiatus,
with which to remind me that perhaps
brighter days lie in sunny hammocks ahead.

Here and alas lays the road to that sunny setting,
upon which I walk and tread the changing tide.
The next item on the list of Fates agenda and her passionate affair with time...
the seconds will carry on like the beats of my undying heart.

The fire that burns in my eyes, through which I see is only assuaged
by the tears they produce...
the tears I produce in my longing for some peace of some sort.
Yet those tears shall only accompany the sweat of my efforts.

Once upon a time, in the dream come true through which I slept,
did a fairy tale once existů
that tale of my tale through endless times of a dream come true
and gone by in the era that I once lived and favored.
I do NOT own the picture, this is the creator: [link]


I am only the writer of the words. This happens to be my 300th poem and I pray that you all enjoy it. It is a narrative of an immortal being who laments of the passing time. This threnody of inevitability is meant to provoke the thought of the reader in regards to time and existence, and how one is ultimately affected by the world around them. Think of your generation, your era, and what memories will later be recalled of the time in which you lived. Think of the future and all of its endless possibilities, both good and bad. Lose yourself in thought...it is a wonderfully terrifying feeling, is it not?
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So long ago began
the ever growing free for all,
The all you can eat,
dog eat dog world,
Where commonplace
are the simplistic struggles.
So out of hand,
that solutions become
ironically complex...
Hell's buffet,
straight out and down
from the kitchen above,
down the slip n' slide
through the caverns
of mishaps and mistakes,
I bet it tastes like regret,
and the buyer's remorse,
Reap what you sew say
the teeth of the demon,
With every bite sinks
in a shame filled saliva.
"Maybe we'll slow them down!"
Say the so called thinkers...
I can't help but think against them,
but what do I know?
I'm just a common crumb in the trough.
Above Heaven watches,
restricted by the local law
to keep the peace...
nothing is ever done,
but to keep the balance.
I wanted to try a little something different, and since I haven't written lyrics in a long time, I thought why not for a more satirical piece speaking out against how certain sins are now widely accepted and common within today's world. Don't misunderstand my message though, because I am completely guilty of a lot of things that I'm not proud, but so are we all as human beings. It's just our nature.

As far as the writing style for this piece goes, I was in many ways mimicking two songs by my favorite band, Lamb of God. The songs are "Contractor" and "Cheated". Fast paced, and meant to mock the modern political issues of our society. This one the other hand is directed at modern religious issues.

The satirical aspect of it is making fun of people such as the Westburo Baptist Church. Notice how I intentionally leave out any mention of Christ, redemption, and The Sacrifice for our sins. Such is my way pointing a both laughing, and accusing finger at people like them. The rest is as explained in the first paragraph of this synopsis.

Picture Citation:
[link]
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My, what hope lies
in the half empty glass,
trembling by tremor and leer.
At such a long road's end,
does it rise and shatter.

What understanding have you,
of fear, of pestilence,
other than the existence of self.
Imposed, the creation
to be eventually bled out.

Filthy, the very cause
by which the water rises,
boiling with blisters
in the overwhelming sin
of the ever beating sun above.

Freedom, to the acrostic asininity
now found laughing atop the grave...
the grave of past gone by,
decaying with every bite
of a gluttonous sloth with an ancient cause.

That to my eyes, the mass hysteria,
borderline loss of sanity from the commonalty.
Have I lost track or do my eyes deceive,
the horsemen's tracks are of disarray,
and I know not which one has come.

Now, the angels look onward,
gazing with hopeless eyes,
searching for faith in the fallen creation,
who now wither and crawl,
away as they fall, into the Abyss....

Declines, the signs of the end,
the near and far come and go,
as the war seeps through the inhuman nature!
My, what filthy freedom
that now declines....
First fallen angels, then the humans.


Picture citation: [link]
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All around is calm
And I'm a vessel of non-movement
My mind ran off
To an alternative way of being

All is the same
Yet this consciousness sees it now
As something new and unique
Something lighter and more basic

There isn't struggle anymore
There is nothing to fight for
Nothing can take away my existence
As it never belonged to me
Nothing much to say, I only realised how my consciousness was different when I came back to myself. These are my memories.
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Shine
Shine from within
Rewired brain and
Empty body
Your shell of
Unneeded emotions
Explode into nothingness
Untwine your neural pathways
And connect yourself
With the Universe

Get rid of
Your toxic self-pity
Evaluations of others
They do not matter
Nobody does
And nothing is stable
Nothing is absolute
Opinions and sensations
Only reside in
Subjective minds

Diseased and limited
Is what we have become
In midst of confused thoughts
We struggle for sanity
We accept conventions
And worship ourselves
The world is bigger than you
There cannot be control
Stop pointless observation
And become dynamic
A part of all that
You shield yourself from
This is a stream of thoughts I have been accumulating over the past couple of weeks regarding today's human nature. Our constant struggle for approval of others and of ourselves is so unnecessary in my opinion. All that energy could be used much better, for example for acquiring of deeper understanding.
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Nothing seems real
In this sea of static
Horrors keep pounding on
My vacuum of expectation

Virtual impossibility
Signals of monstrosity
Untouched and undiscovered
My essence of impurity

I'll split my veins apart
To make myself feel anything
I'll shred the world to bits
In search for the unreal

Innocence and violence
Mix together boiling
Droplets of blood cry
In their silent resistance

Against darkness around
Against threats unseen
In this world of madness
And deadly inevitability

In this sterile reality
I float unaffected
I need pain to acknowledge
My elusive existence
I guess some people will just understand what this is about. Sometimes, when the world gets too overwhelming, we need pain to remind ourselves who we are.
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We are deepened by our dark souls, sealed within the bloody and banished scrolls.

Damned by the morning and by the light, our eyes lurk gloomily in the path of night.

We whisper tears throughout your sight, paralyzing your intelligence and fear of flight.

Alas flight is what you truly need, hence why your fate is for us to read.

In the air your body is thrown, whisked upon the dead; let your soul hear them moan.

Thrust forth and forgotten by the stain of blood, absorb the monstrosity from within the flood.

Bested by glasses and long dark coat, your flesh reeks a stench; thou shall be thrown in the moat.

Left to freeze and burn from the flames, thou is forevermore forgotten; the end of our games.
:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz:
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To moonlight shards of forever shaded cages, we glance deep within the unspeakable pages.

The eyes of blank stories spoken by the lost old, their weak skeletal hands breach the coarse, bloody mold.

So dead and shrill, fear damns beauty's lying words, brainwashing the weaklings, striking down the meek herds.

Endless pages of regret tear the hearts of none before, not a soul could take their power; their existence nevermore.

Alas, these stories shall never prevail, for the readers cannot see them; their timid souls forever fail, not a soul shall ever dream them.
:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz:
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I steal from those who shake frozen in the darkness, pitied by their insanity and crushed madly by their peers.

Ten nights I speak with them, screaming in their blank faces, their responses are wordless; composed of only red tears.

Influenced by the blackened shades who dance within my candlelight, the mortals simply chain themselves to their everlasting fears.

Alas, my doings are never of greediness, never I take from those their time, I only wish for two simple rarities, clouded eyes and tainted years.
:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz:
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Seek first the Kingdom.
The rest will come.
The rest will come in time;
It comes no sooner if you pine,
so worry not
but faithfully do
what He has commanded you to.

It will come no faster
by your worrying;
don't watch the kettle:
it never will boil.
Don't break your head,
don't break your heart -
seek first the Kingdom.
The rest will come.

Don't stand there staring
up into the sky;
don't sit there longing
for dreams to come true.
Don't look at what's missing
but work with what's there -
seek first the Kingdom.
The rest will come.
Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. (Matthew 6:33)

A few "background" things flowed into this poem. :D

:bulletgreen: Some days ago I realised anew what "seek first the kingdom" means. I have been getting hurt a lot recently because I put too much hope and too much thought into a particular thing happening. I realised I would get hurt a lot less if I focused on doing the work of God instead of thinking permanently about that thing and getting my heart broken over it. God will give it to me in time, if He wills it - and till then doing His work is a better way to spend my time than getting upset and worried.

:bulletpurple: The line "Don't stand there staring / up into the sky" waltzed in half-way... it actually comes from something my father said in a sermon on Acts 1. After Jesus ascended, the disciples were staring up into the sky - the angels had to come and prod them into action. While writing I had to think a bit about something Jesus said in connection to His return: that we need to be ready and in service, so that when He returns, He finds us active and doing what He commanded us to. Read it in Luke 12:35-48 [link] I find a much more important thing than figuring out when the "end time" is and interpreting signs is to actually do what Jesus commanded us to, because for all we know, He could come in half an hour!

:bulletgreen: The third thing probably slipped in because I'm preaching about it tomorrow: "Don't look at what's missing / but work with what's there." I'll be speaking on the Feeding of the 5000 and the one of the points is basically just that: working with what's there, even if it's too little, like Jesus did with the 5 bread and 2 fish, and trusting God to provide the rest (which He did in that instance), and not let our means limit our service. Which fits nicely with Matthew 6:25-34 [link] - not worrying.


Be blessed~ :blowkiss:
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My hands
are not very beautiful.
Chipped fingernails,
scars and scratches,
rashes,
cracked skin,
sometimes dirty,
sweaty,
or cold.

But you
can make my hands
beautiful hands.
Make them praying hands
that hold on to you.
Make them blessing hands
that pass on your love.
Make them helping hands
that lift the loads of others.
Make them working hands
that give all for you.
Let my hands
be your hands
and give glory to you.
This is what happens when I don't like the way I cut my nails and start commenting to God about it. :XD:
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Be Jesus to me.
He touched the dirty,
loved the unlovable,
he ate with sinners,
brought God to their midst.

Be Jesus to me.
He brought forgiveness,
not harsh condemnation.
He did not avoid
the world's cast-aways,
the tax collectors, prostitutes,
adulterers and murderers,
thieves, terrorists and all those whom
the just had thrown away.
Be Jesus to me.

But I only see
your pro-life protests,
conservative laws,
accusations,
talking past me
or behind my back;
complaints, not love -
and you don't talk to me.
I am waiting
for a kind word,
a shoulder to lean on,
a listening ear
to pour out my heart
     - my aching heart
and lift me from the dark.
But no one listens,
and no one cares,
no one brings God
into my night.
Instead, you throw stones
     - complaints, condemnation, unkindness, hate
that press me deeper into the mud.
Why can't you be Jesus to me?

Be Jesus to me.
Be my friend though I'm a sinner,
love me despite all my mistakes,
hear my story and help me make it
a happy ending after all.

Be Jesus to me.
I'm out there, seeking -
but I can't find him
in you.
How about complaining less about the sins people do, and instead loving them more?

People don't change their minds and lifestyles just because they're told what they're doing is bad. We need to love them to Jesus.
Talk less, complain less, accuse less, and instead have relationships with people - like Jesus did - and befriend them, listen to them, accept them, show them what Christianity is like.
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I hope and wait patiently for you to find me

To hear me calling out to you with every fiber of my being

You haven’t met me yet, you don’t know me

But I want you to know how undeviating you have been to me

From this distance

You gave me passion

You gave me hope

You gave me a light to grasp on to

You made my life like a song

You are like the notes to my life’s melody

Melancholy and bittersweet

I will write you a book

Full of rhymes and rhythms

Words written just for you

You are inspiration, my muse

And it has been you that has inspired me to live

To listen to this worlds song

So I will fight, to live

This unwavering battle with myself

And I hope that someday you will hear me say

Thank you, for saving me from myself.
She is my inspiration for life.
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A little poem I wrote today after I watched The Perks of Being A Wallflower a second time.
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The girl sits on the dusty floor,

Surrounded by odds and ends.

Holding the jigsaw boy, trying to put him together again.

He fell from a very great height,

She sobs for him every night.

None of the pieces fit.

He looks up at her with empty eyes,

The colour of faded blue skies.

 

His skin is covered in scars and cracks,

Maps that lead her to nowhere

Round and round in circles, like a merry go round.

His soul is scattered around her like glass,

She cuts herself trying to pick the pieces up.

She tries to be distant, she tries to be kind

But in her heart she knows she broke this boy

That lies in pieces at her feet.

 

She crushed his heart in the palm of her hand

And now she doesn’t know what to do.

She knows that she doesn’t have much time,

Before he falls over this ledge.

He builds these walls between them,

That she will have to climb.

 

Life has lost its colour and time has lost its grace.

Where his heart was is now an empty space,

Pain consumes his soul.

Its one step forward and two steps back

The darkness is closing in on every side

 

But still she sits on the dusty floor.

Surrounded by what was and dreaming of what should have been.

The odds and ends of their old life scattered around the floor,

Waiting to trip them up.

In her arms lies jigsaw boy, she is desperately trying to put him back together again.

He fell from a great height,

She still sobs for him in the night,

Weeping for the boy she once loved.

Knowing it was she who broke his soul.

this poem is fragmented but that was supposed to represent how broken this boy is, he is in pieces like this poem.
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These empty promises are a noose wrapped round our necks. 

Im tired of these lies that are littered around the floor,

Each one a tiny mine.

I am just waiting for us to blow.

We are speeding off this cliff,

At a frightening rate,

When we hit the bottom will it be too late?

I hold a gun in my hand,

It’s pointed at our heads.

This love is all I have,

It is all that we have left.

You hold on to my hand still,

But there is no warmth left.

Hostile words and empty stares,

Fill the air between our lips,

That have not met for so long

Now I see them moving

Saying "give me the gun".

You grab it from my hand,

I push right up against you.

The blackness fills our minds,

And a quiet space replaces

The life that we once had.

I think I might regret this...  

  
a bit of free writing i did
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And this is how the story goes

There is no high in these winter lows

The love that left me has faded away

My tears blur the night into day

 

For I am the bird with the broken wings

Who has fallen behind the flock,

Now I have fallen by the way side.

With no one to pick me up.

 

The love that left me died in my arms,

Now things are all messed up.

I am floating beneath the water,

But I cannot get back up.

 

The silence floats around me,

Where there used to be your voice.

I reach out in the dark,

Hoping for your touch.

 

All there is, is empty sheets,

A reminder of my loss.

I shudder at what my life has become,

Fragments of glass spread around the floor,

I cut myself trying to pick the pieces up.

 

But this is how my story goes,

There was no high in my winter lows.

The love I lost hurt too much,

Now there is no night, there is no day.

a poem i wrote, it means alot to me. hope you all like it
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Don’t go with him.

If he invites you over, don’t do it.

Because he’ll reel you in with perfect words, and innocent eyes full of secrets you’d love to explore and you’ll find yourself in a bed that smells of him, sharing a kiss that tastes like a question and being consumed by his touch and his words and his unfailing ability to love you for a few moments.

You’ll feel a desire you didn’t know existed and fear the touches you were craving before you got to be so close. You’ll wonder if the songs were meant for you, or a repeat of anything he’s ever tried on other girls.

He’ll stop speaking and existing when life forces you to coexist in the same bubble of air space, but he’ll have long since imprinted himself inside your bones like a Trojan virus.

You’ll spend countless hours thinking it over, exasperated, exhilarated, almost in love with the simple idea, with the wonderful illusion, but you will tick question marks off your fingers and twist your tongue seven times to fail at talking.

Musicians are spell casters, and spell casters are evil.

rant.
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with strands of sunlight for hair
&
anchors drawn in permanent ink
this catharsis is your skin talking
the hairs on your arms rising.
a sudden glimpse into the
intimate
dangerous
and sinful
skin sun kissed and wind beaten
free spirit and eyes of the heathen
you think you talk
but you tik like a clock
my words might be beautiful
but they have no soul
I feel infinite
Ehrmagherd, lookit, guise, im posting :D
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   She got in more than ten minutes ago, makeup smudged by tears or sweat. For pretty girls, it’s always tears. She looks out the window, silent, a cigarette burning in her right hand. It started raining a short while ago and the taxi’s motor has been shut down way before that. It’s eerily quiet and she remarks on it, her voice hoarse and oddly soft for the wild child she looks like. The cab driver has given up on telling her to hurry up and choose a destination or leave because she reminds him too much of someone.
    
    They’ve been sitting in this deafening silence forever.
    
    She looks back inside, focuses her gaze on the radio to see if it’s off or just turned down. The silence seems to have a weight and it presses down on her. Last night, she sold love in sealed paper packets tucked in shirtsleeves and underwear, caught in the underwire of her bra, pressed to the hummingbird beat of her heart. Today melts away in nothing, her memories blurred and nauseating.
   
    She aches, sharp and clear, but refuses to acknowledge it and smokes to assuage the pain.
   
    The taxi’s radio, the other one, crackles and brings her back to life. She lets herself out without a word and lands her dying cigarette in a nearby puddle only to light a fresh one. The rain has stopped and everything still seems to hold its breath, water dripping with the barest of sounds. She doesn’t look back at the car that has restarted its idling. She walks away with her head held high and disappears in the night like she’s never existed.
she's been desperate for attention. starved.
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I gazed through the mist of this garden so fair,
and there stood a tree so stately and rare.
I stood there in awe as the birds gathered 'round,
For a moment 'twas silent; no, nary a sound.

I peered closer yet, I could see there were two,
two trees did reach for the sky ever blue.
As I pondered about the second one there,
a temptress appeared, she proffered a dare!

Now as I gaze at my garden so fair,
the cruel flaming sword doth keep me from there.
I wish, how I wish, for a glimpse of that tree,
the tree of life that was meant just for me!


GENESIS 2:9; 3:6,7,24
paradise lost
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the feel of fine silk
the bark of the birch
the cool running water
my toes in the sand

her soft flowing hair
his muscular frame
the feet of an infant
the small of her back

the coat of the husky
the fur of the kitten
the skin of the boa
the soft tiny gerbil

the Bible in leather
the thin delicate page
the hug from my brother
the tears on my cheek

"Many believe in just what they can see,
or can hold in the palm of their hand.
But true faith requires much more of me,
if I choose to fit in with His plan."
last in the series of the five senses. if you look carefully they all follow a similiar pattern - nature/human/animal kingdom/spiritual/spiritual verse commentary.
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Bitter dreams of bitter things, future's end is near.
Prophets chant and angels shout, many live in fear.
Nations balk at Christ the king, many curse his name.
Father, Son, and holy ones, frequently defamed.

Darkened skies obscure the sun, moon becomes blood-red.
Starlit nights no longer seen, gloom appears instead.
Behold the judgment from of old, no place left to hide.
Will I live or will I die, must I take a side?

Tribulation approaches, religion's fate is sealed.
Commercialism's failure, forever now unveiled.
Politician's promises, liars without remorse.
Entertainment's values, follow the trendy course.

Satan's world is declining, demons bewail their doom.
The dark abyss is waiting, spacious her inner rooms.
Millennial rule shall follow, one thousand years of bliss.

Bow to earth's anointed king, receive him with a holy kiss.



*For a full discussion of this important subject, please see
my latest journal entry submitted on 10/7/13.
poem and prose on this important subject

OR SIMPLY CLICK HERE: fav.me/d6pnavq

preview courtesy of: arcwelder1.deviantart.com/
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Semi-Detached.

She was very sensitive.
As if the volume was turned up in her head.

She started using her mother’s sedatives,
As a solution for her sleepless nights in bed.

She couldn’t connect with any of her relatives,
They never showed an interest in anything she said.

Her attempts at socialising were tentative,
So she conjured up imaginary friends instead.

Her dogged detachment was her only imperative.
She could not risk the chance of being misled.

There was no one to peel back the layer of negatives.
Too many years of tears have been bred and shed.

The smile she occasionally displayed was purely decorative.
She knows people will judge her before they have even read

Her story because they’re too caught up in their own narrative.
They only take the time to read your book once you are dead.

They say we’re born alone and die alone.

As humans we are built to survive and consume.

Even if you are raised from a loving home.

You can still feel out of place in your own living room.


Kela Lewis-Morin.
This has been in my blackberry for a little while now I just did not know how to finish it lol. I think I got a little carried away with the rhymes but I did enjoy writing it. I tried to keep it consistent I hope it works and that you guys like it :)
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The Show Must Go On.

You’re meant to be sad,
As long as the flowers last.
Well at least that’s what they say.
Then why do I still feel bad,
Even though time has passed.
I find myself thinking about you everyday.
After mourning and mourning,
On the dawning of the next morning.
Your unplanned departure will still be daunting.
How am I supposed to grasp your sudden disappearance?
When every time I close my eyes I can see your appearance.
How can I class your death as an untimely interference?
One that is destined to occur throughout my life time and time again.
These engraved names are the people I call my family, confidants and friends.
They say I should take each day as they come and try and pretend
As if you are still here amongst us, looking down from above.
As comforting as that thought is, it will never be enough.

You not being here is a reality I am forced to take.

Living a life without you was a decision I was forced to make.

Sometimes I can’t help but think that maybe God made a mistake.

On what grounds does he decide who stays and who goes?

Maybe it’s one of those things we are never meant to know.

All we can do really is restart, play our parts and carry on with the show.


Kela Lewis-Morin
I wrote this one today and I still do not like it lol I don't know why but sometimes the right words just do not come to me. I sit and sit and keep trying to salvage this text I call a poem, I don't know I guess its just one of things that happen. The aim of this piece was to try and keep it simple but effective but sometimes it can sound to simple lol maybe I am not meant to like my work anyway I hope you guys like it I thought I might as well up load otherwise it would just sit in my documents lol This is just my confusing mind to trying to get terms with death and moving on. I hope this makes sense let me know what you guys think :)
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Inside Out.

Do you love my insides?
You know the parts you can’t see.

The parts that constructively divide,
All the places where you can’t be.

Do you love my internals?
You know all my unexploited crevices.

All the words I leave out of my journal.
The soft tissue areas that offer no benefits.

Do you love my fleshy, raw fillings?
You know the boring and bloody parts.

The features that are not made for kissing.
The invisible strokes that add to this body of art.

You see it’s my exterior that attracts you
But it’s my interior that made this possible.

So when my insecurities inadvertently attack you,
Don’t be so swift to class me as distrusting and illogical.

I need to know and to understand.

That you truly love me for who I am.

Even the parts of me you cannot see

Because those are the places where I want you to be.


Kela Lewis-Morin
Something I wrote this evening while I had some spare time finally lol Inspired by Drusila from buffy the vampire slayer of all places lol its a long story but me and gf both enjoy watching classic series its just something we do. Anyway I wanted this piece to be as if a person is speaking directly. I tried to make it a bit more informal but I still hope it works as a poetic piece. Anyway I hope you guys like it and yes I am addicted to the incorporation of rhyme I just find it adds flow.
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