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Jun. 1st, 2015 @ 10:44 pm
geovanizambrana
Dare you draw down the moon
within this mortal coil
we
perpetually dance within stardust
like bee's in the hive
we only exist
to sweeten the slumber
of God.
Current Location: The Matrix
Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative

May. 31st, 2015 @ 09:44 pm
geovanizambrana
She comes to me
in my sleep
in my vulnerability
whilst I dream the dreams
of the dead
she comes
with her fiery crown of flames
her fine porcelain skin
she has the sky for eyes
cloud soft lips
and she comes to me
a pinnacle of beauty
which I held so tight she slipped away
to return only
in my sleep
in my vulnerability
whilst I dream of the dead.

We've Been Doing This Bullshit for Three Years May. 12th, 2015 @ 07:59 pm
mypoorloverrr
You’re sleeping in my bed, pale skin parched with sun scabs.
We’ve been doing this for so long.
We keep taking back what was once ours and then hang it ,crumbled to dry
until the mildew sets in.

In the bathtub this afternoon, I had to ask why.
I had to touch my cheek to your open thigh and say:
why can’t you just stay, why can’t every month be March,
why them and not me,
why can’t we just melt like oil in the hot tub we made love in that June
while the sun rose over dirt roads? Do you remember how quiet that morning was?
Why do we fuck like lovers
and talk like best friends
and take lavenders baths with beer cans rimming the tub?

You give me “you are beautiful. You are smart as hell. You are everything I would want.”
But you don’t want me, and you can’t tell me why, or you won’t tell me, and I
know these plays by heart by now, so the pain gets duller
but there’s always a sting, like the wasps final breath.
While you sleep, I read your tattoos over and over again, like I’m going to forget them.
In the bathtub, we kiss like sixteen year olds and I wish there was someone there to take a picture of us.
But there isn’t. There is no one on our team. Not even you.

Valentine Apr. 27th, 2015 @ 08:29 pm
mypoorloverrr
“The dog will return to eat its vomit.”
--Proverbs


When I was 14, I carved the name of a boy I liked
into my hip with a kitchen knife.
I’m wired that way.
I can only tolerate a love that hurts, that cuts jagged until it reaches bone.
I was born with my father’s eyes and his constant need
to destroy the body the soul sleeps inside of.

When my fiancé I broke up,
I started to drink. Drink to get drunk, smashed, black out,
drink to fuck the first man in line, and the man after him.
I let them do whatever they wanted. I was a rag doll full of whiskey. I never said no.

I was drinking rum & coke when I met Paul.
He was gorgeous to me, because I knew his lifestyle
would kill him young.
If his drinking didn’t kill him, his chain smoking would, his drunk-driving.
All the recklessness inside of him would eat him like a thick virus.
(Blue jeans, white shirt—walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn
it was like James Dean/ for sure)

When I was 3 years old, my mother warned me not to touch her curling iron,
so I wrapped my tiny hand around it
and I screamed through the burn.
(You’re so fresh to death & sick as cancer)
Paul liked to get drunk with me. He liked to say “I love you” when we fucked,
which he didn’t, and I knew that. I’m a smart girl with a bad heart.
To hear the words, though. To hear them and to know they’re lies, and
to say them back.
To know the truth is a horrible thing to live with.
Someone once said “to tell lies to others is cruel.
To tell lies to yourself and believe them is insanity.”
He left me with no warning. That whole summer I felt haunted,
like the ghost might come back. I waited up. I sat on my bedroom floor and drank Miller Light by myself
until I was drunk enough that standing up was fruitless.
I fucked my best friend for something to do.
Before Paul, I was dead. That summer, I was buried underground
and I was starting to decompose.
(I was like “no, please—stay here”)
Michael is a good man. My Uncle Charlie told me the best way to live your dreams
is to write them down first.
Michael drives two cars and he tells me “if we ever want to get a house together,
you need to get serious about your 401K.”
He let me inside him like salad—muscle-strengthening, good for the body, doctor recommended.
He talks about how lucky he is that he found me, as if I were something
that someone had been searching for.
Two days
after the
third time
I cheated on Michael with Paul, Michael and I went to a concert.
The building the band performed in was mirrors, wall-to-wall.
I felt Paul’s seamen swimming inside me, and I kind of liked that—
like pieces of him could not leave me, even if they wanted to.
Every man at that show looked like him; they held their beer bottles like he did.
I was trapped in a house of mirrors with my lover and a sea of faces to remind me
of what I had done.

It’s not that I don’t feel guilty.
People think that if you cheat once, you fucked up, but if it keeps happening
you must not even care.
(Being a bad bitch on the side/might not appeal to fools like you/but, you haven’t seen my man.)
I could love Michael, one day. I told him I loved him a few weeks ago.
I thought if I said it, maybe the love would come to life.
Maybe this love this love this love love was going to save the fucking world, I don’t know.

Saturday was Valentine’s Day. I heard early in the morning
Paul had a new girlfriend.
I felt sick with it for hours—the inappropriate rage washed over me until my throat felt thick with tears.
(love you more than those bitches before/say you’ll remember)
Michael sent me roses at work that day with a love letter.
(Say you’ll remember.)

When I was 7, my mom told me “look where you’re going, not where you’ve been”
in the busy parking lot of a strip mall. She held my hand and I kept looking back
at the car, wanting to return to it.

Apr. 19th, 2015 @ 07:17 am
humantrash
my heart climbs love's lattice
towards a softening sun
my vines beam with envy
as i present you
the fruit of my existence
beating, red
with enough seeds
for a million
tomorrows.

Midwest Filter Apr. 6th, 2015 @ 10:07 am
pics_and_poems
I’m watching the world
Through my Midwest filter
A Michigan perspective
With a dash of Detroit

World events seems so distant
And national news so scattered
Only the local news is tangible
Though mostly through proximity

But who can encompass the world
And so much happening from afar
Those strangers in strange lands
Whose problems are not my own

It’s not a matter of apathy
Or some lacking of empathy
It’s a matter of effectiveness
Which points I can address

The stream of my influence
Rarely reaches a confluence
And the ebbing in my flow
Leaves a long, long way to go

Still, I can make a ripple
Reaching ever outward
An echo to show others
Of our commonality

I’m not expecting the world
To solve all of my problems
Nor even really to care
Though I dare not say they can’t

I just do what I can
To make this life better
For my friends and family
And, yes, yes, for myself

But I help where I can
Or try not to hinder
The efforts of others
Just helping themselves

If we all made a point
Of trying to do better
For ourselves and each other
Our news would be good

Everyone help another
Each sister and brother
Each father and mother
Such a world we’d discover

It looks so much like a dream
Through my Midwest filter
But I hope someday to see
It has become reality

Time And Change Apr. 3rd, 2015 @ 09:26 am
pics_and_poems
Time is Change, and
Change is inevitable
Thus, Time is inevitable
Transitively speaking

Neither Time nor Change
Are exactly the same
Yet, both are inescapable
Physically speaking

Yet Time and Change
Are all about Matter
Which ceases to matter
Existentially speaking

Thursday Haiku Apr. 2nd, 2015 @ 09:35 am
pics_and_poems
Sudden spring shower

Brings a chill to the warm air

Winter’s last echo

April Fool Apr. 1st, 2015 @ 02:38 pm
pics_and_poems
Head’s up on each April 1st
When folks try to trick you
Pulling pranks and joking
Don’t be an April Fool!

Be mindful of dishonesty
In what folks do and say
Be wary and mistrusting
Watch out for games they play

These words are important
And not just for today
‘cause some folks try to fool us
Most every single day

So always keep your wits sharp
And question what folks do
And don’t fall for their antics
Don’t be an April Fool!

Poem: A part of me Mar. 31st, 2015 @ 05:30 pm
diana_thewriter
Tytle: A part of me
Author: diana_thewriter
Language: English
Date: 22 February 2004
The level of English at the moment of writing: May be 15% :)

Life's roads are very very tangled.
There is no help of traffic-lights,
And all the streets are overcrowded,
There are no days, there are no nights.

There is just rudness, there is slush,
No love, affection and no crush.
I can't find out any way
To save all beauties of the day.

I stay up all the nights and days,
I cry, I can't find out my place.
There is no confidence around,
And to my mind the life goes down.

There is just selfishness around me.
I need more love happy to be.
I need more tenderness. Believe me,
It gives me power, helps to live.

May be you are that special person
And you will change my inner world.
This is the most important reason
You have no price as has the gold.

You are! I thank you that you are!
I thought I'll never have a friend.
It's sure that you've stolen my heart,
And I will love you till the end.

Is it the love? I think that Yes!
And you're my only man.
I need only one thing: God's Bless
And then... What will be then?

***
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