Verse and Meter

The mirror lies.

For most of my life, it’s shown a twisted reality,

a distortion of the me I see

when I close my eyes.

My sighs

when I see the stranger looking back at me

a breath, a prayer on the wind to let me be

who I know I am

to let the sham fall free

and see

as clear, as pu...

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I have to look inside myself to see who I am.

I am.

I wasn’t, not really.

Not really intact, not really whole, not really a person. A person feels, but I didn’t.

I didn’t feel because boys don’t get to cry, and sometimes it’s better not to let the tears fall,

because they’ll only cause


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Pin me to something and kiss me

over and over like verses of poetry

each kiss an element in the story

between us.

Like water; liquid and flowing:

like rain, cool and crisp and clear,

washing away the world’s haze

sweet and refreshing and so very wet;

like snow, still and pure and gen...

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Listen. Love is a conversation, though not always with words. Feel the way the air changes when emotions flare - warm and comforting and sensual or cold and thin and bleak - these are reflections of your end of the string, and the cans are only so big.

Speak. Conversations have more than one parti...

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My home is a noisy place.

My mind is a noisy place.

My life is a noisy place.

But midnight. Midnight is quiet. Midnight is the peace deep in each of us that is always there, sometimes so deep we forget. Sometimes it takes a peace just as deep to find it again.

Midnight is quiet, but my life...

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