Strawberry

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~

I have scars that only strawberries can fix

Big, fat, juicy ones that I picked myself

Therapeutic delight

when your scent hits my nose

For it knows the cuts I bare

and promises to be gentle

Don’t follow me into the garden

This one I planted for myself

~

The words we say without knowing

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You said it and it stayed

and there it did remain

playing out for always

every day

like a movie marathon

And all I wanted was to read you, a poem of forgiveness

Perhaps this is the poem you were always meant to hear

I forgive you

you did not know

how the weeds would grow

and suffocate the flowers

that wanted to bloom

And when they piled on the dirt

and that putrid smell rose

it filled my nostrils and escaped my eyes

till all i could see was the disgust outside

But again

It’s ok

I think it was meant to be this way

I’ve made friends with the weeds

and forgotten about the flowers

and look!

there are trees

that line blue rivers

which house secrets inside

Swim with me now

and I know I will not drown

You have kept me afloat

of this I have no doubt

and so once more-

I forgive you because,

despite it all

it is you,

who I adore

Hope

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Never again will I be beaten, by the drums of my own melancholy.

I will whistle while I walk,

For the day has too much wonderful mystery, hidden within its circular walls.

And if the day should bite and disappoint me,

tomorrow will always have a different door.

Going 40

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Do not break these tectonic plates beneath my feet,

they were meant for me.

I think that I was born this way,

to always sway

and never truly stand.

Like a soldier

TEN-HUT!

on command.

 

I see the 60 sign and yet I go 40

I drag behind the bus and follow it,

wherever it may go.

Hunger Jacks

I said it

Not Hungry Jacks

because I see you now on the corner

and the sting of swelling spit in my open mouth says “feed me”

 

I turn the corner going 40

The grocery line of cars angrily honk all the way to the horizon

I don’t know what they expected from a Tuesday afternoon

I think they’d be happy with my always 40

 

Why do we honk at standing still?

Why do we curse the calm before the storm?

What makes the reckoning so appealing?

Does it really take a rubble to bring the Dawn?

 

I think I’ll stay at 40

and eat a bloody burger while I’m at it

and I will smile, a big juicy smile

and watch as they go 100 in a 60 zone.

 

The Frame

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Olive green majestic,

flower on an ancient frame.

Carved from red wood,

a dying forest,

swallowed by lava that once was leaves.

Leave me here to die a red death

and I will thank you three times.

Once for the olive green photo frame that houses a black and white memory-

Once for the paint you harvested and drained from my black and white veins-

And lastly I will thank you,

for throwing the picture away.