Fragments Of Me

Reblogging this for anyone who may have missed it the first time around. This story is probably my favorite post of all.

Happy Friday to all.

The Lonely Author

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When we were young our lives consisted of questions.

The questions we needed answered. The hundreds of questions our parents and teachers asked.

But a ten year old was never meant to have all the answers.

My classmates attended the big party. Stupid me promised to dance with every girl. Boys stood on one side, girls on the other.

My friends taunted me. “Go dance.”

With wobbly knees and sweaty forehead, I tried to look cool.

Then I spotted Lisa Big Boobies Barelli. Oh my, she could fill up a B-cup like no other girl in school.

Ever since kindergarten when she first smiled at me, I knew the other girls didn’t compare. Lisa had all her teeth.

From across the room I admired her.

Who cares if she had rounder cheeks than the other girls?

Lisa had something the skinny girls didn’t have.

She had curves.

Deep breath…..I broke the…

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Melted

This is a personal favorite of mine. Hope everyone is doing well. Happy Thursday.

The Lonely Author

For the next six weeks (leading up to Valentine’s Day) Lonely Author will dedicate most of his posts to his favorite subject; that thing called “Love.”

Melted

We shared glances from a distance
Like beacons in a crowded room
Our bodies gravitated to the center
fingers entwined like bride and groom
dance floor darkened like the universe
yet I found myself basking in her light
cheek to cheek we swayed in unison
flames of passions dancing with delight

Intoxicated by her scent skin and touch
was she feeling the wonders that I felt
adjoining hearts performed a sweet ballet
I shrunk inside my shirt my pants my belt
suddenly she was no longer in my arms
lights go on as the music is finally done
finding our empty shoes I suddenly realize
this beauty and I slowly melted into one

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Forever Ballerina

Here is another reblog for those who missed it the first time.

Happy Wednesday. Be well.

The Lonely Author

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Forever Ballerina

There goes the silver haired lady

She moves with an unsteady gait

A cane keeps her from falling

A brace supports her extra weight

Teenagers mock the decrepit lady

Complain she moves too damn slow

Make callous jokes about her posture

They swear they will never grow old

Memories shield her from the insults

Always wears a smile upon her face

She goes home to ballerina slippers

To recall a time she moved with grace

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Blooming in the Dark

Since, I won’t be around much, I decided to repost a few of my older writes for my newer friends to read. This one is from November 12, back when I first started writing poetry. “Blooming In The Dark,” also happens to be one of my favorites. Hope you enjoy.

Happy Tuesday to all.

The Lonely Author

Sometimes, neglect can be as painful as abuse.

To all the women who have ever felt alone, unwanted, unappreciated, or unloved.

This one is for you.

Blooming in the Dark

Unappreciated sacrifices

replaced dreams that slowly died

her aging petals wilting

from the silent tears she cried

Forgotten and all alone

hummingbird with no sound

heart beating without love

petals sinking to the ground

Depressed in her little corner

neglected and unmarked

an unappreciated flower

forever blooming in the dark

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Let’s Pretend

My friends there’s so much happening for me this week (good and bad), I won’t be present in Blogworld very much.  This may or may not be my only post of the week.  I will answer comments sporadically. And my reading of your posts will be limited.  I expect ro return with a vegeance on Tuesday, May 3rd.  Be well.

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Let’s Pretend

On some nights nostalgia
drenches us with memories
like a warm summer rain
as we wear moments that
became lifelong accessories

Hey, do you still remember
when we played pretend
the hours seemed to pass
in micro seconds on days
we swore would never end

now recollections of our past
resemble old faded Polaroids
swinging swings we swung
overdosing on cotton candy
mischief we couldn’t avoid

wouldn’t it be wonderful
to live young and care free
relive magical afternoons
of our youth like the days
you pretended to love me

Photo taken from Google Images

Love With A Metaphor

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Love With A Metaphor

Take a look at me
I’m a simple simile
Take a look at her
She’s a metaphor
What can I tell you
About my love
She is like no other
No one can compare
What have I done
To deserve this fate
Why do I love a she who
Is too good for little me
Gods of Poetry why
be so unkind to this
simple simile to make
me love a metaphor

Photo taken from Google Images.

Her Words Are My Aphrodisiac

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Her Words Are My Aphrodisiac

Her words are my aphrodisiac
as her tender keystrokes
burn my trembling skin
hypnotized by lovely metaphors
she fills my voids with sin

Her words are my aphrodisiac
let my body be a clean sheet
where she pens a little prose
I will admire every syllable
more than she will ever know

 

Photo taken from Google Images