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The Petty Player Who Rarely Sleeps

I'd Like A Taste (The Wolf Said)

The Crow Is A Black Bird

When I Start to Bloom

I'd Like To Be Your Shirt (when you wake up in the morning)



All Beings Considered

Words Between Edward And Jane

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

The Great Tsunami Of Our Growing Grief written 3/2.2021--retitled 3/14/2021

After Wide Sargasso Sea ( For Those of You Readers Who Have Empathy For the First Mrs. Rochester.)

WAITING ON THE WORLD (March/February 2021 poetry)

Wild and Unraveling

What Must Be

These Hands Exist July 4 2023 rei-edited 7/12/2023

I Am The Color Of Black

The Tide of Your Lies (2019-2023)

How I Wanted Your Pearls 6/24/2023 WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE

Love Wants What Love Wants re-edited 5/31/023

Winter's Been Too Long.... 4/18/2023 (LONGING)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Like A Small Street Dog Lured In By The Promise Of Meat

This Is What Mermaids Dream Of

At Night, As I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

And You Will Be Called Ashes As You Leave ( from a dream)

Certainly No Bread 3/16/2022

Someone Send Out A Search Party

THE FAN , AT NIGHT, GIVES GOOD ADVICE completely re-edited, an entirely different poem

What Is The Price For Your Touch? re-editied 5/31/2023

Where Is My Bed With The Pleasing Tree -Lined View(NOW REEDITED)

Oh What Fine Physics (Before Me ,Lies) re-edtited @4/17/2023

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

THE COMPANY THAT WE KEEP WITH THE ONE WITHIN

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What Its Like, Huh, Is This What Its Like?


(Think of this as a soliloquy,
or an actor/actress speaking out loud
to themselves.)




Yes, you know, yes you do.
You know what its like to feel
in that skin that covers you.
And what it feels like to be
afflicted, addicted.
We were all beautiful boys,
beautiful girls
once.


Now, you know, mostly now,
a world that distracts
and deconstructs it seems.
You're filled with unquiet noise
and sleepless destructive dreams
where you are running from yourself
or the someone who looks very much like you.


The world, it pushes. The world distorts. It doesn't fit.
It makes bad sport
of you.
Stirs your insides out. Makes you reel from all
the confusion that you feel.  And, how do you appeal
to your better self?
Do you even have one?


I have found I've lost myself. And I know I'm
not alone. I'm in good company.
We're all inching by, relying on the dimestore cheap.
Some days aren't our own. We lie awake, busying
ourselves listening for the key and the creak
of a door we hope opens as we play at sleep.
We all wait for the night doors of our imaginations to swing
open wide. To let us into Nirvana's deep
folding us into skin canyons
of sweet relief. (So we can hide.) Oh, oh, oh...
To find the beautiful girls and boys
we used to be within ourselves
and with one another.


However, the
afflictions and addictions
have become our latest fling, alas.
We hate the pain we inflict and feel
but we make it queen and king, and we
cannot help ourselves as we make it last.
Our roles are too familiar in the drama of our past.
Its too two personal. Its a flinching glance in the mirror.
And a misplaced the key to the doors of perception,
as we mumble grumble vaguely:
"What its like, huh, is this what its like?"



I believe this was written during a "heatwave."

Copyright and Written August 2011
All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World





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