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The Hoping

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Some Children Have Nightmares (tentative title)

Night Train


wandering the rolling hills ...(written for his model)

All The Changing....


Lonesome Love

two out of three people

A Start Again...(I Green-Dreamed Again Last Night)

The Little Bird Said

cat speech

Funny, Not Funny

All You Have To Do Is Breathe....


A Dog Should Have His Tail...

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Checking Out


Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Last Night

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month


Only The Choice To Be

When People Go

The Day You Left (Words From A Half-Remembered Dream)

Wake Wake Wake

It Is In The Rain

Dream Goblins Of The Night

Wake And Remember

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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

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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