Tag Archives: becoming a writer

Because you are…

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I love you dear daughters

Because you are mine

For so many reasons I could never explain

Because you are mine

Because you are fine

Because you are fast

Because you are blasts

Because you are loud

Because you are round

Because you are shy

Because you are smiles

I love you dear daughters

Because you are mine

For so many reasons I cannot contain

Because you are whole

Because you are gold

Because you are bold

Because you are so

Because you are joy

Because you are fun

Because you are noise

Because you are bliss

I love you dear daughters

Again and again

For so many reasons I don’t even know

Because you are mine

Because you are ours

Because you are us

Because you are more

I love you dear daughters

I will say it again

Because you are love

Because you are joy

Because you are you

Because you are true

My most perfect truth

9/2/2014 3:51pm

 

 

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Just As Is…

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I write them as they come to me
Without the sensation of great rhyme and rhythm

They come raw…
Begging to be written
… Just as is

Without form or fillers
They come and
They ask to be written
Most days they command my attention
And I adhere (I am a chump for words, I must confess)
But fancy words is not my strength
I cannot think deep enough
It only hurts my head
And like you, there are already enough bills to pay
Words must not add to the ache of my brain

They come raw…
Words begging to be written
Just as they are
Expressing what my innermost being
Must somehow feeling

12/5/2013
©Boomiebol2013

Hope Gone, Words Lost

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Blood is said to be thicker than water
But not in this instant
NO
Not in this moment of dark shadows
In this moment each fallen tear marks stains
Stains deeper than blood from crimson red fingers pen stabbed sore
Words however small would not come
Thoughts however hazy will not form
Family and blood ties offer no motivation
Words would not come
A most unusual muse offers no comfort…
Vodka and tonic are like water in the shadow of two nights
Fingers shake and cry blood
Shot glasses stack high in cigarette butt
Eyes red with unshed tears as the first cock crows
Clarity unfound in the last drop…

Longing For Words

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I long for the days when words flowed
Like rivers of many water
Pens running dry at the sight of paper
Inks wasted not night after night
Blisters and finger sores
A sign of victory
Wisely masked between metaphors
And Sunday’s steamy nights

Repeatedly Writing Itself

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I take advantage of these thoughts
Turning them into words

Some loves are meant for the pages
Like ours repeatedly writing itself

You and I
Fill the empty spaces
Every magical encounter a verse
A chapter or book in the making