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 Feb 2015 Amber Bowen
El Gray
I stand and count the lines on your lips
one for every day that I've known you
in my pocket I fold the tissue
that you gave me once to mop up my tears
one, twice
three times  no more
I bite my lip; no lines
and hand you the tissue
"It was supposed to be a swan" I say
you laugh
I laugh
and I kiss the top of your head
"It looks more like a flower" so you put it in
your hair
It begins to rain and the tissue-swan-tissue-flower
deteriorates
I begin to cry
so you hand me a clean tissue to mop up my tears
I'm empty because you are almost gone,
You're satiated because its you who has withdrawn.
I'm torn because you are everything I have got,
You're stitched up because that is something I'm not.

The last cigarette has been lit and your eyes bid me goodbye,
I held out my arms and you turned away in reply.
I will cut them off today and tie them with a chain,
Solely because you are never going to call them home again.
#9 on 52weekpoetrychallenge
The river water
May each have their own separate passage
Will always find its way in a similar course
Going to that meeting
In the middle of the ocean

I am a river water
You are another river water
A hope, I will keep holding on

A hope, that you and I
Will be one ocean
Coming that moment of meeting
Of us-the river waters
I translated this for a request from the original Filipino-Waray poetry (Siday) entitled "Ikaw, Ako, Ug An Tubig Han Sapa" by my good friend FD
 Feb 2015 Amber Bowen
Amanda
The scary, bold whisper of a truth is that pinning blame is careless.

You feel the slow *****; a smart of pain.

A sweet sting.

Just enough to draw blood to the surface, but not enough for a bandage.
Hey you, you & you!
How have you all been??
I have a blocked nose and a sore throat. :')
Swimming in 20 degree weather and no towel to dry off is not a good idea.
x
I don't show weakness,
Others come first.
I cannot falter,
Others come first.
When I am weak and weary,
I push on.
When I am sick and frail,
I carry on.
I refuse to acknowledge my humanity,
Because others come first.
What I was
A lost soul in a crowd,
Scars covering my wrists.
What I am
A failure - never proud,
With pent up anger in my fists.
What I want to be
To be heard - clear and loud,
I'm made of stardust, meant to move mountains, not simply exist.
#1 for the 52 week poetry challenge!
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