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Artpetal's poetry


Artpetal

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A general topic for any poetry I might write here. I read a lot of fiction and some poetry, and I actually studied literature in college, so I hope my poetry is good enough.

 

Her dressing gown is a flower sown.

Like feet that wouldn't walk until a waking

girl is out of bed, her approach is on 

hold until she gets dressed. 

Daintily she steps along the carpet in her room

on those days that she can't sleep.

This flower sprouted at later hours 

in the day than most, but a warmness in her

chest tells her she wants to be in love.

The cloudy night's a lighter color than the

clear sky, and on a night like this 

she wears an off-white dress that satisfies

the eyes. Where's her beloved,

who would be hypnotized?

Buttons are a nuisance for a girl's clothes,

when all she wants is for a dress to cover

her from head to toes.

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I've become more timid with time,

as estrogen wrapped around my brain

and made me better, freer and smarter.

In pursuit of Lasting Me, the girl I am

and always really was, though I'm a queen

and wear a crown I blush more red than

the jewels at my feet.

I'll push aside my troubles with a wave

of the hand - 'cause I can't deal with them,

goodness knows. When faced with fearful things,

I can only show an averted gaze

that's not my partner's but my own.

Smiling isn't secret but it's born in shadow,

'mysterious' Mona Lisa.

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Steps in snow would hinder progress,

the turning orbs of stars at night

a kind of imprint of my feet, 

snow in space. Out there,

along the way to heaven, is cold and wet

and damp; things that stopped me, held my

breath in place, and ordered me return to

home. But pressing on,

I wanted to go far and reach the sun

whose warmth would make the journey

of my legs all worth my while. 

This fireplace for me is second home.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Doves may sing a leaden song
as air, struck with heavy feelings all
the day, will have more noise than
clearer notes. Where is peace? 
That question that we each can ask.
If nowhere to be found is this our
greatest joy, one wonders what
the point of sudden warmth can ever be,
a flaming up of sense against the cold.

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