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Where Her Loyalty Lies(my poetry)

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Prose (noun)- the ordinary form of spoken or written language, without metrical structure, as distinguished from poetry or verse.

Poetry (noun)-(1) prose with poetic qualities.

(2) the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts.

Where Her Loyalty Lies- a name I often use to associate with my art work, it use to be the title of my poetry blog

that I have cleared away for personal reasons. I really love the name and title "Where Her Loyalty Lies" and I ALWAYS

associate it with my art. Art never lies, it never hurts and it inspires and revives, it makes you come alive! So my loyalty will

always remain true to my art, Be it drawing,painting or writing. I don't claim to be good at any of these things though others have told me I am. Anyhow, I wanted to give fair warning that if you are looking for rhyming poems you might sometimes find them here but a lot of my poetry is non linear and can be considered prose as it is not always flowing with rhythmic measures but it always is strung together.

Also would like to give fair warning that a lot of my work tends to be sensual but never pornographic,

so if you do not understand something or take offense I am very sorry but do remember that these are my words,

and they mean something to me, I am just sharing. This will be a mix of old poetry & prose and new ones I have

written and have yet to write.

Comments are always welcome , I'd love to hear how you might have analyzed something I've written.

It's always wonderful and fascinating to see how someone interprets what I am saying in their own words

and if they have felt the same.

I will keep updates on this post at the very top of the post so you won't get lost in pages (though I am not sure there will be many pages as I've had a bit of writers block and I don't seem to reply so often ,but if you make an effort I will too)

Thanks for reading!

Edited by Emotional Outlet

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In this skin,

I get lost.

Unearthing thoughts

of query cost.

I grind my bones

into their joints.

Trying to locate

a starting point.

I swallow my tongue

to hear myself.

To sort my thoughts

like books on a shelf.

I'm trying hard,

but pull up lame.

This aphotic body

craves a flame.

Some light some warmth

a fevered touch,

a pull, a grasp,

a steady clutch.

A voice outside

of my own,

that breaks the silence

that has wildly grown.

I need to shed this skin,

and do it fast.

Run like water,

erode the past.

Make new ways

for me to travel.

Brush these bones

against the gravel.

End these interrogations

of self worth.

Believe women like me

do come in dearth.

This time is just a moment,

and this body is just flesh.

Meandering the curves of

my own soul's mesh.

I'll find myself,

and I'll lose myself again.


Vacant Buildings


We say words to build people up,

we remain silent to tear them down.

We're vacant buildings awaiting demolition,

we're vacant buildings wanting restoration.

Silence devours us one by one.

I'm next.




Fierce stares transcending through a darkened room.

I could feel your breath on my neck,

lustful thoughts forming a womb.

Heaving breasts and

painted lips,

wide-spread thighs joined

curvy hips.

The air turned thick

we swam real hard.

Our words were razors

the air was barred.

Our bodies magnetized,

we pulled we turned.

Our bodies joined

where angels burn.

Sweeter than sugar,

holes in the wall.

light seeping through

an echoing hall.

When it touched me,

your eyes lit up.

You drowned your doubts

in a golden cup.

Is it a temporary fix?

Is it a dawn of just one day?

I don't care too much for answers,

I just wanted you to stay.

So even if the light fades,



This is a poem based on thoughts and ideas that I had on the movie The Lovely Bones.

I liked the movie, I haven't read the book.

It's about moving on and finding peace, and realizing it's just another beginning .

In Passing


It was morning

that scooped me up

and brought me here.

The undulating rays

of sun danced on

all around me.

Light caressed my face

and shoulders.

Making me feel safe and warm.

Deep down in the pit of my

belly I felt something stir.

It was a small feeling, but I

knew it was there.

The feeling slowly made its way

down my legs and tickled my feet.

I felt like a flower basking

in the sun.

Very much wanted.

Very much loved.

Everyone I ever loved slowly guided

me into a place of their past.

There bodies moving around space with ease.

Even though I wanted to hold onto them forever,

I was happy, I found a freedom

you only find when you're gone.

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The Fountain


Within a strong concrete structure,

a maiden stands.

Looming over a ditch

with a vase in her hands.

It does not pour

but fastidiously keeps,

all tears that

the maiden weeps.

The gully, bone-dry

and never cares to quench

the blistered lips of men

who sit on lover's bench.

A man with a heart

so dry and broke,

did not ask to use

her trench to soak.

But cups his hands,

he cups his hands.

--something's different

--something's changed

the vase has tilted

and now it rains,

now it rains.



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