Emotions I still can't manage to transform into words for long enough to connect to form sentences that make sense (another poor attempt)

 

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Preface

The following pages are filled with poems no one will ever read. The purpose of a preface for such a collection is to cover any accidental stumble. If you're reading this, I imagine you were brought here by a wrong click. If you've read this far, why not give the next page or so a go? These poems mean a lot to me, but I fear they never will to anyone else. Experience, understanding and reaction are subject to individual perception and I am struggling to accept that. This is my latest attempt. 

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The Pool

I fill a pool in my mind, 
From when I’m born to when I shall die, 

I see the water change through time, 
Crystal clear and uncontaminated, 
No one knows how long it will be, 
Until the time for chemicals to be released, 
Coincides with a young girl’s cry, 

Her first glimpse at sadness, 
Fell into the shallow end with muddy leaves, 
Nature hurls over and over again, 

Until one day a leak, 
Although a mere injury, 
The need to cleanse was dire, 
One small drop and each corner was tainted, 

A rippling sadness seeped to the bottom, 
But in the filth I am drained clean once more, 

From here, 
Insects are caught in the waves, 
Or by curiosity, 
Serving as a metaphor, 
A reminder of closing time, 

People swim through me, 
Some float on the surface, 
Few reach any depth, 
Many fear the ocean, 
Not seeing that I am nothing more than a puddle, 
In contrast to the vast coverage, 

I am hired by those who wish to be entertained, 
Used for games until I am drained again and again, 

For months I am useless, 
As I am not the type of coldness that keeps others warm, 
I ache for my heart to be reached, 
Dive in without drifting back up, 
Full speed to the bottom from the clouds, 
Reach from the sky for me as I’m stained and worn, 

I can only hope the water will clear, 
Before the plug disappears. 

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Mosaic

She broke the mirror when it looked at her, 
Its shattered pieces made her bleed, 
The tears scratched down her cheek,
And left in a corner of her room, 
She felt faint and weak, 

Disgust left her swinging, 
She thought she’d miss again, 
Her hands were stone this time, 
Now her legs can’t make the leap, 
She stops to breathe, 
She knows she’ll fall, 
The frame was stable, 
And hung on the wall, 
So they’d say she was able, 

Being found would send her back, 
Wanting to believe she’s finally on track, 
Stone hands again, forced steady, 
She falls in her mind, 
But reaching to be ready, 
The pieces are collected, 
Some smile and wipe the leak, 
She searches for an image, 
A flower on a hill or a small bird’s beak, 

She’s never been creative, 
Materials are scarce, 
She runs for the kitchen, 
Having picked up all the glass, 
Never one item to hold her together, 
She finds things to mix, 
Using each as glue, 
For the mess she’s made, 
She knows she’ll make do. 

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Why it's hard to leave

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Yellow Arches

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Another Reasoned Try

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Different days

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Messy bed head

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I never hear your heart pound

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~

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