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They ask, “How do you feel?”

You struggle for a word, locked behind doors, behind walls, behind ego

One syllable words flow with passive aggression and you’ve learned that “okay” is your favorite answer

You say that they do not need to know

But emotion is asking for the permission to be voiced

Permission to rebound from closed off vocal chords but you have not given the say so

You are shut off, numbed off from the reality that you have not told the truth for a long time

You have gone through the motions and now you are stagnant waters

A pool of water stuck under night and sun, rain and light, dirt and grime, anger and joy, testing and time Continue reading HOW DO YOU FEEL

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Jealousy runs through my veins.
My mind turns against me with thoughts I can’t contain.
There’s no positive side to feeling this way.
It’s hard to hold back the snap,
things I never meant to say.
No, I know they’re not true.
It’s just that jealousy clouds me and I feel confused.
I am aware it’s not the best part of me
and it comes from all my hidden insecurities.
And the thought that maybe I am not enough…
Jealousy haunts me like a ghost.
But I am conscious of its presence
and I pray to God I will detain it.
Before, blind, I wreck havoc.
And hurt all the people I love.

© Máh Lima

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Since You’ve Been Gone

Lying on the carpet

the color deep sea

As my tears fall down my face

I don’t know if it’s from Adele’s angelic voice

or the fact that you’re not here anymore.

So I lie there, and I listen to Adele singing about

my broken heart

and I want to call you,

I want to tell you to come back,

even though I know you’ll hang up on me,

and tell me to move on.

So I listen to Adele

and I cry.




Photo Credit: Jon Bright, Jr.

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Emotionally Speaking

Void of emotion,
I can’t recall the last time I held one in my hand,
Without the help of a No. 2 or a Papermate.
It takes a sort of emptying of words:
Dripping from my eyes,
Crawling down my arms,
Sliding across my fingernails.
A glorified liberation
Until feeling returns.
There! I recognize it once again.
When I am finally immersed, standing knee deep in the poem,
No longer idly detached, more like my cat mid-air,
Full of hope. Sure. Alive. Aware.
I guess what I need to say is that I need this.
I said need.
Don’t confuse this for a hobby,
Or a misguided phase, like that time I antiqued.
It’s not even fair to say it’s an amusement,
Because sometimes, writing is whatever the opposite of amusing is.
I need it regardless,
Because after I walk through many of my poems,
If I make it to the other end,
I find more emotions than I can describe:
Even joy.