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Poetry

Breakfast

My morning coffee sings notes of steam
My mind pondering on last night’s dream
The sun is weak as it peers through
Waking the sky, painted shades of blue
I stand here bare, my soul greets the world
My oversized tee and my Unbrushed curls
The flowers, they sing too, but with notes so sweet
Delicate they rise as they yawn from sleep
And the books always there, silent and still
Waiting to be read, yet another mind to fill
What a beautiful morning, while most souls rest
This is mine with the universe
Just enjoying our breakfast

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Comment
by Anjelicacarrasco

I go by Jel, its like hair Gel but with a J.

I write as a form of expression.

It gives me a way to free my thoughts through words on paper. I have yet figured out how to share certain things by mouth.

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