Identity

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Identity

What’s your password and username?
So much information to retain
to me, it’s undeniably clear
we’re being controlled by mad puppeteers.

A barrage of strangers asking me
extremely private questions-constantly
I’d like to find a better way
if only I’d lived in another day.

An innocent time when life was good
when one still lived in their neighborhood
the internet was still a dream
and people relaxed by real streams.

My parents said life then was hard
but now I’m judged by credit cards
a government that has no clue
and I take it all like a proper fool.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with Poets United.

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You Smell Like Sex

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You Smell Like Sex

I am trembling and breathless
as you step behind me
your strong arms
encircling exploring
my body imploring…

Your warm breath at my ear-
you smell like sex!

As you turn to me our lips meet
we drink deeply of this elixir
falling in lust.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with dVerse~Poets Pub.

The Calendar

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The Calendar

The Calendar doesn’t care
what day it is
it’s got so many to choose from
it can afford to lose one.

The calendar doesn’t count
when days go flying by
or care about your age
it simply turns the page.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with Poets United and shared with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads.

Haiku #62816(a) & b

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haiku #62816(a)

deep woods hush
birdsong breaking silence
music

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

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haiku #62816(b)

summer’s song
surf meeting sand
music of the ages

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Photograph of the beach on the San Francisco Bay taken on a bike ride by me.

Written with Haiku Horizons.

The Scream

©2012-2014 VVernacatola[3]

The Scream

I’m screaming out but no one hears
I’m all alone and filled with fear
no angels came my soul to save
no savior answered when I prayed
it wore me down for days and days
exhausted-all that’s good decayed
the devil’s instrument at play
I couldn’t keep the sin at bay
and now I have such hell to pay
forever gone I’ve lost my way.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads.

Split Seconds

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Split Seconds

Time flies without excuses
measured by decrepit faces
the pendulum weighs heavy
moments spent wanting more
in a split second
it happens…
a reaper’s blade chiming the end.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.