And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.
Two things consistently bring me pleasure: hot sweet tea and writing. Which is not to say that either are particularly good for me_I use entirely too much sugar and so far don__ find sucralose to be a good alternative. Also, writing is not a practice that engenders confidence. Quite the opposite. It__ about making yourself deliberately insecure so that you can write the next thing and have it be worth reading.And that__ not even taking into consideration the business end of things, which can make you bitter if you__e not careful_But I__e spent my the bulk of my life to date figuring out the right mix of fat and sugar in my tea and also, how to get incrementally better (I hope_) at the writing, so I__ not giving it/them up!
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Two things consistently bring me pleasure: hot sweet tea and writing. Which is not to say that either are particularly good for me_I use entirely too much sugar and so far don__ find sucralose to be a good alternative. Also, writing is not a practice that engenders confidence. Quite the opposite. It__ about making yourself deliberately insecure so that you can write the next thing and have it be worth reading.And that__ not even taking into consideration the business end of things, which can make you bitter if you__e not careful_But I__e spent my the bulk of my life to date figuring out the right mix of fat and sugar in my tea and also, how to get incrementally better (I hope_) at the writing, so I__ not giving it/them up!
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Love is an exorcism of angels.
If on thoughts of death we are fed,Thus, a coffin, became my bed.
THE CONSCIOUS HUMANYou are not just white,but a rainbow of colors.You are not just black,but golden.You are not just a nationality,but a citizen of the world.You are not just for the right or left,but for what is right over the wrong.You are not just rich or poor,but always wealthy in the mind and heart.You are not perfect, but flawed.You are flawed, but you are just.You may just be conscious human,but you are also a magnificentreflection of God.Suzy Kassem__he Conscious Human_ Poetry by Suzy Kassem
Share your dreams and they will be inspired. Plant seeds of knowledge and they will grow and reproduce beyond measure.
You know what I love? The spaces between I love you. The tap of your fork against the plate and how my cup of wine clicks against our table. The scratchy voice coming from the radio in the other room. The quiet sound of your hand reaching across the table and whispering over mine. How your voice sounds like your mouth on the back of my neck. The soft murmur of our easy conversation.Between these quiet Tuesday night routines, following every comma and right after every pause for breath, is I, love, and you. In the middle of every I love you is a sink full of dishes, whisper of socked feet tangled in white sheets, and gentle kisses against curved cheeks. We lyric ourselves into the laundry that needs to be finished, into the ends of every smile that follows me repeating your name. We write ourselves into the grocery bags we need to carry, the cracks running up our rented walls, the sides of the bed we choose to drag up the sails of heavy eyed dreams.Like the spaces between our fingers, in the spaces between I, love, and you, we wait.The in-betweens have always been my favorite.