Certitude prose poem

Photo by allenran 917

She beamed melancholy
Her darkness a beacon,
My eyes captivated
By the tilt of her smile.
Skin of scars begging
To ease, save, steal,
To rebuild upon her stars,
If she’d have me.
In letters, then laughter
She came willingly,
Her lamplight glorious
Like the fire in her eyes
When eve came ’round to frolic.
Medicine to her
Poison to me
We exchanged intensities
Like candy, devoured,
Refusing no more
As I scaled her wall,
Our dance to battle a sickness.

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Melyssa A. Harmon

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By day I work with the elderly in a day center setting. By night you can find me painting and, most recently, writing. I am a former music journalist so writing isn't anything new to this author but getting back into the swing of things is a slow start.My first collection of poetry was published through Seattle Pacific University. I was 14 and learning how to maneuver through what was later diagnoses as Bipolar Disorder. Depression was the norm for most of my childhood so I am now in the polar opposite (pun intended) and truly enjoying my medicated adult life and all its wonderful distractions.I am married to someone of the same name and enjoy life in Portland, Oregon. I enjoy animals, ride a tricycle and used to play in a pop rock band. I try to do it all. Don't you?
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