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Taking ChancesThe morning light peeks through barely shaded windows,
the bright, soft rays hitting your face,
illuminating your strong cheekbones
and eyelashes lying on your cheek.
I watch as you breathe,
my hand brushing against your chest so I can feel your
I've never wanted to lower my defenses
as much as I do around you.
I look into your eyes and I want to tell you
about the time I broke my arm
and how I felt when I learned my grandfather was sick.
I want to open myself up to you,
share my secrets and my dreams.
I want to tell you everything;
spread my lifelines before you so you can see my
past, present, and future.
I inhale your exhales,
your eyelids fluttering as you dream.
Usually, this would be the time
I'd pack up and leave,
my footsteps softer than the floorboards.
This morning, however, I stay.
For once, I don't want to walk away
and throw what could be to the wind.
I want to give you a chance,
and hope you'll give me one, too.
This heart, while not completely heale
Overyou wake to a translucent morning
with a secret on your kiss
lingering like poison.
when yesterday is over
let my heart
Never Let Me GoI loved her smile. No matter how my day was going, all I had to see was that flash of white teeth and the small dimple in the corner of her cheek, and my day would brighten instantly. Her eyes, the color of hazel, could somehow see into my soul. They left my breathless, always reaching for that next intake of air. She was soft, her skin as pale as the moon, and through the white I feel her bones. She was beautiful. She was mine.
She always held a coffee cup in one hand and a paintbrush in the air, unable to understand the world without her caffeine and art. She saw people in shades of red and blue, and to her there was no good or evil-only beauty.
I strummed my guitar in the summer heat and watched her sway to the rhythm, her toes crinkling in the carpet and her lips singing along to the words. Her strands of brunette hair clung to the back of her neck and a light sheen of sweat caused her to glow.
At night I held her in my arms, her head rested on my chest, and listened to her breathe
Telling StoriesI got my first tattoo when I was seventeen. I remember going into the shop with my mom and nervously telling the tattoo artist what I wanted. My mom couldn't understand why I wanted a tribal symbol, but I loved what it represented: strength and passion. I told him I wanted it on my left shoulder-blade and he just told me to take that arm out of my shirt and started to dab my skin with alcohol.
At first, it hurt like a bitch. But the pain soon lessened, and after a while I couldn't feel a thing. A half hour later, the tribal symbol was complete. The artist handed me a mirror so I could see it. It was amazing. I grinned and nodded my head, letting him know he did a great job. It was at that moment, I knew I was addicted.
Now it was three years later, and I'd accumulated six more tattoos. Most were small, except for one that took a chunk out of the small of my back. I was now heading into the shop for my eighth. I opened the door and stepped inside. Rock music play
You AreYou taste like cold coffee,
bitter and gritty,
leaving a bad aftertaste on my tongue
after you've been swallowed down.
And you fit like
a coat two sizes too small,
suffocating and squeezing the life
out of me.
You're a thunderstorm in the middle of
and a heatwave in Febuary.
You're not right;
You're a watch two hours early
and a period two days late
yet I can't get enough [of you]
This Number"I'd rather give the world away
then end up lonely."
I'm wasting my breath
trying to find you.
I reach out over these
long distance wires
trying to connect
but failing to find the receiver.
(no I don't want to leave a message,
I need to hear your voice
telling me everything will be
I can't reach you.
Why can't I reach you?
Don't you know how much I need you?
I'm sick of waking up lonely
grasping the sheets on your side of the bed
gasping for air
my heart breaking and beating and aching
the muscles in my limbs unwilling to move.
I can hear you,
you're just a dream.
(without you left means right,
right means wrong,
and "I love you" means
"I love you only when it's
convenient for me to need you."
I pick up the phone and I dial
but all I get is dead air
and a voice telling me this
number's been disconnected
and I probably shouldn't call anymore
because it's clear you
don't want to hear from me.
And I can't understand-
I can't wake up alone.
"I wake up
Theme Fifty-Seven: SacrificialBecause I Love You
The tiny piece of metal
rips through me,
slicing through anything
that gets in its way.
Sticky red blossoms
on the front of my shirt
and I fall to the ground
as the pain
You kneel beside me
yelling and cursing,
tears streaming down your face.
"Why did you do that?
Why did you step
in front of me?"
"Because I love you."
Theme Seventy-Three: I Can'tCycle
We were born from
a warm September rain,
no ending in sight
and no one else
to talk to.
So you told me your fears
and I told you my sins.
You tried to define me,
which made me laugh.
"I can't be defined.
I'm broken into
too many pieces
and they all have
We survived the harshest winter,
the snow falling
as our toes turned blue
and our breath turned to frost
in the air.
"I think I'm in love with you," you said.
I laughed and put my freezing fingers
to your cheeks.
"Something as beautiful
could never love someone as ugly
We ended in April
when you realized
your light shone so much
brighter than mine
(I was dragging you down)
"I can't. Not anymore," you said.
The irony of it all
almost made me
Because I didn't realize
you made me
(and a piece of my broken
heart is now named
there is far too muchthe sun is the closest star to the earth, and travelling at the speed of light, it takes eight minutes for it's shine to reach us. the next closest star is called alpha centauri, and travelling at the same speed, it takes two years for it's light to reach us.
you told me this long ago, on a summer night, when we laid together on the grass in my backyard, watching the clouds weave themselves through the stars. you told me many things that night - that you were color blind, your favorite type of cigarettes, the best spray paint brands and that you loved me very much.
after it is all gone, i have forgotten your favorite cigarette brand. i have forgotten what you told me about color blindness, and spray paint. i have now forgotten what you smell like, what you thought of my writing, but i do remember what it feels like to love and be loved back. i remember what it felt like to wake up in the morning next to you, and what it was like to have your arm wrapped around my while i slept.
we were on and off, just like rain and light switches, and i thought maybe we had the same amount of electricity. i sometimes thought of telling you 'no', but my kisses said 'yes', and my heart just wouldn't learn how to shut down.
it pissed me off.
i pretended i didn't know your name and asked you to whisper it in my ear, just to be the only one to hear your voice. i'm selfish, but i think you already know that.
(if i could make a lasso made of gravity, i'd pull the stars down and take them. i promise i'd share with you.)
you gave me a necklace that you carved from soap stone, and i couldn't tell if it was an arrowhead or a heart.
i decided it was a heart, and wondered if yours was made of the same thing.
"you are my everything," you whispered. i really thought i believed you. no wait, i actually did.
i remember finding scraps of paper in my desk with little poems on them, all signed by you. but it wasn't until later that i found out you had google'd them. it wasn't until
catch a falling star.you would trace letters on my back, like broken messages
you forgot to say out loud. i would whisper my replies, but i
always felt too noisy compared to your silent stream of gentle
words. your silences held secrets and sewed them to your worn-
out lips. danger and understanding stayed glued to my eyelids.
in one night we created our own means of communicating.
i wonder how many others know that language now.
you could make fireworks sparkle and dance in the brightest of
colours. it just took a few moments before the sound to reach
our ears. it all happened so fast, it was like someone turned a
light switch on and off. even the stars looked dead as they began
to fall and tumble from their places in the midnight summer sky.
"catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.
alone is just another wordI want to think that I'm not self-centered and conceited when I notice how all my words are aimed at your heart, your chest, your lungs. I want to feel empowered when I say, "you're not strong enough to hate me." And I want to hate myself for you because I know how god-awful I must be, but I know you're lonely. Because we are all just lonely people.
It's the way you say "surrender" like it's supposed to mean something, and the way you shout "I'm leaving and never coming back," like I should be scared, worried, or upset. But I'm perfectly fine with knowing you'll spend a night in the old subway station with it's untold stories and glaring addictions. We're all just lonely people, right?
I told you I used to be in love just to make you feel better, because between the heated altercations about last night's affections, you had a look of that puppy dog before I let it run away from home. You're still trying to figure out how to loosen the knots. Maybe I should tell you, I sometimes wonder
clouded up.One day they all just stopped.
The clouds in her chest dispersed and she couldn't let her fingers spin delicate stories like she once would when her heart felt too heavy. She could still imagine all the scenes that would leave her throat tight, the highways that sliced through forests and oceans that weren't as beautiful as everyone kept telling her. There was a kind of distance that she couldn't ever comprehend. Lovers complain about having mountains between them, and of waking to dial-tones and message banks. No-one ever tells of the loved one who is around the corner, barricaded by nothing but their own darkness and heaviness. There are some things that no-one ever talks about. Her mother taught her there are some kinds of sadness that you can't get out in a way that's comprehensible. She taught Screaming into pillows, writing mantras on your arms, and drinking your body weight in warm tea can lessen the ache though. At least until the words flow aga
AvianYou used to tell her she had bird bones -
it was only a joke,
but you would hold her tightly
so she could not fly away.
Now you carry starlings in your pockets
to feel their little hearts
fluttering much like hers did
when you lay your head upon her chest,
heart beating the way yours did,
before she flew away with it
as you always knew she would.
Tonight you are haunted
by a swan with a broken neck.
It is a dream,
just a nightmare,
but you know that it is her...
She has returned to you
decked out in feathers,
choking on a heart,
and you're frightened as hell
at how god damn beautiful
she is in broken symmetry,
but you find relief in your fistfuls of feathers.
for sale signs.she opened her heart one day and hung a 'for sale' sign in her dreamy brown eyes. "i'm ready," she said "i'm ready for love." she sat on the lonely street corner waiting for someone to come. anyone. but no one did.
he spent his mornings wandering alone through the town. "i'm ready," he said. "i'm ready for love." he picked up stray raindrops and returned them to the sky. he was a man of magic. a man of mystery.
gentle hands sought out frozen heartbeats. "i know it's there. i know it. i know." she scratched through thin layers of white skin. searching for the familiar thud that shook bones. "i can't sell something that isn't there," she whispered.
he knew rhythm and he knew it well. a musician he was not, but he was a walking time bomb. tickticktick and thudthudthud were sounds he knew all two well. and when those sounds are missing, he took notice.
she was on a diet of butterflies and oxygen. no music, no music, no music. yesterday's energy had long since left and warmth was away o
the opposite of a love letterSometimes, I think you forgot me.
To admit it, most days I've forgotten you, too. But sometimes a moment comes along that feels like you in my bones, and suddenly you're crashing through my veins, riding my pulse straight to my heart. And you sit in my chest, heavy and unwelcome, and it's hard to breathe because I cannot shut off the reel of memories playing in my head. So I close my eyes and count to ten, breathe evenly and steadily, tell myself that you are miles and years away. But I wake up the next morning with a dry taste in my mouth and a hollowness somewhere in the pit of my stomach and you're hanging onto me like a shadow even though it's already high noon.
You are a seasonal affliction. During the winter you are buried with the sunlight, but the moment the heat rises and the days lengthen, I can feel you. Last Tuesdays I drove for no reason with the windows down, the scent of fresh rain on hot pavement and shaved grass slapping my face, and it smelled like the curve of your c
adolescence.you keep telling me we're going to be okay, and i keep agreeing and the one little time i get scared and voice this you flip and dont talk to me for x amount of time. (cause as i write this you're still not talking to me, and i kinda hate you for it.)
i said i'm sorry, and it's gotten to the point where if you ignore me i go straight into omg he's leaving me mode, and I spend so much of my time worrying and stressing and plotting how I can fix all that I destroy.
it's not healthy.
this is not a healthy relationship any more.
and you need to learn that i am not a mind reader.
nor am i emotionally stable and you seem to bring out the worst in me. you take all my insecurities and blow them up 500times bigger and they squish any of the good in me. i become all my insecurities and the good in smooshed so far down until i am nothing but the horrid and the ugly and you wonder why the hell you ever came back.
i keep pestering you and you wonder why i don't change. i can't become who you want m
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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