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i need proof.i will never let you go.
you whispered in my ear,
softer than any breeze could hope to.
but i am too broken to believe your romantic lines.
they've tried that on me before,
and they ended up leaving me in the dust,
gasping for air, but breathing in their lies,
clutching for warm skin, but holding on to cold shoulders.
i placed myself in their hands,
more fragile than baby bones and glass menageries.
so i am skeptical to call you love
and give you my kisses.
i am worried about lending you my hand
and giving you my heart.
what makes you think you deserve it?
why should i give it to you?
you stumble for the words to prove yourself.
you are usually so articulate.
well you see, i love you. and i thought that was reason enough to hold your heart in my hands.
and how can i know that you really love me?
how can i know that the minute i wear sweatpants and a hole covered t-shirt
that you won't run away laughing?
that the second i step on your toes trying to dance with you
to the girl who won his heart:he is beautiful and his heart is in the right place, even when his head is not. he talks about captain america a lot, but try not to roll your eyes. encourage him to take more photographs, otherwise he'll spend all day playing world of warcraft. he'll make some jokes that teeter on the edge of horrible. you don't have to laugh at those, but it will make him feel better if you do.
i guess what i really want to say is congratulations. he's so in love with you. the best woman won. so i'll move on with my life. you can love him better than i ever could anyway.
you are gentle and elegant and understanding and i have dirt under my fingernails.
you are caring and polished and faithful and my hands are rough and calloused.
you are poised and womanly and funny and i have too many scars to count.
just remember to love him well, please. i don't think he could take being hurt again.
so wrong it's righti counted your freckles and kissed your nose
drew countless constellations on your back.
you breathed words i suddenly forgot the meaning of
and made promises of oceans, stars, and the sun.
i'm lost in this reality
i'm sure it's a dream
for some reason, fate thought i deserved you
so until they realize their mistake
i'll breathe in your salty ocean scent
i'll take in your hazlenut coffee kisses
i'll wrap you in my arms and pray i'll never have to let go.
i'm sure this is all wrong,
but maybe that's what makes it right.
big girls don't cryi understand you boys are
but you have to understand that
we girls have hearts tougher than stone
that are still so full of love.
we are caring-compassionate-loveyoueventhoughyouhurtus-women.
when we think there is even a sliver of a chance that you could like us
we fall for you heart and soul
with no thought to the damage it may cause.
you see, sir, because of this our hearts have gathered many scars,
many tears, many holes that cannot, nor do they need to be mended.
we are tougher than you think
for we are used to being hurt.
you may think us masochists for this,
but we are not.
we are just built to love with our entire being
despite any consequences and so are made stronger,
stronger even, then you silly, misunderstanding boys.
nobody said i was a geniusi promised myself i would never regret
but saying goodbye to you
was the stupidest thing i've ever done.
confessions of fear.i'm afraid.
i'm afraid that i'll wait too long to tell you how i feel.
that the moment i do tell you, you'll have bigger news to tell me,
like that girl that you work with finally won you over.
that she's pretty and funny and she's had the exciting life i always dreamed of.
i'm afraid that if i wait too long all these sparks and butterflies
will fade away because they were tired of waiting on my mouth
to speak the words my pen already has already said.
i'm afraid because i've already faced rejection too many times to count
and i'm not sure if i'm strong enough to bare all that pain again.
that this time i'll just break down in front of you.
that this time i'll beg and plead with you to just love me with some facsimile of your heart.
mostly i'm afraid because i thought i'd learned how to deal with all of these feelings.
but maybe i had just learned how to hide them.
dear universedear universe,
next time you decide that you want to place a boy in my path that i'll never be able to love, make sure you give him a couple of flaws. don't give him blue, blue eyes and red-brown hair that compliments his freckles perfectly. don't make him sweet and kind and funny. don't make him a gentleman that offers to walk me home because it's dark. and please don't let him have anything in common with me. i beg of you, do not give him a southern accent that's actually charming and not revolting. don't give him a gorgeous smile that sometimes looks happy and sometimes look suspicious in the most adorable way. and universe, please do me a favor and don't make him friendly or interested in my life for some reason i'll never be able to fathom. don't give him skin i want my fingers to linger on or arms my body insists on being wrapped in. don't place the idea of friendship with me in his head when you've placed the idea of romance in mine. universe, all i ask is that you ma
i got you.you are nothing i expected
with your big brown eyes
and your unsure smile
i thought for sure you would be
scrawling poetry across the sidewalk
and trying to count the stars
i just knew you would be
chasing the sun with a butterfly net
and begging me to play hopscotch with you
you are none of those things
but you are so much more.
georgiageorgia doesn't have time to look for shapes in the clouds.
her parents always told her that was for children anyway.
so instead of looking up, she stares straight ahead
and keeps her feet on the ground.
[she's sure if she had her head in the clouds
all she would get is frizzy hair.]
georgia doesn't believe in fairytales.
she hasn't since she saw cinderella take off her wig at disney world.
so at night instead of dreaming of prince charming
she dreams of a used car salesmen with a big smile
and lies seeping through his too white teeth.
[she's sure glass slippers will hurt her feet anyway.]
georgia is in college.
but only because it's the responsible thing to do.
she's pre-law with a business minor just like her father before her.
she's hoping she can help people,
but she knows that's just a freshman dream.
[she's sure she wouldn't want to be a gandhi type anyway.]
georgia frequents coffee shops.
because she needs all the help she can get.
with six classes, a full time job, and no
scar-crossed(my fingers are colder than the solemn blue
buried in her eyes. so much dead beauty,
like an ocean without waves).
she is fading and i cling to her,
and in this tiny little moment
we barely even exist.
PersephoneI fed her
and she cried
at every frozen sunrise
for 180 days.
With cracks in my heart
caught in my hair
I counted 180 more.
Flicking through yellowed pages,
The crinkles smelling of dust and tears.
A human-induced God complex - authorial authority.
At parties, she hides behind her camera, just so
Someone gives her a smile once in a while.
Too bad she only sneaks candid photos.
Vindictive whispers cloy behind closed
Hands and hardened hearts. They vent.
An immunity to gossip; a cathartic release.
Peeping toms on laptop screens and
DVDs - it's only natural, apparently.
What is normal anyway?
you need to have a plan...so here's to
to some forgotten shore.
2. fall desperately in love with
i. the ocean
ii. the sky
iii. the honey sunrise and
iv. the steelgray winter dawn.
soul-deep into the water and
4a. search out the requisite words
i. from behind white and blue curtains
ii. and underneath clam shells
iii. and in the wakes of fishing boats, and
4b. pluck them from the ceaseless
scrawls of sunlight
against the slopes of waves.
5. make time for
ii. and other
lipstick-stained collarsthe one-of-a-kind
look you shoot
has been duplicated
far too many
times to count.
your eyes must
be made of glass,
the way they
wander so freely
in your sockets.
to think that those
callouses on your palms
are the result of work,
instead of your infidelity.
scent of your
to expect honesty
from a snake,
from a shrew.
vices.there's hell in your eyes, painting them black cesspits that could eat away the stars.
you tell me you need out of your head. the moon pulls higher in the sky, quietly marking the hour. our feet hang over empty air, the tracks below an open casket. you inhale nicotine and exhale burning buildings. smoke curls like fingers into the body of the night.
we're breaking like an ocean. eggshells on pavement.
i can't hold you together,
so you down handfuls of little white pills like peppermint candies.
like if you just keep swallowing, they'll whitewash the walls of your ribcage and purge your dirty heart.
you drink like you're always thirsty,
like you've found the antidote to forgetting.
instead, i hold matches to the dry tinder of my parchment skin to see if it catches fire
to burn down the gosttown of all the things i can't forget.
i dig trenches in my skin to leak out poison pulsing in my veins and the dirty swingset in my bones.
we both have memories we can't kill.
the black in our
forest firesmy signature scrawled across all
of your sentences like a stain of apologies:
i'm sorry for anchoring you to my hip
like a one-sided promise, like a flood of insincerity.
i'm sorry for collecting you like a well of wishes,
for whispering you into every crack in these walls.
i do not have the depth to tether our limbs
with the tautness of our smiles, but i will
balance you on the edges of my knees until
you slip away.
i have been kneeling with my arms outstretched
but the divinity of your touch
never graced my expectant stance.
our bones built forest fires together,
but it was always my tears putting them out.
of broken hearts and magic.tonight, the stars look less like stars and more like the giant balls of gas people have been telling me they are.
tonight, i cannot find the constellations that i used to call my friends.
tonight, the ocean is a little less mysterious and a little more salty.
tonight i am wishing i knew nothing of magic because this would hurt a little less. i could chalk it up to chemicals and scoff at the idea of a broken heart.
i could leave it at let's be friends [or casual acquaintances] and never worry about what will happen if i run into you at the park.
but i know everything of magic and i felt it in my soul when i was with you and that i cannot forget.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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