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Mar 2012 · 465
she and her
natalie Mar 2012
she's the humidity on my summer day,
the mosquito bite on the back of my leg;
that nagging cough that just won't quit,
weeks after the cold itself is gone.
she's the pimple on my chin and the
horizontal scratch on my glasses.
she buzzes in the background of my mind,
some days far louder than others.
i try to rationalize and reason with her,
but even the strongest will and the most
determined of intention is no match for
a steel-reinforced concrete wall.
sometimes she chokes my throat and
speaks for me, making me a fool.
other times, she just whispers in my
ear and poisons my whirling thoughts.
some day, i will muster the courage to
drown her out, once and for all.
but until then, if there's a hitch in my smile,
or a sigh amidst the peals of laughter,
or even just a downward gaze,
know that it is not me, it is her.
i hate her because i love her.
she is me, and i am her.
Mar 2012 · 918
spider web
natalie Mar 2012
life, the world,
the human experience--
they can be dark,
cruel, and bewildering,
creating a
choking cloud of
chagrin around me.

but there are moments,
little glimpses of beauty,
of untainted perfection
in the vast array of living,
breathing creatures and
objects i surround myself with;
i string these moments
together in my mind, shimmering
drops of dew in the
intricate web of a sad,
reminiscent spider.

shivering with cold on the
side of a dark, dry mountain;
the air was frigid, so we
huddled together, leaning
on the side of the car,
necks craned upward at the
stunning display of stars
blanketing the sky above us.

my glasses made it nearly
impossible to see, stuck in the
rain walking home from class.
we took off our shoes and socks
and we ran through the grass,
sharp and slippery and
refreshing; we splashed
our way through the biggest,
most tantalizing puddles we
could find, and then collapsed
in your apartment, shivering,
out of breath, shoulders aching,
but laughing.

it was a dark, stormy sort of
night, and the summer air was
uncharacteristically cool; the
rain pelted my front lawn, the
street, and the rain was pulling
leaves off trees.
my eyes slid shut, tired, and i was
still smoking a cigarette, and i felt
the thunder resonate within
my body, and deep purple flashes
behind my eyelids,
and i was restored.

a vast pen of sheep was on one
sideof the dirt road, and an
empty meadow on the other.
we stood, again, on the
car as the bright orange orb
in front of us slowly crept down,
down, down, casting his royal
shadow over the twilight sky in
fluorescent shades of pink and
purple and blue and red and orange.
the air was thick and sticky,
mid-july in pennsylvania,
but i could only think of the
masterpieve before me.

once we sat in one of those veins
on the side of a mountain,
the ones important men use to run
power lines; we stared into the expanse
of valley in front of us, clear, refreshing
air after a quick, soft shower of dainty
raindrops and a cool breeze carrying
our smoke and noise through
the rock, the trees, the roads, the
few houses and manmade structures.

the first day we knew each other,
walking for ages down the old train
tracks, talking about anything that
seemed relevant, engulfed in an
autumn rainbow.

spending summer nights with the
people who entertain me, the people
who i love; nights spent with hand
crafted, often unconventional snacks
and some form of alcohol to share.
cooler evenings with those same people,
but with a crackling fire between all of
us, knit caps, and flannel shirts.

deep bonds, the ones i have had in
the many different shells of my life,
and the ones that still now hold strong;
the times when a gesture or a
spoken word brings a lump into my
throat, burning with curious emotion.
the bonds that sometimes fray or
collect dust, but still resurface with
suprising tenacity when tested.

when the present becomes
too dark, too ugly, i pick up one
of these images, these slices of memories
when, for just a few minutes, all worry and
negative things are completely
and utterly forgotten, and everything--
my life, my world, my existence--was
pure and infinite; i take a slice of happiness,
i hold it in my two hands,
and i remind myself that in order to
get to one of these moments, i have to
wander through the muck for just a
little longer, just a little farther.
Mar 2012 · 1.1k
uncertainty
natalie Mar 2012
the feeling is
new
and exciting, a
fleeting tremble.


your smile, a
catalyst;
your wall, a
challenge.


frivolous emotion --
a furtive
glance,
a shared
grin.


the beginning.


the end.
Mar 2012 · 461
an encounter
natalie Mar 2012
the night air is still,
so warm for the
end of winter;
the stars shine
with fiery hearts
far, far above me.

i feel waves of quiet
serenity run through
my body and mind,
and i shut my eyes.
the world is hazy.

i am here, inside.
the heaviness
of life shuts up
because i force it
to leave me alone.

but through my beautiful
silence crackles a noise--
a sound that cannot be,
a sound that should not.

my eyelids tear open
and at first, nothing;
but then, an anomaly.
dark, then darker dark.
impossible, i think.

i blink, but there it stays,
existing to spite me.
my mind must be
tired, worn; i look away.

my vision is unfocused
and out of control.
houses and trees
bleed together,
and spots dance in
my eyeballs.

when i look back,
i stare at this
impossibility,
and it stares
right back.

my heart pounds on
my ribcage like a
terrified toddler
screaming for
mommy.

and then,
the pressure lifts.
it is gone.
Feb 2012 · 623
tumor
natalie Feb 2012
i didn't notice until last year.
the tumor, that is.
only a small and insignificant seedling,
it began to take root
deep within my cobwebs.
but the longer you fertilized
with your anger and hatred,
the stronger it became,
consuming my very soul.
and as time passed,
i felt it pulsating angrily
within my feeble brain,
maliciously eroding at my walls.

first,
it was only impatience.
i balked at your words and
your contempt made me cringe.
then,
it grew into anger.
so powerful it could erase
my love and replace it
with overwhelming loathe.
finally,
the bitterness budded.
i hated you venomously.
those seven letters raised my hackles,
your voice caused an adrenaline surge,
and your screams nauseated me.
before i knew what happened,
your tumor was my tumor;
your sickness was my own;
your self-hatred as strong as mine.
the line was blurred,
the ship sank as you watched
with a mocking smile.

someday,
i will face the tumor.
someday,
i will cut it out,
shut it down,
make you stop.
someday,
but not today.
Feb 2012 · 585
carcass
natalie Feb 2012
i am driving down the familiar road home.
i melt into the abnormally plush seat, and
as pleasant lingering echoes of dolores
mingle well with robert's fiery heartbreak,
i feel my body sigh with welcome relief.

i make the same right turn i have made
five thousand times before this night,
and my eyes are accosted by ******
ribs and a flimsy excuse for a carcass.
it is not gruesome or horrifying at all,
the spectacle simply exists in my mind.

but then, after that split second of
involuntary reaction, my eyes and
my mind and my vehicle are close
enough to comprehend what i see:

the ****** carcass is little more
than a plant,
red stems for ribs and brown leaves
for flesh.
Feb 2012 · 548
tidal wave
natalie Feb 2012
when the sallow moon rises
from her hidden slumber
and the stars light their
unimaginably distant fires,
i slip under my fleece cocoon
and curl into the waking dreams
of sleep.

my thoughts lose their borders,
flowing into an erratic pulse of
flashing images and wild colors.
in these dreams, you are a tidal wave.
you swell before me, dark and
enigmatic, a monstrous shadow.
you are deep and murky,
making my heart race with
the fear and excitement of the
unknown.

under the forgiving moon,
i allow my mind to hope for
things unlikely and far-off.
but when that pallid face
slips behind the earth and the
arrogant sun climbs up with
a blinding smirk, i turn my
own face toward the mirror and
stare into his begrudging truth:
i am not first place, i am not the
best, but i am just good enough, and
that is plenty for me.
Feb 2012 · 780
neighbors
natalie Feb 2012
the morning is blanketed with gray,
everything hazy with an eerie glow.
i sit, cold concrete hard beneath me,
inhaling smoke with languor, a sigh.
across the street, through the dim fog,
i can hear a toddler's cry,
a man's voice, a loud crash!
lights flip on and off.

she walks out the front door suddenly,
mostly obscured by the car between us,
looking inside and saying something i
can't quite hear through the distance.
with a quick twist of the neck, she
adjusts her hair; the moment feels so
private, i feel like an impostor, a spy.

from the depths of the shrouded house,
her husband emerges like a prince,
cradling their small son like a fragile
infant, an egg already begun to hatch.
their heads are adorned with a mop of
nearly identical hair--the young boy's
is bright with the innocence and
curiosity of youth, as vibrant as his
general demeanor as a toddler; the father's
is amber with both the joys and hardships
of age, like the wizened golden crown of our maple
tree at the conclusion of a long, hot summer.

she gets into her car, darker than the sky but
in a similarly neutral hue, and says a tender
goodbye to both of them before departing.
as the car backs out of the driveway, the
father and son, two of a kind, separated
only by the years between them,
wave and shout "goodbye!" as she leaves for the day.

— The End —