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Mallory Mar 9
I want to be soft,
I want to be light.
Delicate enough
that heart
is no longer synonymous
with heavy.
Fill me
with helium
and cut the string.
Hollow out my bones.
Wring my brain of its density.
Ink me onto paper
And feather every page
between fingers and thumb.
Touch until touch is numb.
Breathe in until body is floating.
Then let go.
This is knowing.
This is living.
Right?
Mallory Jan 30
Now
I’ve known this place before. Hair line fractures on happiness are pathways to purgatory, and when I say I’ve stumbled across love and watched it leave before, it’s not to say that this is any easier. I just came more prepared. More content sitting down in the night with the dark things, and asking about the places they’ve been. I’ve lost myself again, the way my mother keeps losing words. She misplaces them in my chest and I rip my heart out in attempt to give her my memories. Our memories.

Some days you are a reflection of all the things we’ve witnessed once before. I wonder if you ever think about her anymore, or how history has an atrocious way of repeating itself (up close). You keep trying to string things together to make sense of the unraveling world around you, but your hands don’t know the way around a needle and thread anymore. I wear thimbles like armor, and stitch together the things you say you remember, but don’t. Arrows drawn on the remote; symbols and language you weren’t prepared to have stolen from you. We hold our breath not in hope, but in anticipation, waiting for a shimmer, a glimpse, counting every glow of you left. We catch them in laughter, but we know this only grows exponentially the older we get. I know there was a time when you were more than this, but it’s so human of us to forget. Every time you rearrange words, and names, and moments, I pick them apart trying to find you there, but you are somewhere stuck between the ellipsis. You are caught on the semi colon. How do I hold you up and look you in the eyes as you ghost into everything I can not grasp?

Life is sifting your mind until there is
nothing
left
but dust.
Maybe more of a journal entry than a poem?
Mallory Dec 2018
21
It is no coincidence that I was born on the lightest day of the year; Summer solstice. With me, you will be always brightest here. I chew glass. Like cotton candy my love will melt you from the mouth, inside out. I linger like smoke mixed with summer midnight air. I glow like summer morning sunrise. Erasing every forged signature, you’ll feel me breathing down your spine. I’ll surface like a bruise you want pressure on. A sunburn you feel peeling. I sting and heal like salt: seawater on cuts. I am the hottest days, grabbing, clinging, giving meaning to body. Wet. Sweat trickling down back. I am rooted in the grass outside all of the flower beds, like morning glory, I will choke you out if it means I am still growing. I am dandelions, and daisies. I am melted buttercups dripping lazily, under chin. It is no coincidence, that I was born on the brightest day of the year; I am a flame in darkness. With me you will always burn brightest here.
Mallory Nov 2018
Listen to them individually,
Hear them beat
Against black pavement.
They fall hard, helplessly.
And softly. Drops of pure god touch skin, relentlessly.

Wet and uninviting.
Fluidity in surviving.  
Crystal clear
And so inciting,
Ecstasy for the ear.

Smothers, and screams.
A necessary, tenderness.
Tenaciously
bleeding open hearts.
Time stops.
Release is here.

A validity for sadness
It’s okay to come clean.
To hold still, in your brokenness
To know this darkness
And accept that it is dark, and dreary, and deafening.
To bask in your defeats.

You have not realized
How dry;
how thirsty you have been.
You wait and wait and wait and remember why
you needed this again.
Mallory Nov 2018
I’m doe eyed,
A deer in headlights for you.

You explain your nothingness to me and I swear it’s like looking into a mirror. Pressing ear to cup to hear clearer, through the worlds concrete walls.

She is so beautiful; so staining.
and maybe it never comes clean,
But I promise, it will fade.
I promise that with age,
and with time, this nothingness will change.

You are so careful of wanting me too closely, as if you’d been here before. As if it would be a reminder of her.

I feel you trying not to weigh on me.
Your heart is so heavy,
like a soaked sweater hanging off body,
after the rain.
You don’t have to worry about pouring it out on me.
Spilling your dark on me. I will sit with you until it’s dry. 
I will stay with you through the night.

I’m still doe eyed,
a deer in headlights,
for you.
Mallory Oct 2018
I forget what love feels like
pure, genuine, innocent,
untouched by demons
kind of love. To not be unhealthily consumed by unreciprocated feelings, to not question my efforts in affection, to want and to feel freely. I forget, now I just get high and have conversations with myself about all my loves that I’ve left, and that left me. And how love can feel so good and so evil simultaneously. I wanna be sixteen again, to feel love without conditions or consequence. Back to the very beginning, to feel a love so simple, so free. To write my premature poetry. To have this one, good, untainted experience of love solely. Looking back to when self care, and optimism seemed so easy. Slow self destruction keeps me in purgatory. My heart is tired, fragile, and tender. When will I get to remember?
Mallory Aug 2018
Songs up loud,
ears bleed, to drown
out the sound
of you.
The last time we ******
it was rough...
cause you know I like it that way?
No. You were just trying to **** her off your mind.
Couldn’t drink her away.
You kept the lights on,
didn’t want to see her face.
I’m gonna feel you the next day and the next day.
I’m gonna see you spread out
on my neck,
to chest,
to heart.
You melted me down,
just to harden me up.
I know you love her,
but don’t look back,
you’ll turn to salt.

Pen in hand,

I turn to salt.
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