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charlie-b
charlie-b
American Music & Books feed my soul. Words are the product of my heart.
I could spend my days wrapped in the wind - hair tossed in and out of my face watching fluffy white, grey, and black clouds rolling across deep blue skies. I could waste hours sitting on fine grains of glass and particles where one world meets the next in a crashing thunderous roll of waves. I long to wallow my time amongst the never moving, always seeing, towering beings, of the forest. My nights are spent seeking the pale face amongst the stars. Seeing the world how she does.
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Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
Days & Nights
It’s been awhile. I can’t remember why I haven’t seen you. There is something different about you. Older. Sadder. Lonelier. I watch you in your sleep, curled up on the couch. I see your tears. I hope they aren’t for me. The desire to wipe them away weighs heavy on my heart. Every time I reach out I can’t seem to touch you.
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Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
Touch
Before my eyes open, you are there at the end of my fingertips. Soft and warm, I want to pull you close. Closer. I open my eyes searching for your face that isn’t there. It’s too late to close my eyes and pretend you back into my arms. The cold sheets have seeped into the empty spaces. Down into my bones.
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
Cold Sheets
For as long as I can remember. When it hurts. When I am hurting. There is, only one response. One reaction, let it burn.
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
Anger
One light in a crowded room. Highlighting papers and one pen. Blank papers. The white glare brings out her eyes. I reaching so deep for the good words. Sad eyes. If I turn away my gaze, I can write. Words will flow through pen and ink. I need this lie. Shameful pride. A crowded room is now empty. She has grown strong and left me. My muse.
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
Muse
My pillows are filled with memories of soft whispers. That sound oh so sweet. I hear laughter down the hall beckoning with the dance and flicker of golden light. I imagine your hands gliding across limb and back, wooing me with pleasures one could get lost in. I would love to lay my head beside yours. I’d hold on so tight that I lose myself in you. Yet there are things to be done, promises I must keep.
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC
Promises
My sister wonders why I don’t want to go shopping right after coming home from an eight-hour shift. I’m spent. My dad wonders why I’m passed out on the couch at four in the afternoon. I’m tired. My friends don’t wonder why I’m no longer the life of the party, but they still choose to see me. I’m exhausted. At 25 I have come to realize that it is not normal to stress about a mortgage or how to keep a house. That at 25, coming up with property tax money is not normal. That at 25 it is abnormal to be alone in your worry of losing the last physical reminder of your lost mother.
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
Tired
It’s all consuming. This we you speak of, an exclusive club. A reminder of how far on the outside I really am.
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
Untitled
He makes me happy What if’s? Plague me. I think about her. He doesn’t seem to be enough. That’s so greedy. So ungrateful. I don’t know if she exists. I don’t care. He cares really cares. I’m his sweetest This is enough. He is enough… Yet, I want her.
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Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
Happy?
Twenty minutes away more like twenty years with every no.
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Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Twenty (10w)