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chelsea-mcmahon
chelsea-mcmahon
American "Poetry must have something in it that is barbaric, vast and wild."
I just want to wear flowers in my hair and raindrops in my eyes and feel the heat of your lips blow fire through my veins
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Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 3:53 PM UTC
Untitled
i have always been a wanderer - i roam the earth, bare feet against the dirt, finding temporary resting spaces for my heart. i have traversed the plains, scaled mountains, felt the tear of sinew and faith when i fell. i have scars - raw and aching - that leave me breathless in the daylight. but along the journey, i found you with wounds that mirrored mine; a familiar fear in your eyes but brazen hope in your heart. and with arms outstretched, you cradled my weary bones drew promises around my scars kissed the corners of my eyes and whispered in my ear "breathe, love, and hang your heart here - you're home"
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Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 12:16 PM UTC
Wanderer
Words collided, My skull spinning with the repercussions of words said, love lost, bones broken, and right at the point where my knees hit the floor all i could see were fireflies, dancing in the ashes rising up to join the stars.
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May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC
Fireflies
You struck a match Against my ribs, Saw the flames Lick the blue Of my eyes. Now all that's left to do Is watch me burn.
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Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
Untitled
You are the answer To every question I've ever had And all of the ones I never even thought To ask.
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Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 3:27 AM UTC
Untitled
I don't believe in god But I do believe in the Warmth of your breath on my shoulder, The emerald shine of your eyes In our shadow And the way you seal my fate In figure eights on my neck. I don't believe in god But I believe in heaven Here, with you In the silence of a love understood That needs no words And needs no god, Just the trace of your fingertip On my lips.
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Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 3:25 AM UTC
believe
There's not much left, Pieces left strewn And abandonded In all of the places I've ever died There's not much left, But you can have this heart If you would like. It isn't much, But it sings in the thunder And it is all I have left To give. -cjm-
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Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC
it isn't much
it happened in a matter of seconds, metal folding in on itself, the crunch of glass shards raining down like crystals, the sudden impact and the distinct silence of bone snapping, blood pooling. i opened my eyes and took a second, took it all in, felt the dull ache in my ribs and the ringing in my skull. and as i fell out onto the concrete, oil seeping through my jeans, i looked up to watch the clouds pass by - to watch the birds dance - and i wondered how long it would take me to forgive myself for surviving.
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Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
forgive
The woman in the chair is not my mother. Her eyes the same shade of blue, but sunken too far in; Her skin too big for her bones and hangs like a sheet              draped across her shoulders. Her hair is sparse and scattered across her skull as though one puff of the wind might blow it all away, her smile - weak, her lips dry and cracked              stretched thin across her teeth. The sound of her voice is familiar but soft, a whisper echoing from somewhere deep in her hollow lungs              as she calls my name. This woman is not my mother. Tubes snake out from beneath her oversized flannel shirt;             I count six from where I stand stagnant in the doorway. Pumping toxins from her body, Draining life from her core Stealing the woman I used to know, used to cling to. She sits somber now, engulfed by the chair and the room and the noise and the tears that flow silent from my eyes As I sink to my knees against the doorframe         and curse a god that I don’t believe in,         in a life I no longer want.
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Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
The woman
I've been here before. My heart finds a home In the cold of your shoulder, The sting of your silence, The bite of your blame As I hold my knees To the edge of the bed. I've been here before; I've counted the bricks One by one As you pile them between, Locking me out, leaving me Alone, armed with nothing but a dull knife And shattered ribs. I've been here before; I know the words you keep Coiled between the plates Of your skull. Harsh words, left to marinate,     Thicken, grow. I've been here before In this place that I know so well, This place I fell back into head first again Cinder blocks tied to my ankles And I'm drowning In your eyes And your pain And this vicious cycle Some ******* Called love.
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Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
Something tells me