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Hayley Rena May 2018
And when you notice your daughter’s clothes change
-shirts to crop tops,
her blue jeans to ripped jeans,
scuffed shoes and all-
remember how good you felt in them, too.
The tearing of fabrication can be liberating.
And if she’s lost, doesn’t know how to make things new,
Show her.
And be new.
Written// May 7, 2018
Hayley Rena Dec 2017
Raised by
Kurt Cobain anger,
low grunge in earbuds
make it easier to ignore the mass of loud kids in the halls,
Hope they stay away.
For me? Socializing will drain you.

Raised by
Amy Winehouse.
Big winged eyes but,
her voice was bigger.
Showed me how to close doors,
and what hides behind them.
For love is a losing game,
yet we end up addicted anyways.

Raised by
The Beatles.
60s pop and rock,
Oh! Darlin’ they are good!
Taught me to think for myself
and let some things be.

Raised by
Cage The Elephant.
Showed me the world is
cold, cold, cold.
Cause there ain’t no rest for the wicked!
I’ll always find
trouble on my left
and to my right.

Raised by
Earl St. Clair
I might not have what I want,
but I got what I need.
And some don’t have a three story home
to feel alone in.
You just gotta deal with the pain,
before it deals with you.
Written// Sept. 20th, 2017
This was a class assignment so I know this one is a little cheesy. We had to write a poem about what has raised us wether it be experiences, music, family, beliefs, etc. Still worth sharing.
Hayley Rena Dec 2017
I often wish I was the cigarette you used
on cold nights to calm you down
and forget the pain you had.
Lies sometimes come in nicotine laced toxic.
I wonder if you see how every lie you tell
is you committing suicide
right in front of me;
killing everything I see in you.
Craving the voice that suffocates me,
these nicotine laced lies.
You being addicted to drugs,
and I to you.
Addicted to the taste your words leave in my mouth.
There is supposed to be a difference between love and nicotine.
I often wish I was that cigarette.
Only then would you be letting me in.
So breathe me.
Written// Oct. 18, 2017 11:03am
Hayley Rena Dec 2017
I am yours.
When I say
I am yours
I do not mean
This body I happen to reside in
I do not mean my curves and edges
My scars and bruises
What's yours is I
I am love
Not a body

I was wearing this shirt
-soft thin
Light on my skin
I feel confident in-
When someone dare say to me
"Your ***** are nice and all
But
You should put them away
Because they're already taken"
You are **** right,
These are my *****
And yes, they are nice
But because they are mine
Would you mind moving your eyes elsewhere
This body is mine
And no
It is not worn by me to display,
This body is worn by me to live
And if that means I want the person I love to hold it,
That does not make it theirs.

What's yours is I
I am art
Not a body.
Like you,
I have freckles
And in this shirt
You see the skin I grew afraid of
You see the patch of freckles
That as a kid
Was run away from because of
This patch of skin
Is simply more flowers
In the garden that this body is.
I am art.
Because there is pain in the beauty.
To this skin I welcome the one I love to touch
His hands find the flowers and takes care of them with gentleness
But the flowers
Are not his.
Written// 7-7-2017

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