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 Aug 2019 BlueBird
Myrrdin
And if you wish to hurt me
Do it in the ways I hurt myself
I am the only one
Who still gets away with it
 Jul 2019 BlueBird
Myrrdin
Soul Mate
 Jul 2019 BlueBird
Myrrdin
If we fall in love with the people that remind us of our families
I should be in love with dead boys and distant hearts
But I am only in love with myself and everything I could be
 Nov 2018 BlueBird
Myrrdin
I love you's
Were for goodbyes
They were paired
With apologies
With excuses
With control
I love you's
Meant "I own you"
And now
They mean nothing to me
Unless they hurt
 Oct 2018 BlueBird
Myrrdin
The moon and the star
Laid back in the sky
Discussing their grievances
"I am just a lifeless rock"
Said the moon
"At least you never have to die"
Said the star
"Yes, but you are at least shiny and dead."
I don't even know.
 Sep 2018 BlueBird
Renee
I'm sure I look fine.

Days like today,
I want to strip the skin
From my forearms
Using only my fingernails.

Days like today,
I want to wring out
My legs like a washcloth,
Squeeze the rolls on my stomach
Until they're empty.

Days like this,
I want to walk away from my body
forever.

I'm sure I look fine.
 Sep 2018 BlueBird
Poetoftheway
,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)




<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
 Sep 2018 BlueBird
Myrrdin
I didn't say hello
When he walked in
I never say hello
It is a big, big word
A concrete foundation
To make houses in human beings
I can't be sure I want to make my home
Or that I'll know how to find the exit
When the hearth gets cold
And the coffee is stale
When shelter turns to a prison
I stumble out of Saturday morning
It is a big, big word
And he builds big, big houses
But he never feels like home for long
 Sep 2018 BlueBird
Myrrdin
I am always outgrowing my shells
The new ones never fit quite right
I just want to feel like I belong here
Like something was made just for me
I am tired of being too much of myself
One day my shell will grow with me
The world will say to me,
"You, Hermit, are just enough,
You, Hermit, have a home here."
 Sep 2018 BlueBird
rstlss
[draft]
 Sep 2018 BlueBird
rstlss
Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished.
Like us, a draft
of what can be called
"the both of us."
A draft created
that's open for change.

A change
to be better
---better
than who we are
or what we are
in the midst of the conflict
that floats around us
for the sake of us
for the both of us
---for each other.

A change
to be smoother
---smoother
with no mistakes,
with everything
in order;
consistent,
and coherent
even with the dialogues
we say that matter.

A change
to be clearer
---clearer,
meaning it is
at least what it is
meant to be conveying
with no underlying
vague wordings
when it comes
to our feelings
---for one another.

But that's there all is:
a draft
of what could be called
the both of us;
a product
of what we can become
if we make it become;
a product
of the possibilities
of what can be us,
of what might be us,
of what is it between us
between the fragments
of the words,
the lines,
and the series
of all of them
that constantly paint
faint descriptions of us,
descriptions
created [fabricated]
in my mind
like a work of fiction,
of pure imagination.

Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished,
l­ike the poems
I wrote for us;
like the poems
about us;
like us, a draft.
8.31.18

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