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Melodious, luminous

a small plumage of sounds

Found you, fond of you

The first string laid across the back of Spring, you sing

till my eyes grow rusted and my limbs frost with moss, 

you perch still upon the branches of my broken fingers,

missing not a beat, a note, a loss.


Sing for this sunken world continuously,

my one and only
Max Richter - Vivaldi - The Four Seasons, 1. Spring
Today I learned I alone I'm responsible for my emotions, the only one who cannot let go.
I exist; morning oasis,

Counting down to the new year.

Insomnia hits.

All- Nighter.

Writing, reading until dawn.

I can't sleep, voices.

: )

I talk, I laugh,

why am I here, how did I become-

Darkness pools. Scars of light.

I rose into the earth.

: )

I'm fine, happy

what do you mean?

No, that really is me.

I pulled my teeth out.

: )

Have you seen loneliness? With dark circular eyes.

This red air smells sickeningly sweet.

Limbs over there, like my store bought lilies,

freshly cut.

: )

What is sad is this,

that you're forever happy,

forever right, forever free,

in the shadows,

beneath your sightless dreams

: )
  Oct 2018 Chelsea Primera
E Lynch
It arrives,
Unnoticed, unannounced.

At first.

Seeping, dripping.

I put it down to a few stressful weeks.
I carry on.

It unpacks,
Worries, anxieties.

For now,

Whispers, creaks.

‘It will leave soon’ I think ‘It always does.’
I keep going.

It settles in,
Getting comfortable.

Getting louder,
And louder.

Banging thoughts,

‘Please don’t be happening again’.
I shuffle along my daily routine.

Claws in,


Shame, worthlessness,

‘Please go away’.
I’m barely coping.

Growing roots,
Into my brain and heart.

Blossoming pain,
With every beat.

Emptiness, loneliness,

Silence, Stillness,
‘I can’t move, I can’t cope.’
  Oct 2018 Chelsea Primera
i wrote you
a letter every day
letters to tell you
just how i feel

written in neat, curved
writing i told you
just how sweet
i thought you were
how you made my heart

letters in which i wrote
with various colors of ink
pouring out my whole being
to you

i wrote you
a letter every day.

i wrote you letters in which
i told you how you made me

i found myself
pressing harder on
the paper
than i had before.

creating tears in them
similar in shape
and size
as the ones
inside of me.

i began to send
with creases
and bumps
and stains
splattered with tears

from my eyes

as i wrote
the anger
bubbling within me.

my last letter
addressed to you
no words

but was blank.
i had none that

could reach
as far

and deep

into the cracks
of my

to describe
what you

had left
of me.
a draft i decided to finish because it took a totally different turn than originally intended.
  Oct 2018 Chelsea Primera
I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.
  Sep 2018 Chelsea Primera
poets come.
Finish inside me.
Swim in me.
Taste me. From
7 to eleven
slurp me
in the convenience store
where some
wrestle to buy
this or that
I remain
gift wrapped

for your
good stuff.
I"m humbled by all the attention.  Thank you all.
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