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Listening to your music makes me very bored

So I headed downtown for the things I can’t afford

I walked into the crowded lake till my feet got sored

If the traffic questioned me I’d say I was lured

For a glass of ice and an old album I stored

It made four. I listened till the choir singers broke their last vocal chord.

For years they trademarked desire, eventually it topped the Billboard

the train got jammed midway, again this team had scored

I didn’t say anything; I even signed the peace accord

All the piano keys marched out my door, saying ‘cursed was my Lord!’

I couldn’t sing well, but I walked behind them with a sword

Only my guitar slept soundly; at midnight it even snored
You simply looked at her,
how the lights play upon her color
Her hair, color of fresh rye,
Her eyes, doppelgängers of morning sky
Her skin, pristine and pure.

It was all there, written upon their enchanted eyes
It was all here, echoed in your doubtful heart
Upon that stage, carpeted in red
A voice sang and between glances you realized

Those heels of diamonds won't fit you
This dress of this shade of aqua
Is made for her, will match with her eyes
This necklace, segments of diamonds
Is designed for her, will match her spotless skin
These applause, smelling of suburbs
Is waiting for her, will see their daughters in her

You didn't look deep enough,
your thoughts sunk along with the rest of you
your darker complexion, shorter figure, narrower eyes
If you have a daughter you will tell her
she is not made for this, the world is not hers.

So when they ask whence
they should point the spotlights to
When her eyes meeting yours,
smiling, always smiling.

'I think you should go', you said
the better choice, better voice,
walk perfectly upon stages
created by people like you.
Even her pictures will look nicer

But I saw you far off and I knew,
she is no longer a person but an idol for you
she is everything you wish you could be
she fits exactly in the corset of your insecurity

Because you are the one
writing the script, moving the chairs
working late nights, shifting the gears,
cooking the food, perfecting her looks

until every second of her is yours
until your beauty drains into hers
i sometimes wonder why people would think other racial features are more appealing... but again these cosmetics/clothes look better for these looks... but who made them? Who continues to make them?
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.
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