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It only took one year
To get over the fear
Of being alone

It was gradual
The way you train animals
At first, I couldn’t stand the silence

In my room, the darkness came
Like a blanket
Of velvet

I would gasp for air
Shaken with the thought of my own mortality
My hands reached for safety

But in that room,
All that remained
Was me

Not your smell
Or the weight of your body on the mattress
Or my memories

I can’t pin point when it happened
I can’t definitively say when I lost the fear
Because I don’t think you ever truly lose fear

Fear shifts to other things
Before I would notice my breath
Alone and fear these moments with myself

But each night
As I grew tired of reaching for a shadow
My eyes began to grow heavy
And my breath would steady

My body would stretch across the bed
Letting go of any boundaries one would have
No longer worried of disturbing another

This bed was mine
This room was mine
This life was mine

And instead of waking with fear of my solace
I began to fear if I would ever trust anything more than the freedom of being alone.
Late night thoughts
I lick my lips

they still taste like you
and I bask in the remnants of a dream
that seems
close enough to smell
through laundered sheets
blood at the surface of yesterday leeches
into tomorrow

on badges of honor that hold no shame
igniting the flame
each in the shape of animal love
primal feasts of flesh
and I run moist in remembrance
a response I have yet to control

the thought of your voice or your breath on my skin
burns fire within
without ever being near
I feel your longing
chasing my own

my body screams in liquid silence
your voice walking the line
entwined in the root
of my evil
vibrating a symphony in prelude
carried on a laugh that growls
to the beast that howls
begging to be beaten into submission
...again

I lick my lips
...they still taste like you
5518
146w
,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
 Apr 2016 Layla Emory Holt
Syd
it still hurts in a way that's hard for you to explain to those who have never had to live every day knowing there are still pieces of your heart stuck inside someone else's chest. so what. so you still wear his old t-shirts to bed even though you know you should have thrown them out months ago, there are texts and photos on your phone that you can't bring yourself to erase no matter how many tears streak your face or how many times your heart breaks all over again. every single day you think of calling him, but only certain days are bad enough for you to actually contemplate it: days that used to be important and hold value - his birthday, your birthday, your anniversary, holidays - but then the obvious days turn into days where it hurts so deep that you look for reasons to call; it's raining and you want to say hey, remember that time we were in Sandusky and it thunderstormed so hard our whole hotel shook and lightening illuminated Lake Erie? remember how I was so scared, and you held me all night long? or when it's midnight and you throw on his old clothes even though they stopped smelling like his cologne an eternity ago, their cotton hasn't touched his skin in months but you wear them anyway because you resonate with that feeling, and you think of calling just to say that you wish you could feel him one last time. you do. you wish you could drive to his house again, you still know the way so well you could do it with your eyes closed, sneak up to his bedroom and crawl into bed with him even though you both complained it was too small for two people, you wish you could zip your fingers together like an old jacket, familiar and warm, you wish you could bury your face into his chest and smell his skin again, feel his lips kiss the top of your head as if this constituted saying I love you, I missed you out loud. the truth is you're more than well aware any combination of these things are very unlikely to ever occur, but that doesn't stop you from wishing, from picking up stray pennies or blowing out everyone else's birthday candles. do you remember the first time you saw a shooting star. how you were with him and how it felt a little like fate. you want to call him and tell him that you've never been so broken. that you believe you can go backward, because you don't see a forward that you like. but you can't. so instead you keep his name buried underneath your tongue. you don't cry when you miss him because no one understands it anymore; too much time has passed. get over it already. you keep his sweaters warm inside your dresser drawers and you wash the sheets weekly because they smell like someone else now. the bed never stops feeling empty. there are eight stop lights between your house and his, and this distance has never looked more red.
A foggy winter morning
Obscures my point of view
With timeless memories,
With millions of possibilities,
Reminiscent of me and you:

Only our present is visible
With nary a clue where we are,
But I feel that everything was worth it,
We're the closest thing to perfect
That I've ever been (so far)
Love without a modicum of uncertainty means nothing in the end.
12/5/15
 Jul 2015 Layla Emory Holt
Chris
~
Caught in a web that a spider is spinning
Counting his legs as I notice him grinning
Perhaps a dream that is just now beginning
I must be falling in love

Singing a song while the music is playing
Don’t know the words, I make up what I’m saying
Not really dancing but just sort of swaying
I must be falling in love

Running a race down a path that is bending
Seeking to finish, I know it is pending
Sweating so much it could be never ending
I must be falling in love

Chasing mosquitoes now constantly biting
Waving my arms like a windmill that’s fighting
Or like a group at a UFO sighting
I must be falling in love

Filling my cart with bananas while shopping
Cleaning the peels off the floor as I’m mopping
Sliding through red lights there’s no sense in stopping
I must be falling in love

Hitting a drum in a cadence that’s pounding
Played in a very nice rhythm, astounding
Just like a heartbeat in spring it is sounding
I must be falling in love

Writing a poem with words that I’m feeling
Every desire your beauty revealing
Asking your hand as I’m carefully kneeling
I must be falling in love

Now as I stare in your perfect eyes glowing
Feeling affection they’re constantly showing
Finding each day of my life I am knowing
With you I've fallen in love
 Jul 2015 Layla Emory Holt
Chris
~
Remember when the movie
was all that would scare you?
Another sad day....
Sometimes
nothing is wrong,
but I still don't feel right.

Sometimes
the sun shines so beautifully through the Blue Beyond,
striking my window so tantalizingly,
but I can't feel its warmth.

Sometimes
I wake from a healthy slumber,
but find myself still without the strength to face the day
or even move

Sometimes, I forget to feel.

Sometimes, I unconsciously deny myself the right to live.

Sometimes happens too many times.
4/13/15
If you understand, I'm sorry.
"The road to being happy starts inside and leads out into the bright, bright world
The open door, the cracked window, the rush of careless wind that moves everything
I do my best to listen to every sound
I let my mouth enjoy each bite of life
I let my eyes take in details or full pictures, panoramic or fine
I let my thoughts run rampant and I control where they run if I wish
I RUN THROUGH FLOWERS AND LOVE IT
I touch everything I walk by
I whisper words that I like whether anyone hears me besides the trees
and I love everyone that I feel the urge to love
Every moment is a lifetime and every life is an eyeblink of bliss
I share everything with those who wander the same paths as I
I want to be a whole human, more than a daydream
I want to walk with those who love the light
Make yourself whole and let's go taste the world together"
- A little Fox getting wiser and smiling more often
Namaste, lovely people. Breathe easier, stop being so scared
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