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Lexi Guffey Dec 2019
I used to be vibrant
A collision of parts perfectly coincided
I was two legs running as freely as the wind that rushed through my lungs
A heart beating strong and fierce
A mind awash in originality, thriving on innovation so outside the box I'd never seen it
Two eyes looking with awe and optimism and seeing
Maybe I was not always happy but I was always free
And somewhere along the line I lost something
I was a collection of parts that had lost their purpose
The chaos of collision but not the beauty
I was two legs that forgot what it was like to run without destination
A heart beating reluctantly
A mind fed on mediocrity but starving for thought it couldn't find
Two eyes looking at the back of a semi on the highway praying the trailer would detach
Maybe I'm not always sad but I am not free anymore
Lexi Guffey Mar 2019
Don't tell me you love me.
I am a free spirit,
not to be tied down.
I am a magi of the earth -
an apostle to the ebb and the flow.

Don't tell me you love me
when you do not know the words that leak inside my head,
when you cannot look into my eyes and read what’s going on,
when you cannot understand that I am woman -
not object, not possession, not yours

Don't tell me you love me.
If you loved me,
you'd let me go
Lexi Guffey Mar 2019
The last time I spoke to my mother
it was hot and sunny and sticky
and I do not remember the date,
But it was hot and sunny and sticky
as sweat trickled down my back,
and I noticed that before my tears,
the last time I spoke to my mother.

The last time I spoke to my mother
I don't even remember what I said anymore,
but I know I was angry and confused and twelve
the last time I spoke to my mother.

The last time I spoke to my mother
she told me she didn't know how to love me now,
and I asked if she ever had
while I held my breath and prayed to a god I did not believe in
that she would tell me she’d try to relearn,
but that was
the last time I spoke to my mother.

The last time I spoke to my mother
her voice was laced with hate that used to be reserved
for people who were not me.
I suppose I should have guessed that I'd be the recipient eventually,
but I was naive and she hated most people -
cashiers, old friends, waitresses, teachers, my father,
and I added myself to the list
the last time I spoke to my mother.

The last time I spoke to my mother
she ripped pages out of her bible and handed them to me,
like maybe if I poured my blood onto them in repentance
it’d save me from burning eternally,
but I tore them up and told her that I'd rather be in hell
than with Christians who preach love and practice hate
The last time I spoke to my mother.

The last time I spoke to my mother
she asked me if she'd done something wrong,
as if my existence being “wrong” was a given,
but I replied she hadn’t until now,
asked how she separated humanity from me
the last time I spoke to my mother.

The last time I spoke to my mother
I didn't know how to drive yet,
but her words cut deeper than any blade I’d known
and I preferred the stinging sun
to verbiage that blistered in silhouette
her words of protest and disdain hung in the heavy summer air
as I began walking without destination,
but I told her if I'm destined for eternal hellfire,
I might as well practice burning
the last time I spoke to my mother.

The last time I spoke to my mother
was so long ago I only remember it in my nightmares,
and I wake up sweating as much as I did that day.
Sometimes she asks my sisters if I've changed,
I guess that sentiment means she doesn’t care if I’m okay
the last time I spoke to my mother.

The last time I spoke to my mother
I can’t say I knew it was the last,
but of all the things I'd done,
I thought walking away from her would be the hardest.
I was wrong
the last time I spoke to my mother.

The last time I spoke to my mother
I didn't think I'd ever be able to move on,
physically walking away was not the hardest thing I had to do,
even more difficult was learning to forgive
someone who wasn't sorry
The last time I spoke to my mother.

The last time I spoke to my mother
my mind was filled with disbelief,
my mouth was filled with bile and hatred
but I have learned to forgive both myself and her,
and releasing that resentment
has been my greatest liberation
the last time I spoke to my mother.
Lexi Guffey Feb 2019
Tell me your insecurities.
The things you see when you look in the mirror
and that keep you awake at night.
Tell me your fears.
Tell me your dreams.
Tell me the worst fragments of yourself,
and I will take your doubts
and use them to weave silken threads
in the fabric of my love for you.
And I will trace my fingers over your flaws
and inscribe in your skin the
reasons why I love you.
Gently woven words
etched between the scars that haunt you.
A relentless reminder:
you are so loved
you are so loved
you are so loved for the person you are,
the person you hate,
the person you hold.
You are so loved.
Whether your face holds smiles or tears,
whether your arms hold confidence or shame,
whether you believe you deserve it or wish to leave;
you are so loved.
Lexi Guffey Feb 2019
;
Stranger save me
I'm a monster in the moonlight
foreign from within
they say not to trust people you do not know
but what if I do not know myself?
Lexi Guffey Dec 2018
I fall prey to the creases in my cranium
as I’m destroying from the outside in -
inside out.

Listen.
Listen.
Do you think the moon ever fears the darkness?

Slices on my hips
silence on my lips
as grey matter turns against itself -
worthless. waste. not. enough. never. enough.

Listen.
Listen.
Do you think the moon ever fears the darkness?

I’m a person I do not know anymore
maybe I never did,
the voice inside my head is not my own
but my skin will not separate enough,
tear deep enough,
to extract it from my soul.

Listen.
Listen.
Do you think the moon ever fears the darkness?

It’s two a.m. and I’m staring at my ceiling
begging the sun to rise faster
or not at all
because it’s two a.m. and the night hides no one.

Listen.
Listen.
Do you think the moon ever fears the darkness?  

Tonight
the ticking of the clock conspires with my heartbeat and I
cannot
escape.

Listen.
Listen.
Do you think the moon ever fears the darkness?

My thoughts come in waves
so I am neither drowning nor afloat
trying to make it to tomorrow but
hoping I won’t.

Listen.
Listen.
The moon and I have grown close now and tonight
she fears the darkness.
Lexi Guffey Nov 2018
Smile soft, darling
I know you think you love me,
I can see your eyes looking into mine -
cerulean waves rolling gentle and hopeful.

You’re taking my hands in yours
and holding tight,
but I am a flight risk -
my hands are scarred,
my wrists stay bloodied,
my heart is slow to open and quick to leave.

I know you think you love me,
but my skin is bruised,
my bones are fragile.
I am tearstained imperfection,
and your soul is far too pure -
beauty embodied breathing light.

Smile soft, darling
I’m afraid
your lips cannot touch mine,
for darkness seems to spill with my exhalations
a sure antithesis to your emanating sunlight
and I cannot be the one
to make your smile harden.
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