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I am not your pusher
I am not your *****

I will not stand aside
and hold the door

While you climb
and push me to the margins:
     • skip my footnote
     • ignore my humanity
     • take the credit
and more

I will not sit back
(hide my pain)
While you continue to
Slander my name
(steal my flame)

A desire for:
     •Equality
     •equity
     •fairness...
You fake.

My fire/my heart
Our creations/our art
**You take.
the first thing people would say upon our engagement is show me the ring like some bling is an ode of your love to me. i am not a homemaker i am a homebody. i excel in colombian coffee and monday night pub specials and cheap wine with expensive labels. i excel at being one of the guys and by being one of the guys i mean not being your wife. i filled the crevices you scraped in me like some kind of sculptor smoothing over past mistakes like being your wife was some kind of placebo pill i can sweat out with half-empty pizza boxes and grease stains on a couch that was never mine. when i first tell people about us about what i've done they say
but you two fit so well
but i liked you together
but you were going to get married
but but but
but they don't see your knuckles almost shaking hands with my jawline or the time i stared at you deadpan i'm not scared of you and i think that's what scared you that i'm no battered wife that i'll take you all bleed you dry then smile from the corner.
i am no battered wife like the woman who raised you
whose christmas-gifted blanket i'm currently curled under but whose 4 a.m. whispered words i cherish more he can't make you forget what you felt like your lies would forge me into the bat **** crazy ***** you christened me but what i felt in your *****-stained breath amaretto-sweet words ice-diluted eyes was i am no battered wife
i am no laying next to you in bed at 30 with kids i couldn't convince myself to want and bruises that fit your fingers on my ribs. i'll take my tuesday tequila and too-loud laughs, my scrounging for quarters for just one more cup of coffee over your stability smirks.
I don’t know if I’m capable of love.

I’ve had too many people use me,
Shy away from me.
I’ve decided if I’m too much,
If I have to sacrifice part of myself to be with someone,
Then I don’t want love, or anything of the kind.

So this isn’t love.
There is nothing romantic about it,
But there is just something about him.

The features of myself I used to hate,
I’ve come to cherish.
There’s a cold, distant expression that warps my face.
What used to be forest, spring green eyes,
Are now eyes laced with a sickly, threatening, green poison.
It wards people off,
Keeps them away.
I always wished for a warm, open face,
But now I embrace the icy sheen that takes over my gaze.

He does not heed my warnings.
I’ve caught him looking my way,
It’s not like I’ve never caught people looking at me before,
They look at me with shy curiosity.
They want to know me better,
I see it in their eyes,
But it’s just for their own personal gain.
They just want me because they think If I accept them,
They’ll finally be complete.
I’m the missing piece.
It’s disgusting.

His eyes though,
They don’t say that.
His eyes are unlike anyone’s I’ve seen before.

There is a blue depth to them.
Not quite like the ocean,
But not quite like the sky either.
I can’t quite put a name to the color,
But they would have to be somewhere between ice blue,
And the blue of the sky on a warm day in the summer,
On a beach,
Far, far away.

His look is a quiet challenge,
Like he knows my ways.
Knows the façade that is the cold, warning look,
That spreads across my face,

And he ignores it.
Presenting a calm, but firm challenge of his own.
When our eyes meet,
He does not look away.

Others will look away out of fear,
Fear that I am judging them,
Fear that I can see right through them,
But he meets my eye,
And challenges me to break our gaze.
I look away every time.

Who is this boy,
With blonde hair,
The color of sand on distant islands.
Who is this boy,
With sunkissed skin,
And a body that’s seen the gym at least a couple times.

Who is this boy,
Who dares to challenge me?
After all I’ve done,
To build my walls,
And keep people out.
Who is this boy,
Who ignores them, and walks right in?

I don’t know.
I don’t even know his name.
But it has been a long time,
Since I’ve felt a stirring of interest,
A curiosity in someone else,
That goes beyond just keeping them away.

I don’t know who he is,
Or what he wants,
But he’s given me hope.
Hope for someone like me,
Someone who’s seen war trenches of their own,
Who still secretly hopes for someone.
Not someone to bring them out,
But to appreciate the scars that have accumulated,
And the battle that will never be forgotten,
In the deep, dark recesses of my mind.
bye
soon it will be over
then another one can start
a measure of aggression
an excuse to be apart

if it isn't in the air
if i offered you a voice
you'll never find me there
you made your ******* choice

c'est la vie.
You entered into my bloodstream just like the drug I was once so hooked on.
You said, “At least you can see your ghosts, mine prefer whispering things into my ears and never showing themselves.”
I laughed because what else was there to do. You smiled, too.
I told you never to be like me; never to act like one of the ghosts that hovered around and stifled you.
You said that every time you saw me then, you couldn’t help but see a blue light glowing around me.
You said I reminded you of hospital bathrooms and lies and imperfections. I reminded you of thin needles and punctured skin.
I was just glad we were finally getting somewhere, getting to know each other.
And I was glad you never asked why all my poems were written in the past tense, too.
let's not pretend the reason i have all these scars is because i was sad.
dots and not lines.
 Feb 2017 storm siren
Kay Ireland
I had forgotten how good the fantasy feels.

I dream soundly without him
when the memory of his hands
puts these tired lungs at ease.
I play with 'hope' on my tongue.
It's beginning to taste sweet.

I will hold him in my arms soon.
We will warm our bellies
with whiskey again,
and I won't walk home alone
this time.

We've grown up in the snow,
with winter in our veins,
something visceral and uniform.
He knows what to do with
these freezing hands of mine.
I ****** my lip
with bite marks
at the thought.

I am leather-bound and blank;
he has so many ways
to fill me up.
 Feb 2017 storm siren
Sydney
Make love to me in the half light of the early morning
Make love to me like you said you would
Make love to me like I'm the only thing your body needs
Make love to me like losing yourself in me is the only way to keep yourself sane
Make love to me as a prayer and a thanks and a love letter
Make love to me like my skin is healing and you're broken
Make love to me like in the last log in the water and you're drowning
Make love to me like I'm the last oxygen left
Make love to me like I make you smile because I do
And I love you
Make love to me like you love me the way I do you.
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