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Nicole 9h
You will be the music that helps carry me
When I don't want to carry on.
Your memory will serve as a blessing.
You will be that persistent, defiant song.
Nicole 1d
I love e.e cummings
And bending
corners of my favorite poems
For other eye's safe keeping.
I love writing grateful lists
as romantic literature on days where
the shift to a better slant of light is needed.
I love soul music even though
I enjoy awkward dancing
much more than
the theatrics of the composed.
I dabble in singing,
voice raspy and soft
when I want it to be
ethereal and enigmatic.

I love the imaginary.
Yesterday there
were pyramids in my back yard.
Tomorrow I will imagine there are
endless mountains with permeating sunsets.
I love puzzles, the
makeshift of letters and
numbers in a box, organizing a structure
Just how I wish my thoughts
wouldn't rattle but stay in alignment.
I love the human connection,
the lingering taste of humanity
on warm, soft, tender lips.
I love fridges with
Polaroids of moments
Once seeming so insignificant.
Now powerful in their standstill.

I love bars where people don't go for
the language of the
drunk but rather want the
Language of the like minded
And dishes that
flood your thoughts of home.
I love the dizziness
in a half guided misstep
As I scramble to twirl
in life's habitual squall.
Most of all I love the
ordinary moments sitting still,
eyeing the world
with a tooth faced grin,
seeing beauty in the ducks,
in his huffing laugh,
in the liveliness of once dead things.,
waiting and then suddenly
Nicole 1d
Bring me back to
when we couldn't stop
Writing poetry to
save ourselves.

Your mother was
a pablo neruda poem,
And my fate was through
The gloss of faulty
projector eyes.
You swore I was
innocent then.
I didn't recognize

Take me to the fields
where we sung
About heartbreak
without stuttering.

Where your heart
and mine etched
words in coffee
shops and left
our love notes
On car doors and
windshield wipers.

Show me the
way back to the
Of picking
mother's day cards.
Five because
we both loved your
mom so much.

Bring me back
To the little white lies
Where Mexico
was our shoes
And we had backpacked
Throughout Europe
to get home
And lay down our bones
Close to eachother.

Poems no longer
Save you
But for me, yours did.
They always did.
Bring me back Maria.
  3d Nicole
right now I need the purity and hush of heavy-laden snow blanketing everything without prejudice so please send the storm
  3d Nicole
how do you name
this kind of strength?

the thing she loves most
shatters her, irreparably

shards sink to the depths
drowning she dies there

then recreates herself,
returning to care for it
Nicole 3d
You reach me with tangible,
Soft, and concerned hands.
My only question is
How can I reach myself?
but in the end,
they all drift away
even the ones
who promised to stay.
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