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Pea Oct 2014
You are a stomach
full of carbonara, stale
milk in the morning
Pea Oct 2014
i have never hated silence before
i need to talk
i need to hear humans talking
to me
i need to hear the soft, not so high voice
simple words, light and easily understood
talk to me, let me hear your voice
so i know i am not alone
and that i can
go through this-
i have never hated silence before
actually i loved it
i did
sun·set /ˈsənˌset/
noun
the time in the evening when the sun disappears or daylight fades.
Pea Oct 2014
i keep desperately wanting to be the person i am not. it's true.

i only want to be enough.
Mountain sunburn hurts more than the beach one.
Pea Oct 2014
you
are gone. i can't run
too far.
your legs are too
long. i can't
follow you
anymore.

i know you know,
i don't understand
anything
at all.

who you are,
who you were,
i have no
idea.

and who i am,
who i was,
i don't even
know.

who wrote those,
who sent those,
who read those,
it was only a
dream, dull and
gray.

our islands.

i kept thinking
we
shared a
bond.
Pea Oct 2014
12
I become afraid
of the sun -- I just wanted
love -- she burned me twice.
Pea Oct 2014
xii.

big hips; small hips and long, skinny legs
people and the worlds inside them
pointing at the screen
which movie should we watch?

the last time i watched movie alone
was divergent
it was an insane ride
and my parents picked me up
knowing i had lost a thing
but they didn't ask
and i didn't tell
i was ***** by poetry

-- i am holy
just like lilith, eve, and mary --

watch out i am trying to heal
so what if i am romanticizing
illness! i am not ill
enough
to lose

my eyes see clear
anabelle, tickets sold out
the people; in hijab, in short skirt
in high heels and slippers
their faces
i see them clear

it looks the same like that friday
just feels different
it has been months
a relatively insane ride
so cathartic

my land may well be a big cathedral
or some sweet mosque
with all the gods
praying to each other
with cold soup in their tongue
and stale milk they offer

to the homeless like us, you know
home isn't really the walls and roof
that keep you from rain and sundust
home is the rain and dust and your sunburned hands and the acnes on your face and
the wounds on your knees
you got when you were learning
to bike
Pea Oct 2014
7
in my dream you were
running like a rat
wearing your fingertoes like
hydrangeas and heartache
in your head
where all the nice things passed out
we built barbed fences around our heart
to keep it still
like a ghastly statue
i had no clue
in my dream you were
planting apple seeds
in a corn field
i gave you a knife
became a mermaid
the last child
and a sea
in my dream you were
shining like a sun
brainlike exploding
having planets around
like flower crown
in my dream
you were
warm mug i'd left at home
three a.m. and homework not done
a highschool girl
long forgotten
in a potrait on your identity card
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