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 Jun 2015 Rose
Maxi
Hey.
I just wanted to let you know that I’m done.
If I ever loved you at all… I don’t love you anymore.
True, lately I’ve been lonely, and if I told you that I missed you, I don’t miss you
I promise I’m just bored.
You were already here, and I needed a muse. I was trying to talk to you
But you wouldn’t listen.
I was getting tired of the “Miss Yous”; they were starting to feel misused.
So I cut you loose.
Cause I was tired of the lies as well. No games, we both grown.
And we both know **** well that nothing resembles the truth more than what is true
So what does that make you?
Maybe I’m a fool because I didn’t listen when they tried to put me up on game about you.
Let’s play a game, and for once let’s not make it about you.
I dare you to tell me the truth…and while I wait, I’ll tell you mine.
1. What’s true is that I’ve been lying to myself while making up excuses for you.
2. I ignored every lip stick stain, 2am phone call, and deceit-scented fragrance...thinking that made me a rider.
3. I even decided to dedicate my poems to someone new, but two wrongs don’t make a writer.
Maybe I’m a fool, because I always end up giving the wrong people the right pieces of me...
Remember when I used to tell you that I was fat? And you’d reply, “No, you’re beautiful”
I wondered why I couldn’t be both.

Remember when you told me that you loved me, so you’d never cheat? I wonder why I didn’t think you could do both.
You were looking for real, while real was looking at you.
You were QUICK to give up something real when something close started looking at you too.
You reached into my soul and removed my vital organs.
Broke my ribcage to make a home for your heart…now tell me
WHAT THE HELL am I supposed to do with a broken ribcage and an empty space?
I can’t even blame you…by always putting you first,
I’ve taught you that I always come second.

I made your love home, my favorite place
& on the weekends you made HER home, your favorite place.
You were my poetry, my safe place.
My lock my heart up and don’t tell anybody where you keep the safe…place.
It’s funny though, because it seems that we had galaxies between us
And yet you still needed space.
Shout out to the pain that gave me understanding
Shout out to the pain that helped me realize what space meant.

I remember pretending to be every girl that you’ve ever been with,
Like you were a ******, and I was your first.
Like you were an atheist and I was the first church you ever stepped into
I loved you. Bruh, I talked to God about you.
I pretended to be the only girl you ever encountered so technically I was the only one, but I was never the only once because I was never the only choice that you had to choose from.

I remember you telling me that I would never have to compete with another soul.
I wonder why I believed you…hmm
I guess I was scoping the competition with my eyes closed.

Not closed too tight to notice you trying to pull wool over them though.
In my mom’s hopeless attempts to console me, she told me that time heals all wounds…as if she forgot that all wounds still hurt for some time.
But its fine... my palms are too small to hold grudges.
I’m done. It’s crazy though, I swear I could write journals worth of poetry to you
But when it comes time to speak, my voice gets caught in my throat every single time.
Not this time.
Baby our love was like a poetic metaphor.
It was either me or her…I guess you chose who you were riding for.
 Jun 2015 Rose
KM Ramsey
exile
 Jun 2015 Rose
KM Ramsey
it's possible to lose yourself in loneliness

at some point
my solo reflection that
gazed back into
glassy hollow unequal pupils
began to claw hungrily at the glass
bated breath fogging the
thin membranous divider
keeping back the
unadulterated
most abject terror

that wooden grain
geometrically containing the
image who must stay
hidden in the holy of holies
or risk the ruin of all
things

she beats against the glass
that wraith girl with the
sutured mouth and
blinded eyes
and skin who cries out
for the slice of liquid mirror shards
and grasps the edges
of that rectangular prison
jagged pieces sliding sensually
keys into forbidden locks
surgically opening
the red liquorish vines
pulsing with a viscous
pungent poison
just underneath
onion paper skin

her nails scrape lead paint chips
off the crumbling frame
and i take them into myself
sewing them with the care
of a grandmother's arthritic hand
into the warm moist black
i can ever count on

she falls
like a newborn foal
glistening with those
maternal fluids
the literal matrix of life
hesitant steps on the
feet from that other dimension
where laws diverge and
perception is not relative
but horridly absolute

how can she manage
that leap which
knocks me straight out of my body
astrally exiled from myself
and filled to the brim
with a ghost girl
marionette
with painted sanguine smile
and strings attached
at each one of my joints
moving me with a flick
of some nameless fear

i think i spent too much time
trying to reconcile
the foreign body whose
defection left me howling with
a fiery bloodlust and an
insatiable hunger to vaporize those
staining contaminants
those long chain fatty acids that
deposit like stones in my pockets
weighing me down to the
river bed
whose mirror still reflects
the graven image of
a sinner-saint
whose sallow complexion
demonstrates her devotion
and in her death
faith
though her sacrifice was no
crucifixion to relieve me
of any of my
transgressions
or prevent me from
besmirching the god
i'm not sure i totally believe in

how do i give myself to you
and banish the apprehension
that comes with the
crash landing of me into
this corporeal form
stolen from me ages ago

how do i tell you that
when your hands trace
the curvaceous line of this body
that it feels like a fire's touch
scorching me to the bone
burning me at the stake of
my inadequacy and simultaneous
excess

it's too much.
 Jun 2015 Rose
Eve
Stitched
 Jun 2015 Rose
Eve
Oceans apart
Stitched Hearts
Stars unseen
Emotions intervene

Thoughts ignored
Words never bore
Pictures sent
Modesty bent

Her mind knew
Her blood ran blue
Fears adapted
Soul captive

"Release me!" she cries
Send was never pressed, her heart pries
She fears
To her, he becomes dear
And when he is ready to leave
Nothing in her will be ready to believe.

-fir.m
This is just a random thought about many long distance relationships where he/she feels captivated by someone they can never truly know whether they are fake or true!
 Jun 2015 Rose
Apathy
You slam the door in anger, in frustration you mutter my name.
You pound your fist against the wall, I cringe and feel your pain.
My words dry in my mouth, a word against you I dare not speak.
My body shys away from you, I feel my knees getting weak.
You vent your fury in a whirling rage, leaving devastation in its wake.
Your words leaving gashes across my face, carrying on not realizing your mistakes.
I already feel guilt and pain, is that not enough for you?
 Jun 2015 Rose
Liv
When he took me away I was scared
13 years old with a growing mind and future ahead to jump into
Little by little he took that away
He painted my walls grey
He muffled my cries for help
He tied me in chains
He drained the beauty out of each day
I didn’t deserve to have it
15 years old with a permanent affliction of entrapment
The bleak environment I bred in devoured me
He stole the escapes in my dreams
He kissed his palm before slapping my cheek
He called me beautiful as I lay on the bathroom floor
He patched up the cuts from his sharp grasp
I began to think I didn’t deserve to have him
17 years old things have shifted in our four walls
He holds me when life drowns the person I have become
He walks with me into wars with others who don’t understand
He calms my irrational fears through a glance
He has made me love him for the years we spent together
When he took me away I was scared
But things have changed
And now I’ve fallen for him.




Stock·holm Syn·drome
noun
def./ feelings of trust or affection felt in certain cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor.
Another reflection to ed. Stockholm Syndrome is in my room
 Jun 2015 Rose
Lottie
bottle
 Jun 2015 Rose
Lottie
Out in the rain,
A bottle green bottle
Fills with rain water,
While I watch, doing my homework.

Out in the rain,
The bottle green bottle
Looks sadder and sadder,
Drowning with no lid to prevent it.

Out in the rain,
That bottle green bottle
Fills right to the brim,
With water that's purer than we are.

Out in the rain,
My bottle green bottle
Overflows with a sadness,
So pure that no distraction could lid it.
 Jun 2015 Rose
untitled
variables,
 Jun 2015 Rose
untitled
i remember when i was young
and would connect the freckles
on my mother's leg like it was
a game in one of those silly children's books.
thing's aren't like that anymore...

"why must everything change?"

i'm just a withered flower dying to
know what it's like to finally feel alive.
i want to be home.
my yearn for a placeholder.
this town swallows me whole, willingly.
shocked or overwhelmed.
i bustle underneath my bed only to find childhood memories,
but emerge to something more wishful.
home is but a variable.

i'm left to choose.
goodnight.
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