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 Jan 2015 Thinkerbelle
Advent
she
 Jan 2015 Thinkerbelle
Advent
she
she was slapped ******* her face
she did things on her own
she uttered the unimaginable
she was desperate
she was hurt
she didn’t know what to do
she wanted to let loose
she wanted to breathe
she wanted to cover herself under her sheets
she was cold
she was confused
she wanted to die

and so she wrote
 Jan 2015 Thinkerbelle
Advent
i have plenty of unread books
from Roth
to Palahniuk
supposed have been read
at a good nook

these books I have
are stacked on one shelf
cause time hasn’t given
a minute for myself

these books I have
are my companions
when I’m split into halves
amid destruction
 Dec 2014 Thinkerbelle
Rachel T
I didn't stop hurting until
I put you into poetry
 Dec 2014 Thinkerbelle
april
It's 1pm, she's smiling. I've closed my eyes too many times just from the times she's hurt me--
she never said it'd be alright and now my mind still worries.
She's like another twisting hurricane that I should've known better than to get into,
but now the roads are blocked and the sirens stopped and I'm standing inside the walls I built inside my heart.
She's somewhere on the outside, knocking just to hear one more "I'm sorry,"
trying to get inside or just disarm me.

I spent my days through endless nights just trying to strengthen these walls of mine--
from enemy, from predator, from girl. But as her voice echoes through my veins,
I forget all the things she always says.
I forget myself, my sense, my name.

My walls have cracked - my defense falls -
what looked like stone was another glass house surrounding my pulse
as it beats through every break, every trial and last mistake,
she says she loves me but makes me wait - I'll never feel this way again.
-aprilxcv
i've spent months like moths between poems
sacrificing gods for endless answers
but always losing the light or dying on a too-hot bulb
unable to comprehend infinity as a spiritual fly-swatter
but i'm learning how to surrender to silence
diminish into campfires
wash in busted fire hydrants
meditate inside the figurative dumpster of solitude
perhaps forever this time

but my attraction to her is raw
like the sun today at 3pm
burning away my anxiety and shadows
not fueled by selfish lust or vanity
but by surprising vacuum
she is frightening in her beauty
her mind filled with incandescent chaos
her voice a softly spoken flute singing in a canyon
her hair a delightfully suffocating gas
her belly, her smell, everything from
her nostrils to her feet marching
through my tingling limbs

she was from the far end of the universe
a dream of the temporal lobe
polluted by the spike-and-wave blips of computer music
halos around mouths chewing ecstasy pills
her mystic lips curled and eyes lightly fluttering
over a simmering can of cherry coke
my hands an unsteady inch away from
her heated and heaving rib-cage
my lips whispering breaths onto her ivory throat
after a 4am romp donald duck explains
childhood memories from a buzzing television box
the smell of man-musk and sandalwood
spilled whisky and patchouli thicken the air of the room
as weak dawn light streams in through philodendron stalks and fingered leaves arrested by the wind
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