I hold the girl
I want to be
Trapped between
Lines
Of poetry.

Her freckles
are cinnamon sprinkles
that land
just across
her nose.

Her hair curls
like baby blue laughter
at the thought
of miseltoe.

She is my one and only
this festive girl
through and through.

And dear, to my one and only
Will I say "I do."

He smelled like
cigarettes
and fallen angel dust,

Tragically
soft.

My skin is my weapon,
stained with blood underneath.
Thick and bullet proof,
and able to form barriers
to the harshness of this world.

Her ***** stained breath
and ****** *** teeth
made a deadly cocktail
that no man
ever dare
to drink.

You are not
what has happened to you.
You are how you react
to it.

Some plants will drown
in rain
that nourishes others.

She was crisp in Autumn's wind.
Definite lines of beauty
set in stone,
on pavements filled
with leaves.

Her skin is cinnamon sprinkled,
and her oh just as punchy.

She was scented with spice,
her presence never a shadow
or mango-mangled mixture.
It was definite,
it was there.

She was there.