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  Sep 2017 Allison Baxter
mk
but it wasn't just losing you

it was losing out on all the memories to-be
like your mother's fortieth birthday
your baby cousin's first day at school
your uncle's wedding *(i'd already picked out my clothes)


it meant missing you at my graduation
and you never seeing my little sister grow
never tasted the fresh morning brew my dad makes
or listening to my mom recite

losing you wasn't just losing you
it was losing everything around you
and in a way,
*it meant losing myself too.
so much pain, but the sun still shines.
Allison Baxter Jul 2017
If i’d let you do me damage
i’d disguise my blood as paint
in a portrait I’d do of you
crimson with an ochre taint.

It’d be hung on a wall
that’d fall with the wind
aside an aged tree,
solemnly, sparsely limbed.

The rubble and soil
would finish the brawl,
for my fists would be
scathed by nightfall.

For your eyes
i’d mistake two plumbs.
The unknown is always shadowed
by a foliage blessed by it’s sons.

If I’d let you do me damage,
turn me over to abstraction,
it’d end more sullen than stone.
More than the moon waxen.
Allison Baxter Jul 2017
She wore a weak leg,
two hands of grievance
That would often beg
Baptists bowl creedence

Slept with the sons,
whispered to the daughters
Voices like kitchen crumbs
Mumbles I never bothered

Her voice carried
In a clammy palm
That at once buried
An ancestor embalmed

Many spectators to this
This great deterioration
Out of her mouth a hiss
I hold none, no adoration

To her I owe
Many things unsaid
We live in a shivered home
In hallways she treads

But none the less
She is my lady
My skull hers to caress
My only, lovely baby
Allison Baxter Jul 2017
Kissing you and drinking tea
Hands that quiver unsteadily
Sunlight revealing your flowery home,
and awakening my love of thee.
In my thoughts you go to roam,
proceeding so,
******* gracefully.

A cup of porcelain too light
To hold anything but two mice
My hands in the morning;
weaker than my knees last night,
and softer than the tile flooring.
Wet stones of white.

Venturing back to your room
The dusty air, turpentine fumes
Your body a formed question mark;
wanting an answer, I presumed.
The sheets over washed and harsh
Softer than the foreboding gloom

Awaiting my fated reply,
I look into my lovers eye,
then dropped my gaze in such a way
that conveyed a true lie.
In the doorway I swayed, and
began to cry.

For one has never been in such
a situation so rushed.
I said goodbye and left you
Afraid otherwise it might be too much
Bidding you adieu, and
Forever missing your touch

My breaths would become fewer
For I held an unknown future
in which death outweighed survival.
I would not allow a single viewer
to watch the heavens await my arrival
and not the wrongdoers’
Allison Baxter Jul 2017
Last night’s stains
Forever engrained

A treasured recollection
24 hours pure perfection

Sweaters dry and dull
Resulting from a washing lull

I know you from sight
That dusty night

A sweet exhalation escaping
Clothesline laundry draping

Words sweet and fuzzy
Warmth behind eyes, dustly

I know you from touch
A little linger never clutch

I finish the basket folding
Thoughts already molding

And think of tomorrow
All the other days not a sorrow
Allison Baxter Jul 2017
Gravedigger of my innocence
Weeping mother grieves
Thoughtless and dressed in black
Irises no more than two little thieves
Poking out under a hat

His physique held greater than I
Hadn’t an intention of innocence
Hands stole more than eyes
And his grasp had a certain brittleness

I’m soup accompanied by bread
Catering his needs
My cauldron body *****
Read the recipe he didn’t read

Allowing myself harm
So I wouldn’t be furthered
Myself I disarm
I beg, I won’t be murdered

A grand feast after a laboring day
I was neither deserved nor greatly enjoyed
Whether he earned me or not
He didn’t care, I was still destroyed

His eyes poor people not to pity
He hadn’t any grub to fill his gut
I was so unwilling I left his teeth gritty
He had me howling like a mutt!

The gaze of a man
Holds no intention of innocence
But of vile thievery
Telling of our ignobleness

A robbery of faux passion
He finished his vegetables, indeed
Next time i’ll be aware of my fashion
He only left me a nosebleed

This world is wild, I quit!
As for desert, he devoured
I was a scared banana split
His hands sticky like a coward

A female alone
Only use was his disposal
Wish I would have known
Why the hell was I so hopeful
  Nov 2016 Allison Baxter
blue mercury
step one.
you close your eyes.
you close them tight.
then you press your palms
against your
closed eyelids,
until
you start seeing red spots that remind you
of a song you wrote
for someone so long ago.
that someone doesn't matter anymore,
not really, so eventually,
neither will he.

step two.
you wear a nightgown.
the one with the lacy v neck, the one
that exposes your thighs,
the one with the vintage roses.
you wear it to bed to remind yourself
that you don't have to wear his attention
like a perfume
to feel ****.

step three.
you listen to those songs.
you know which ones.
you listen to them and sing or rap along
until your throat is sore, until
your chest hurts. do it
until you don't know why you're crying,
then write a song about why
you are crying,
so that when you look back,
you can see that it doesn't matter.
heartache fades.

step four.**
dive into a body of water in only
your under garments.
force yourself
to swim,
no matter how much
you want
to drown.
not very easy steps. i lied. whoops.
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