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 Nov 2015 ciannie
Janet Li
2:22 AM
 Nov 2015 ciannie
Janet Li
moved to the living room cause your
snoring was causing the ceiling
to collapse --
scrolling on an endless blue screen on
the couch we got earlier today --
for free! yay craigslist! --
and i can't hear your snoring anymore
and suddenly, with all my heart,
i miss it so much
 Nov 2015 ciannie
I have lived like this for a longtime now.
Brewing tea at four am's,
watching the duet of my heartbeat and the flickering blue flame in the darkness of my kitchen.
So many nights that turned into mornings at the blink of my rose lit eyes.
Sitting at the same spot on the couch, trying to look through the fishnet skies.
From tea to coffee to cigarettes to joints to big sips of whiskey-cola.
Running away from addictions, time to time.
Running away from places and people before they could form a thought about me.
I live in a prison that I create for myself. Cancelling plans, dodging phone calls and avoiding eye contact.  
Getting drunk and making love to strangers that,
may or may not remember me.
Worrying about what the world has come to and what my country is doing wrong and about all the innocent people that suffer everyday.
I am worried about my education and the future.
Also,  the life that I am creating for myself.
Worried about the dishes that I still haven't done,  
the mess around me that is growing like wildfire
or the whole minute that I haven't blinked.
I have lived like this for a longtime. Paranoid.  
Looking through the crack in the curtains and at lit windows in far away buildings.
At the dark patches in the sky where the stars aren't there.
Scared that the man in the television has looked into my eyes for too long and that the song playing is too relatable.
Too long have I been scared to now feel anything that is considered normal.
I have lived in my world of anxiety,  irrational fears and slow dancing curtains for too long to smile, laugh and love and not be it just half hearted.
But there is still hope for me in,
Quiet midnight's of making tea and
The one who stares back at me,
through the fishnet skies.
 Nov 2015 ciannie
Alexander Stutz
Founded in a dream
Lips meet
Stars fall from the sky
Descending into madness
World spins
Axis breaks
Gravity out of focus
Sun glides
Murcury burns
Ocean water floods
Cities drown
Moon let free
Such beauty forgotten
Crystallized flakes fall from the sky
Lava dances with forest
Bouquet of leaves descend
Hands meet as words speak
Deafed by the Avalanche
Frozen in snow
Inches from love
Never to know
 Nov 2015 ciannie
 Nov 2015 ciannie
some are hidden by
long sleeves and baggy
sweatshirts, behind
bloodshot eyes
and stale breath
written in light graphite
on crinkled sheers
in shoeboxes,
therapy sessions
and 2am text messages
 Nov 2015 ciannie
i once dated a scientist                                                       i once dated a writer
who tore me to pieces                                               who confused me beyond
dissecting every piece                                           reason and hesitantly let me
of my heart and of my                                                  study her heart and her
mind. i am a writer and                                            mind. i am a scientist and
my mind does not                                                                   her mind is full of
function the same way                                                                     demons and
and my heart is not                                                       her heart pumps words
reliant on the same                                                             instead of blood. she
thing that his is. he                                         used to spend days reliving and
couldn't find the beauty                                      rewriting her past to make it
in spending hours                                                   beautiful knowing it'd take
making messes just                                          hours to clean herself up again
to clean them up but                                              but i'll never forget the way
i found beauty in                                                      she dissected me just with
his brown eyes.                                                                               her blue eyes.
chemistry in words
The soonest mended, nothing said;
  And help may rise from east or west;
But my two hands are lumps of lead,
  My heart sits leaden in my breast.

O north wind swoop not from the north,
  O south wind linger in the south,
Oh come not raving raging forth,
  To bring my heart into my mouth;

For I've a husband out at sea,
  Afloat on feeble planks of wood;
He does not know what fear may be;
  I would have told him if I could.

I would have locked him in my arms,
  I would have hid him in my heart;
For oh! the waves are fraught with harms,
  And he and I so far apart.
 Oct 2015 ciannie
You might not like to see my fat jiggle, or my **** wiggle, but this body has carried me farther than your giggle ever will.

It might not thrill you, but I’m a no-frills woman who takes what she has and makes with it her own – and lets not pretend, I have more than you know beneath these clothes. There might be rows and rows of dimples and wrinkles and obvious freckles (that to some might be cute) but under these puffy cheekbones is a skeleton I call home, and it’s not yours (thank GOD), but it’s worthy of knowing.

It’s your loss if you choose beauty over brains and heart and THIS thinking mind. I might have a long way to start to be someone you’d find yourself watching through blinds, but I’m a **** sight better than someone without the courage to stand wherever she lands – and if that’s behind, then that’s where you’ll find me. That’s where I’ll sweep my floor and make my bed, and, with pity, watch YOU instead to discover that not everything ‘pretty’ is worth uncovering, or owning, or smothering with pride, because, for those with eyes WIDE open, there’s nothing worse than a soul smashed and dried with a hole that leaks powdered ego, nor the upper-class battering eyelashes of a pointless romantic who would rather own lavish belongings than dance in her heart with far less than what she ever dreamed to start with… and woe to all if she ever had to depart this earth without her heels and her silicone ******* and her lipo-suctioned stomach and thighs beneath that little black dress.

Woe is me for laughing at such perfection, unimpressed.

The truth of where I am in my life, and what I have, and how I give it all when I can to others is what keeps MY story so grand and worth more sand than all the beaches combined, although, in this body, all that matters is INSIDE, and not sun baking, or swimming, or shopping, or dining, or making up lies to refine me. I am THIS, just what you see, and if you don’t see me matter-of-factly then I won’t miss you, exactly.

Oh, and what I also won’t miss will be wishing I’m something more than I am which is smaller than my clothing size – but still ‘too large’ in your eyes… but that’s YOUR lie because you’re controlled through the media and told like a child what you should want and should need – and, furthermore, you are blinded by greed, and blinded by fright, and blinded through – God forbid – actually SEEING.

I ponder what company you will be to yourself in your house or your mansion with nobody else (all alone)… Maybe not now, but just wait for a while and you’ll age, and you’ll moan, and you’ll wish you were home with your path and your decisions and your personal mission… and I’ll envision (through my second sight: a premonition) a TRUE vision of you enslaved to your fantastical and ‘brave’ dream of nothing but perfection; of washing your life of mistakes like erasing infection… but it’ll all be fake… And, sure, it’ll be your cake and you can eat it too, but don’t go waving it in MY face. I don’t want any of yours, no matter how hungry I feel, and regardless how poor.

You are a disgrace. I don’t need a cake to celebrate my present state or my coming fate. Nor would I offer you a bit from my own plate. The less of you I see the more I satisfy me, and my larger-than-life conscious mind will be FULL for eons more time, which is far, FAR longer than you’ll ever, in your ‘right mind’, be privy, or one day, ‘destined’ to find.

Now that’s a party in my opinion – perfect, infinite, and exquisitely divine.
© Tamara Natividad |
Written 17 October, 2015
 Oct 2015 ciannie
Seher Seven
things are getting interesting.
the sky has elaborate paintings,
I'm back dating
and my smile feels settled.
it no longer teeters, on the fence
to appear... worried to offend
someone. a smile.

its just me.
since I can truly claim it
I can just smile.

Im happy in happenstance,
the shift of the feet, quickly aligning
to please only me.
I can smile because I see,
the beauty of the beast.
the beauty of you.
like I had sat there with you
for centuries.
like your smell was what I
knew it would be.
like hey here's me…     please
try not to categorize me.
I fall through sieves
and flow with the sea,
with the bits of We then permeate
the pools and the aquifers.
no box deep enough for her.
expansion always necessary.

now its just getting interesting.
your smell got me,
though I could forget it
not subconsciously,

there we are One.

here I could forget you
easily. and be free to explore
the outside of entrapment,
of attachment. just be me.
and still love you.

expansion. trust what I see.
patience. just be the real me.
less options now.
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