it finally took you to take my arm
squeezing too tightly
with that question in your eyes
was it a beautiful lie?

it's all my fault
that we are so
fragile,
everything we had
broken

i remember i didn't know what i was thinking.

You are like Eve given a second chance,
but you turned around
and grew a bunch of
apple trees!
you cried.

You opened your arms to me
as if I'd been lost
so glad you found me again

she wanted to scream onto a page to make a poem, it's been so long that things will never be the same, she wants to paint herself into the embodiment of forever.
she wasn't the same woman but she was, with scars that told stories, with tattoos that moved, not everything had a meaning but it did, that was a long time ago and this is now.
who she was before makes no difference but it's everything in the world to her now, to take back who she was, to reclaim, to restore, to feel like a phoenix and rise again.
she would honor  herself, the goddess, the poetess, worship the word giver, give her sweets and fruits heavy in syrup to savor
and never starve her again.
plump full of love, sugar on the lips, being naked and feeling beautiful at last, on a bed of roses, on a bed of dried rose petals and skin like poetry.

She lives in oversized mugs, her signature is a coffee stain and ashes. She's overthinking about what her hippie friend said. I don't believe were supposed to end up with our first loves.

She made her second *** of coffee, poured a steamy cup, it flowed and filled within her a sense of secret certainty. She drank out of a healing cup.

This can't be how the movie ends. She tried to get these thoughts out of her head, but it was too early in the morning she'd been up all night thinking what if he knew, what if he saw what you did. She thought about all the mornings he made coffee and made it extra chocolately with a dash of cinamon.

It felt like opening your mouth
to say something, don't, and then
biting ******* your lip.
You don't deserve this.
You tried to explain but he'd place a finger
on your mouth and say
"don't speak of these terrible things."
Don't speak.
There's an image of you two
hip-to-hip as merry as an afternoon tune,
of course you'll never forget
what romance looked liked
before the war.
put down your weapons
if you hadn't played with fire
Then you would not have burned.
They say Apollo, the sun God, is the truth
so you stood naked in the sun
and flew closer and closer until he begged you
to come back to him.
You couldn't find the heart to tell him
no matter how close you were.

She could feel energy in her finger tips. For a long time she just stared at her hands, spaced out. There was something inside her she had to write now.

A deep low meow from her left made her bolt upright. Her gray cat meowed at her a few more times, disappeared to the other room, and cried her long loud belch of a meow. Meow?

she felt shocked. Her and the cat were the same. They were both crying to be let outside. They were both wild.

Her messy crimson hair fell over her shoulder, put on a handmade dress, it was one-of-a kind, used some oatmeal on her winter face, and she went outside with her cat. She halfway imagined her cat taking her off to a cat universe. Or another place in time entirely.

Here is my rendition of “somewhere over the rainbow” this is my “song about hope”
I see blue birds fly far from here but those left behind will have the strength to cope.
Those baby birds will fly, fly away from the burning smoke.  The dreams that we dreamed
Long ago before bedtime will lift us out of this dark tundra, where all we see or seem to see
Is what isn’t or will never be. How can we sing if the blackness clogs our throats? A little birdie
stuttered, as she stared wistfully at the sky, “that even if I don’t know how I still have got to try. “
Around us is madness, a civil desperation from our soul, that greed and *** can’t fill alone. My
friend jumps from the safe zone and falls like a stone, but before I could lose hope she was flying
on her own.
I feel ready all the time to be the change I need but I never found the courage to let my spirit free.
We are defined by what we create, but also what we refuse to destroy.  
The little birdie announces, then deploys.
You start to realize that the only one who can save you is yourself.
Love is equal to the wingspan.
– I see blue birds fly far from here, and those left behind will find
The strength to cope. those baby birds will fly, fly away from the burning smoke

She can't deny herself any more.

She wants more than anything

to eat the heartshaped petals on the side

and swallow her liability. It's dangerous

grinding her secret garden between her teeth. Who could understand

that she covets a beautiful flower, but it's her fault she feels this way;

she compares herself to a sweet orange

when she is like a sour lemon. And then there's a dandelion.

She takes those too, to carry with her prayers

and roses. She dreams flowers will blossom

like goosebumps on her skin. She's anxious

to wear her hair down like grapevines. She feeds her

dreams to the ravens. We treat her with love

and write songs about her.

She felt it, something so beautiful growing in her stomach it ached.