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I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
  Jun 2020 aubrey sochacki
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If my hands could tell a story, they'd say how your spine always looked beautiful in the morning,
when the sun's rays created shadows that danced along your back and flirted with your neck
like they'd never meet again.
They'd say how your lips always curved upwards as if they were saying hello.
If my hands could tell a fairytale, there'd be no happy ending,
there'd be no end at all.
I wish my lips could finally part to say the right things,
because all I want to do is hear your name roll off my tongue,
in the same sentence as "you're mine".
I want them to tell the story of your lips,
red, and taunting and always mysterious.
I always got a toothache when you weren't in the room.
I think I need a root canal.
If my knees could speak they'd tell you how lovely it was
to bend to curl to your legs.
If my knees could tell a story, they'd describe the cold, hard
bitter kiss of death they shared with the pavement so many times
when I found your bags at the door.
If my knees could beg, they'd ask for forgiveness.
For being too bony, too weak,
for not being able to support your dreams.
(I'd give up anything now for that little apartment in New York
and nothing but two typewriters)
If my fingers had a chance, they'd trace the familiar lines of your collarbones
and over your shoulders, because by now they've committed them to memory.
If my fingers had a chance, they'd hold yours again.
They say to stay away from broken people but I saw you as a puzzle
just waiting for someone to put you back together again.
If my eyes could tell a story they would whisper softly of your flowing hair
and pixie-like body.
They would ask you to stay.
They would jump out of my body to give you a glimpse of how I see you.
They would show you how utterly unprecedented you are.
If I believed in heaven I would tell you that you're a miracle.
That you are something I wished upon for years as a child.
You are a star.
You are a supernova.
You are a black hole, ******* me in and twisting me about until I am nothing
but battered limbs and my broken heart.
You are God with the Devil's kiss.
If my lips could move they'd say "stay".
You were mine.
aubrey sochacki May 2020
i keep asking what happened to us
but the truth is
there was never an us
just me
and just you
sometimes in the same room
aubrey sochacki Dec 2019
i am so sick and tired of the cancer game, that is merely what it is; a game. this game is four quarters long (on the other hand we could say it was four years). you watch from the bench as your team and cancer each score goals, each winning at different times in the game. but cancer is strong and a hell of a lot better at fighting. you sit on the bench, kicking and screaming, as you watch cancer tear your team to shreds. cancer doesn’t give up.

1st quarter; your team is winning, but still unable to walk without a walker.

2nd quarter; cancer is kicking *** and you keep begging to be put in, you want to help fight; it’s not your turn yet. cancer is winning.

3rd quarter is a race against time, the teams are tied, but you know what is going to happen, but no one wants to say it; you’ve already lost the game.

4th quarter; the game might as well be over. everyone has stopped cheering. they’ve lost all hope, but you continue to scream because you won’t be able to come back from this season.

10 minutes left; 3 months. the team has pretty much stopped playing; treatment is stopped. you still think your team will win, because they’ve pulled through before, right?

5 minutes left; 1 month. you hold tight to your team, you cannot stop holding tight. you know the ending, but no one will say it, still. you cherish every blank stare and gibberish speech. you take in exactly how she says your name and the way she holds her spoon. the game is coming to an end.

10 seconds left; 1 week. it’s getting harder, the field is dark and slippery, you cannot see what is right in front of you.

5 seconds left; 3 days. you hold your teammate as she sobs on the bench. you make do.

3 seconds left; 2 days. a time where you should be celebrating. you continue to look deeper within for some sort of answer from God, but you’re so full of doubt and despair that you cannot seem to find Him within the mess.

1 second left; 1 day. you call your mom to tell her about the game and how you cannot see a thing, but she is watching closer than you. you ask how the player is doing and she tells you it’s almost over. you find yourself praying for the end to come sooner, now maybe; but you can’t seem to imagine life without the game.

0 seconds left; the end. you stop, but the world around you keeps going. you’re broken inside, but you can barely keep it hidden. you walk out with a smile, that everyone can see through. you’re not going to be okay for a while. your nonni, she’s gone.

you go to the recognition ceremony and hold your cousin’s hand while others talk about the greatest player of all time, but you cannot seem to find the strength inside you to stand up and share how you found God again and how your nonni is to thank, because oh how awful it sounds to thank someone for having cancer and breaking you. you cling to your seat for days, wishing that things would change, but they don’t

you will have more seasons; better ones and worse ones too, you will get through them too.
cancer *****
aubrey sochacki Nov 2019
men always compare me to intoxicating
substances

once i was ******* because i made him
feel high the instance he met me and he
seemed to forget all the pain

another time i was a top shelf label
whiskey, made him feel so good whenever
he needed it and boy did he need it

the good kush, he said, "because you
make me feel relaxed"

once i was compared to shrooms.
i made him see the world differently like we were
in a different dimension

and in the end, they all decided to get
clean
aubrey sochacki Oct 2019
hello there,
it’s 9:42 pm on august 5 2019
i’m writing this to tell you a few things

1. i’m lost. I don’t belong in or belong to ythis world. nor do I belong to anyone or anything. I am a lost soul. an immortal soul.

2. I will never stop. I will never stop caring, writing, loving, feeling, living, existing.

3. a lot of books have words. a lot of paintings hav4e paint. a lot of schools have students. a lot of boys have eyes, but none like yours.

4. time is a concept. 3 months from now is tomorrow. reality is a perception. you meant every word you said.

5. I don’t know who this is for, probably you.

I hope we cross paths again.

thank you.

love alwayss,
AS
I first typed this on my typewriter. I felt it fitting to leave the mistakes in the translation.
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