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PS Sep 2018
Honey, honey, oh
How I wish we’d change
I just won’t let a person in
And that I’m deranged.

Don’t you, don’t you know
That the tides are not the same
You know every little thing
Except my middle name.

Honey, honey, oh
While I’m walking on the floor
The little light is dancing
And it’s in at every pore.

I don’t, I don’t know
What your god has in store
The angel told me one time
That my heart was meant for more.

And honey, honey, oh
I wish I wasn’t less
I wish I wasn’t talking in
My little black dress.

And honey, honey, oh
I swear I’d change it if I could
From faraway it’s easy
For a good girl to seem good.

And honey, honey, I
Am sorry and I want to say
I miss you more than anything
But it’ll never be the same.

It’s all unraveling again
It’s all so, so unreal
It’s all falling to pieces
‘Feel, honey. It’s alright to feel.’
It’s a weird one.
PS Aug 2018
I sit here.
I fall prey to your charms, harms and weaknesses.
I see you in my mind with glasses, Onassis.
Your brother flying across the Atlantic
And you are Atlas holding the world up.
I feel the old pang.
I fall prey- that’s me, Persephone.
I’ve had my time in Tartarus
And you were my Spring. My Astonishing Adonis,
Sunglasses, Onassis. All second chances.
The night I met a Greek hero disguised as a man
Who turned out to be a man disguised as a Greek hero.
And I miss you, as you go off.
I’m not Persephone, I’m Penelope.
I was unsure I’d wait for you
And now I don’t want to.
But still, part of me does.
Everyone is like a Greek god in some ways.
I’ve had my fun with Apollo and Hades and Zeus-
Who I’m still holding out for. But aren’t we all?
And you, born on the same day as my Pallas.
My palace in the future, my ramshackled past.
You know a surface, you weren’t meant to stay in my world.
And I prayed and prayed to let you stay.
But as always it was up in the air.
So I sit there.
I fall prey to your harms, charms and weaknesses.
Mine is weak ankles, yours is your weak spine.
And I wonder,
Did love ever make you blind?
This goes in about five different directions.
PS Jun 2018
I do so well without you
Then you come back again
I say that I am fine
I sit and play pretend.
I go off to parties
I try to flirt with men
I do so well without you
That it’s hard not to pretend.
And, silly me, I loved you
And, silly me, I care
For you and all around you
But love is never fair.
I do so well without you
Then back you come around
I see you in the distance
You look for common ground.
I say I want to see you
I say I want to call
I sit alone and wonder
If I was anything at all?
And, silly me, I loved you
I thought I meant the world
To me, you were my everything
But I was not your girl.
I do so well without you
So very, very well.
Until you say hello again
And I’m under your spell.
And, silly me, I talk to you
I often bare my soul
And, silly me, I love you
But you don’t deserve to know.
I am sad
PS May 2018
He texts me.
It’s impersonal.
What was I expecting it to be?
There’s no real connection except that of a single flame in the altogether too dark caves- or cavres- of our hearts.
I almost backspace it all.

He texts me.
He tells me I’m cute.
Cute is a compliment that’s too easy.
There is nothing in cuteness except that of a noncommittal compliment but it’s meant to make my cheeks blush.
It doesn’t. Nothing does.

He texts me.
It’s nothing at all.
We aren’t saying a thing.
There’s nothing worth saying when you’re talking in circles with a man who can’t understand that you’re more than a surface you show to the world.  
So I say nothing. He says nothing.

He texts me.
We say goodnight.
What was I expecting to feel?
There is nothing in these feelings except that which reminds me of you and I hate that that’s all it is.
So I sit down and think.

And I write you a message.
Every line I want to tell you, everything everything everything that makes me sad that you’re gone.
Everything everything everything that makes me well up in tears- in emotions I thought I was finished feeling.
So I sit down and I write and I write all of everything down.

And I backspace it all.
Maybe it’s all better left unsaid.
PS Apr 2018
You called it our baby
And I sung it into life
The first word in its ear
The song of all our strife.

I am the ****** queen
No man to make me rule
Your underestimated dream girl
Your perfect ingenue.

You called the sounds
The good sounds
And from the rock came death
And all the sad destruction
And all our baited breath
And all the holy discord
And every frightened dream
And bare breasted, I move on
Like water in the stream.

You called me your baby
And swan-songed ever sweet
I went along with every gamble
Til you tasted defeat.

I am the queen of snakes
The Pythia, obscured
The maiden, mother, mistress, crone
The one that’s never heard.

You called my body
A celestial body
And from the sky came rain
And in the eclipsing silence
You never heard my pain
And all the holy hatred
And all the washed up dreams
And now, I alone move on,
Like water in the stream.

Sweet Pythia, I’m burning
And I must find the way
The lonely heart has never learned
How to make him stay.

But he is not contention
He is only choice
The songs I sang for many men
Only make him love my voice.

And you call these sounds
The good sounds
When the good sounds please you best
The sounds when they adore you
Not the aggressive ‘I digress’
And all the holy Heras
And all the built in rust
And I, without armies win battles
And you without care, **** trust.

I am the mistress, maiden, crone
All dolly-eyed and blue
Your manic little angel
Your perfect ingenue.

I am the maiden, mother, crone
And now apart from you
Because no one is anything
And nothing you heard is true.
Make of this what you will.
PS Mar 2018
I text you.
As usual.
It’s jokey.
You say that top I’m wearing would look good on your floor.
Then you stop.
Correct yourself.
Our floor?
‘Us’, ‘we’, ‘you’, ‘me’.
You say you’ll take care of me and I tell you I won’t run away.
You joke about the pressure.
You want to see me again.
You want to kiss me a million times.
You say you’re my guy and I’m your girl.
Our floor, our lives, our one mind together.
You tell me in sleepy pillow talk a thousand miles away.
‘I’m wrapped around your finger.’
‘I’, ‘you’, ‘me’, ‘we’.
I have to google it.
Am I manipulative because of it?
Or do I have way too much power in this situation?
The internet tells me I should be happy.
You are already head over heels.
Am I head over heels?
Are ‘we’ head over heels?
We joke again.
If we were rich, where would we live.
‘New York, of course,’ I said.
‘Let’s get a place in the Caribbean too.’ He said.
An island built for two,
Just me and you.
An island un-alone,
We say it over the phone.
I wish I was permanently near,
Not far,
So that you and I, us,
Could become an ‘our’.
Two kids just falling in love.
PS Mar 2018
When I was off and gone world weary
Weeping sorrowful in winter
I called on you to help and spare me sorrow.
Now that it is spring, it is now
My duty,
Sweet, sweet magical maiden fair
To grant you help in all you seek.
For you, master of magic, mistress of mythos
Can not fathom that which is the greatest magic,
The one within even mere mortals.
Love, Hecate. Love.
I know that I am one to talk,
Having broken free of the shackles that were formerly Hera’s,
But you, sweet Hecate, must not be mistaken as we are.
In your eyes sits the light of a thousand suns, burning with joy and potential to be,
You cannot subject yourself to these mortal pains, these mortal errors,
These wounds of the flesh as he does.
For he will lead you down a path rarely survived,
Rarely survived truly,
He will walk you into depths of sorrow,
Your own Hades, sweet Hecate.
He will lead you to question the very meaning of yourself,
The very essence of who it is that you are.
You are stronger than a mortal,
As any oracle will tell you,
As any of my court will attest.
He maintains such a level of power over you
That he makes fools of gods and spares no souls,
He has taken you for something silly and of that nature too.
But Hecate, you know this, a spell of love is just a spell
And so driven are you like Apollo before you, so driven with love
That you’ll cast it.
It is not yours to cast, that is Eros’ part and doing so would cause the world to shift out of balance.
But you will do it anyway, Hecate, for I know you well.
I shall leave you with this, and this truly,
Bad things happen to mortals who mess with gods.

A friend of mine is blinded by love.
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