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I like to think I'm an artist
My body is the canvas
And yes my paint brush scars me
But at least it makes me feel better
His lips felt so rugged against mine
More like a graveyard
His arms embrace felt so firm
More like the grip of a wild animals teeth when clenched down on its prey
His dominance can be so lustful at times
But when I'm weak and he's angry I'm trapped in every woman's nightmare
In that moment I am unaware if the hollowness of my body or the death glare he gives frightens me the most
Either way it's safe to say he is the reason I feel dead inside
Don't text him, don't cave.
You've made him believe you're gone, don't prove yourself wrong.
Don't prove that you can't handle being away from him.
I caved...
I am weak.
I am pushed, pushed, pushed away... and I keep coming back.
 Jun 2016 Brando Marcellini
nivek
Poetry held your hand
led you gently

away from the crowd
and when alone

kissed your lips
passionately

and ran through the forest
merrily laughing.
"You were born to do this."
I reminded myself as I sat there feeling encaged in a flurry of endless thought and emotion.
"Why do I have to feel every aspect of every event of life, so deep?"
I thought as I fought myself once again to simply pick up the pen and drain the overflow of despondency onto paper.
"Breathe."
The words, letters, verbs and thoughts continued to swirl in my ever rampantly unsettled abyss of ideation.
Once I surrendered to the raging of the erupting of the soul..there was calm.
It's likened to the deaf..taken away their ability to sign..The dancer with both feet removed.
Had I no other pleasure but to expel grief, fervor and elation and form them into words to heal the shattering so entrenched..they appear unreachable..I'd beg to be buried with just a writing utensil and endless reams of freshly pressed paper.
"Theres Light."*
I mouth that..as I continue to jot as if I were stitching my heart back together with this pen.
Even though I'm within this seemingly grave like cave of aching..I can write.
The beauty is in the creation..The ability to construct, like a carpenter..all that your heart desires with your own two hands..to simply Heal the paragraphs of life that were written badly, write over them or erase and rewrite..if only it were that easy.
I don't aim to undo..I cannot.
Just to poetically fabricate from this point on..allow the stumbles to happen and Love greater than thought fathomable.
Surrender. To the page.
Scribble it out, empty it onto line after line..and crawl atop..until the words fill the fragments and the ink stains your fingertips..Keep climbing upon the proverbial stacks of paper until the towers reach the aperture of the pit.
Creating the mending of affliction, soothing the misery of the choking of words you cannot utter, but you can scratch them onto tablets to deplete the churning of the mind.
Write. Write badly.
Write as if in a mad race to the finish line, then start over again..Until the trails of Letters stretch so long..you could dance upon them for days.
Then Breathe.
Soak every word into your skin as if attempting to heal the afflictions..
then Become it.
Copyright © Natasha Ivory Evans 2016
Writing the Unspeakable
"Dreams" he said, "I want you to write about your dreams"
I watched his expression full face, talk with his usual infectious vibrancy...
candle flickering, between belly laughs, raw unscripted stories, uncensored truth and the feeling of complete freedom to be human, his pouring over the brim life experiences..dripped from his fingertips as he spoke with his hands.
I'm Lucky. I thought. As I sat there, sinking into his words and gentle loving soul.
Just to simply know him, to hear of his adventures, heartbreaks, falls and climb to the top of life's list of goals and successes.
So I meditated on this writing assignment...for weeks.
I've written of Love, Loss, Heartache and Regrets.
But Dreams...I've yet to fall into ink drenching grains of paper and be completely free of the ever ticking time...to do just that... Dream.
Copyright © Natasha Ivory Evans 2016
Texts I never sent once you left me, again*

1. Nothing feels as comforting as your arms around me.  I remember feeling weightless with you.  Now, my body is constantly strained from carrying my broken heart.  It's so heavy.  I'm so ******* heavy...I'm sorry you're heavy too.

2. I'm not happy with what I've done or who I have become while loving you. I'm sorry for being so hazy

3. Last year, I made a promise to myself to only surround myself with positive people.  Coincidentally, I met you shortly after.  We grew attached at the hip, always together. Your antics rubbed off on me, along with your enthusiasm. I've been isolating myself since you left.  I broke that promise to myself- when I needed to keep it most

4. You shouldn't have to justify why you fell out of love. I'm sorry for begging you to

5.  My grandmother told me I would have my heart broken before I found the one, but if I was lucky, the same person would repair the damages he had caused.  I was heart broken the first time you left, but you came back.  Why aren't you coming back now?

6. I'm heavy again, I'm sure you are free by now

7.  People tell me my sadness is pretty, that the words spewing from my heart are divine, but my words were never enough to make you stay

8.  I want you here. I want you to kiss the marks I created when I didn't want to wake up.

9.  I miss you eminently and sometimes I can't feel my body.  Please don't tell me you understand or that I'll be okay.  You aren't ******* listening

10.  I woke up choking your name

11.  Every single time you promised to stay- you should have clarified that you meant as a memory

12.  I've been splitting my veins like glow sticks in hopes of seeing new light

13.  I'm ******* tired of all the metaphors, why can't it all just be about you again

14.  Poe encountered a raven, while I encountered you.  Somehow we both went mad

15.  goodnight
i thought i saw you
in a dream,
upon midnight's hue,
til daylight beamed

but as twilight broke
came the sunrise curse
I awoke,
and you dispersed
oh, how you went so quickly......
Who am I?
And who are you?
And how did it end up
Just us two?

Why you are you,
And I am me,              
And it seems like this    
'Tis but a dream.


So tell me then,
O wise Supreme
If 'tis but a dream,
Then where are we?
                  
Well, don't ask me,
I am not the maker.
'Tis your dream sir,
And you are Its creator.


Well certainly if
That was true,
I'd at least pick someone more
Knowing than you.

Oh sir, you jest!
You comical fellow
But can you make sense
of what you don't know?


Oh, you talk nonsense,
An amicable Fortunato!
Just tell me where the devil
We are stowed?

Ahh, yes perhaps my lips would be more willing
With a bottle of Amontillado, yes.
To be blunt with you sir,
We are simply dead.


Simply dead, are you mad?
That can't possibly be right!
Fie! Fie! I can't think,            
What a ****** night!
                                                          ­
****** night indeed my fellow man
For you stumbled out the tavern
And into my hands.
'Tis alright good fellow, no fretting now,
For 'tis almost time, any moment now.


Time, sir?
What could you possibly mean?
Time for what?

Time for whom.

What the devil do you mean?

Aye sir, you know very well
That time is a valuable thing,
And it seems


It seems?

That your time has tinged.

Tinged?

Indeed.

But you said 'tis a dream!

*Indeed, I did, and what a pity
It has become, 'tis but a dream      
You will never wake up from.
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