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 Feb 2014 Carrie Wentzel
Lexi
Your hands have seen the inside
of a carborator. You took apart a
hard drive and called it procreation.
They've been blackened by grease and
bloodied in your desperate attempts
to clear the clouds out of your head.
Seattle is our ocean, water all around
to drown away bad memories and forget
the sunshine of our conception.
Rain can cover up scars, hurt, and spilled
ideas, take them far away to different oceans.
But never our own foreign lake, somewhere
close to Mount St. Helens, or so we thought.
Could our hands ever touch such a pure,
uncorrupted pool as holy as the depths
of your eyes? Would it wipe clean the
slate, dirtied over years of poor decisions?
Your cloudy eyes tell me different.
I too...
wake up sometimes
longing to touch you
to taste
tease
tempt
and excite you
I want to wake you up
with soft lingering kisses
and tender rhythmic touches
I want to slide my tongue
deeply within you
playfully persistent
until your back arches
and your breath catches
I want your spirit to soar...
before your eyes
are even open
I want to give to you
the passion
joy and love
that you have hungered for...
I want you
to begin each day...
fulfilled.
 Nov 2013 Carrie Wentzel
Alessol
This night I lay awake staring at my ceiling
Hoping for the dark to wash away this feeling
Waiting for my dreams to show their hidden meanings.

Startled to realized my eyes have started bleeding
The blood so warm pumping threw my veins
It rolls down my cheeks and I finally feel pain.

I see my finger tips become stained red.

Why does this make me feel so free?
So alive?
Why do I feel such euphoric relief?

I see my finger tips stained red.

****** my past is escaping
Leaving me behind the feeling is breathtaking
I understand why I feel so lost.

What is lost?

What cannot be found can never be harmed.
Can never be repressed.
Never confined.
Never suppressed.
Never at the will of time.
And will always remain free.
That is truly where I wish to be.

I see my finger tips bleed with my eyes wide open.
Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
My letters to you
Are greater and more important than both of us.
The are the only documents
Where people will discover
Your beauty
And my madness.
in dim light
smoke fills the room
lays a dusty filter
over the walls
covers my eyes

i close the windows
the blinds
the curtains
shut the door
lay a towel at the bottom
and suppress all light

i allow the fumes
to arrest my throat
entangle my body
around itself
and leave me fetal

and as my consciousness
becomes scarce
a smile spreads through my lips
and onto my face
my body, as numb as can be
Buy her flowers
Not as a chore
Not to get on her good side
Not because you have to
Not because it’s what you’re supposed to do

Buy her flowers because
When you saw them in the store
They reminded you of her
And you couldn’t stop thinking about
The beauty they possesed

Buy them because
You live to see her eyes light up
And  the dimples in her cheeks when she smiles
How she turns her head
To hide the blush of her cheeks

Buy her flowers because you want to
Not because she wants you to.
there was once
a girl,
she was happy and confident.
never cared about
her looks.
her smiles were ever
so bright,
while her eyes shine like stars.
beginning of 8th grade
everything changed.
she's snow obsessed over
her looks
spending hours on hair
and makeup.
never believed anyone
who called her pretty.
now,
her smiles aren't as bright as
before.
her eyes still shine
but they shine with tears.
not tears of happiness
nor tears of sadness
but tears of
disappointment
she thought that
she would never be
good enough.
yet she kept a smile
on her face, even though
she was breaking inside.
because no one cares
unless you're pretty or
dying.
 Nov 2013 Carrie Wentzel
Devontae
As she grew up
she would play
hide & seek
but the game
never ended;
she's still hiding
her scars
and still
seeking happiness
Your body language is hard to read like teen vogue magazines -
shallow and they don't give a real message.
Free stylin' courageously as I'm bumping to the music.
The stage set solo with the spot light on me.
This is my chance to speak without my tongue.
Crown chakra open ,
purple fat lotus plump and focused.
Accepting, recieving, translating phenomena,
through my skeleton.
I allow the rhythm take me wherever it needs,
water fountain pouring out of me.
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