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 May 2015 Chelsea Patton
honey
Holding with thirsty desperation,
Breathing long, deep breaths,
Loving with such dedicated conviction,
Kissing with such passionate love,
Soft as feathers,
Rough as sandpaper.

ria
 May 2015 Chelsea Patton
honey
A headache forms,
Behind my eyes of blue,
Making pain blister in my skull,
I scream,
Clawing at the walls.
 May 2015 Chelsea Patton
honey
When I was one,
I was exposed to drugs,
Alcohol,

When I was two,
I was exposed to abuse,
And found out what it felt like,
For daddy to kick you,

When I was three,
I saw my first ******,
And somehow knew,
How it was used,

When I was four,
I was exposed to *******,
Pages tucked under the couch,
In the cabinets,

When I was five,
I was exposed to molestation,
Under the covers,
With someone who claimed,
That I was like a sister,

When I was six,
I was exposed to divorce,
And was happy that mommy,
Would finally be happy,
Without daddy,
And I met the man that I,
And my brothers,
think of as Dad.
If you are not dead
you are far from me.
If you are not dead
you are knocking on
some other sucker’s
door. Perhaps he is
in debt and in love,
cursed in similar
afflictions. Perhaps he is
up to the eyes in hedge funds
and stock investments,
his symmetric face smiling
down his checkbook at you,
attracting you in ways
mine never could.

If you are not dead
than perhaps you
are happy.
If you are not dead
than perhaps
you are sad. I certainly
will never know.
Do wedding bells ring already?
Do the long nights of love
break bones in bitter morning?

For a long time this imagination
proved worse than any reality
could have possibly been;
I lay in fevered dreams,
praying for answers,
only hoping to find
where love had been lain to rest.
Now, it is just nice to be rid
of the whole deal.

The universe makes
a lot more sense
without you.
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