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there's no one true love—there's five of them
there's fifteen of them. there's zero,
and that's the hard thing to figure out—is if you only
love one person for four years, you could miss out on meeting the person you could have loved for forty. but you'll never know how long you'll last with a person until you've reach the end of the forty.
there's no one true love—there's only ever standards reached
only ever standards lived up to, only ever standards broken. new chances taken and old flames you wish you still had
(but only to light a cigarette with)
let's share a smoke after ***.
it's been months since we've spoken.
what's made of gold, is made of crystal—
sold for steel in the streets of Bristol.
pulled the trigger before you cocked the pistol.
what's made of gold, is made of crystal—
2:24
i’m


    began                                        back

    ­
     i                                                            agai­n


where                                              at


    from ­                                  the

       place
I saw someone today         
and they said                                        
I hate you                                              
I asked why
They replied
You hate yourself
So why shouldn't I

I never looked in that mirror again
A human can sometimes be a boat,
Our purpose, to keep a soul afloat.

They poke a hole, defiance in their blood,
Causing in you a rush of emotions, a Perpetual flood.

Never again, you say once more,
Watching yourself walk out the door.
Two ears, two eyes
A nose
A mouth
A chin

Billions of combinations,
Not always showing what's within.

More than a face,
your soul shines through.
You're too busy to notice,
being so utterly you.

So mark my words, in your special way,
You will see your own beauty one wonderful day.
it's 10:42,
and all i want is you.
this room keeps spinning and spinning,
and i don't know what to do.
there's eighteen different voices
demanding i make these choices
because, girl. it's the bottom of the inning.
stop. there are too many noises.
it's okay. it's all in my head.
still my veins are dripping blood red.
oh, how i wish i could go back to the beginning,
but i sit here hoping that i'll just drop dead.
so here's to a stroke of luck,
to life not being able to ****,
to having you back because then i'll be winning
instead of crying my eyes out like a pathetic ****.
~Christi Michaels~12/2014~
   ☆⊙☆⊙☆⊙☆

you with an onion
in the palm of your hand
pulling back layers
seeing just who I am

removing the papery
outer shell
the flesh beneath
holding slight color tan

folding back the next
begining to understand
sweet juicy onion
cradled
in the palm of your hand

brave to peel 
the next layer
spicey as onions can be
a tear begins to form
a tear just for me

now you are intoxicated
as only an onion can do
you pull back again
translucent flesh
coming through

sweeter and sweeter
I become
as you genlty find my core
you've settled in
found your way
what a delectable
delicious score

  ☆⊙☆⊙☆⊙☆
Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
*Just a Little Ditty!*
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