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acacia 1d
I cry out in a simple song;
sugar, rest in peace behind my tomb
something in this new place
puts me into a new pond
and I sit in white and blue
hoping you'd wake up and find me
perched perfectly on our sofa
not sleeping though I should
and you bring me back to bed sternly but sleepily
hold me because you think I am too damaged for this world
make me your treasure, please treat me like your own
keep caring: I sleep with a teddy bear
my hair is big inside of this 19th-century building
my lips glazed, my skin supple
my bottom filling out white underwear
my ******* fall naturally in sky blue
don't you see the wounded goddess in me?
I look back to the door longingly
when could he come to me
touch me with his gentle hands
wrap his skinny arms around me
my head resting in his chest
I pulled myself regrettingly from his arms
in a bout of negativity
only to hold myself up
alone in the living room
feeling like the angel I've always been
acacia Jun 6
I want you to take care of me, in all the ways
I want you to show me relief, in all the ways
You know my tendencies
I want you to do it all for me too!
I’ll take care of you in all the ways I can
acacia May 31
these are the moments you don't tell anyone about
you can't tell anyone about
the moments where you no longer become understood
and you're innermost desire becomes just a desire
just something unreachable
when sometimes people say you are deserving
and other times people say you are not
when someones you say you are deserving
and other times you say you are not
situations wehre  am stuck,
where I'd like the warm patience I once heard again
the situations I can't speak about
when the answer from the world is to be on your own
when longing for care is no longer an option
things become blurred when I feel this way
because somehow the hope and belief I had falters
the wish that I could be held gingerly, be held gently
so I can be tough on myself comes to ruins
and once again, I must be the only one to care for myself
to be kind to myself
to be sweet to myself
when in my head I see the logical conclusions
of how material life is easier for my loves without me
these are the thoughts I dare not speak often
where I know my nonexistence makes it easier for others
I know the sun moves on and others still live and die with or without me
I know things would be much different without me
for them and maybe for me
these moments where if my loves were to see me
think pitiful pathetic things
if they were to read these things
think pitiful and pathetic things of me
no one lovable anymore
these situations must not arise to the ones I love
I am no one's daughter
I am no one's lover
I am no one's friend
I am no one's burden
I am no one's responsibility
acacia May 29
I would never let something take away the feel of your eyes in the evening
pressing our bodies against trees and you swallow my lips with yours
in the simple ways you brush against my skin
smiles and grips of my waist with your hands
she sweeps gently over the nascence of our infancy-love
between the chained vision of my eyelashes
you rest there with that look and with that privacy before longed for
the summer's sweat dries on us and I let your breath fly over me
and just for this once, and many more once's after this, I let your hands touch my face
acacia May 28
"You've been surrounded by people who don't care your whole life; why put me in that box?" Perhaps it hurt him that I said he didn't love me, questioned why he cared. I am silent for a few seconds. "I don't know," I croak this. "Habit, I guess." He's silent. He begins his work.

Something echoes as he sips his coffee. Mind must prepare for work: he must do his best. I shouldn't bother him. He can set this aside for another time, set me aside for later. That is what the healthy-minded ones must do. I caress his boundaries and hold them gingerly. I replay his voice and his stone-set tone. My throat dry and his throat wet. Clicks and types. Earlier he said he was going to be able to look at me, look at me in my eyes. His voice is serious now; in that same direct melody he sings when he dislikes something. The sound of curtail. His tone was cut-short but the hoarseness and fumes of scars lingered as hot breaths that clung for an answer with each word.

I fluff my hand on my chest, on and inside my chin: resting my warm chin on my warm hand: clammy eyes and softer sighs (you will). One at a time; what is mine I want to be yours; one at a time, the cool reacting with the warm.
acacia May 28
I wonder if he would turn around and look me with a furrowed look
would he stare at me that way?
With huffed brows and a straight mouth, brows knitted together
eyes focused on me, lids low and he looks so thoughtful:
would he think on me this way? the thinking ways
he looks to the ways: his face says it all. would he stare at me
like they do in the books or the movies?
can he tell I'm pushing so hard? I'm pushing hard, I hope he doesn't pull away, keep pushing towards me:
tired eyes look away towards horizons
my mouth curls into a frown, sleep creeps over my cheeks
and he questions my mode of doing;
representations lack, impatience fester in me
acacia May 22
rocks fly and grass moves in the gentle wind

I must say, my love, that you are a bright star
I want to tell you how much I love you
I want to grip your hand, make you look at me
staring at the ground, I want to tell you
that I can be a little someone for you
I can be an equal too
run away with me, my love, as if I was your little girl: do I have your permission?
my heart sits at a bottom of a trench waiting
the day you saw it glinting in the murky waters
beneath the dark shores
that’s the day you knew I was your pet

cream swirls within a blue mustard greens float to the surface
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