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Cristina Dean May 28
I’m thinking about Joni Mitchel’s River
How in the midst of
Describing her lonely stale Christmas
She breaks out with
“I made my baby cry”
And of Hemingway
In The Sun Also Rises
Describing the night, the bar,
The scene and then says
“and with them was Brett”
I’m drunk and I’m thinking too much and
Aching for
Something to stop me on my heels, my pupils wide
My obsession burning on my lips
It’s my first day of school tomorrow
I’m scared of mediocrity
So I’m drinking hard tonight to make
Sure it never gets to me
My heart will always sing
Let it be blue
Let it be dark
But it shall sing
I’m smoking cigarettes like I have no due date
Give me a thing to make a mess of, life.
I’m bored and begging. I want
The wild heart searching like a lioness in the
Heat of the savannah night
I want my nails dug deep into it
I want it to squeal
Life, give me something to
Make a mess of
It doesn’t have to be this way
But it is
The clock ticking
Towards midnight
On my skin
Give me something right
And I’ll make a
Mess of it tonight.
Cristina Dean Jun 2018
sometimes
the feeling catches up with me
quiet in a cafe, early morning
the dust rises
from the pavement with the bustling feet outside
the birds are chirping again
after a very long time of silence.
i sit and think of my new life, my plans,
the life unknown
i think of strange landscapes and snow leopards in caves
the apple trees which will soon blossom,
african skies,
the planet neptune
the sun or the ocean's mist on my naked skin
and crowns made of flowers
chandeliers in old libraries
and the steel of your eyes
the sharpness of your eyes
the cold eyes
your eyes empty
the green of your eyes
your eyes staring at me
i see your face
the softness of your eyes
i see your face
the green eyes sad and staring
achy green eyes hoping
i'm flooded with your scent
and the oppression of your memory
rising in me
like the street dust rising outside
and a force
pulls something from my throat
like a plea
like a begging
i say your name
Cristina Dean Aug 2017
The evenings are grey and overcast
I walk home after work
Climb the steep
Dank stairs
Into my apartment.
I push the door open
And sigh
But it is not a breath I exhale
I say your name
And it echoes in my brain
As I drop the keys on the
Kitchen table
Your face is blurry in my mind's memory
Aside of your green eyes
Which are all at once
Sharp as steel knives and
Aching with hope

What were you more
Than a love I was bound for?
Cristina Dean Jul 2017
I feel
Your fear
And
Recognize it as my own
A hollowed space
With dark willows

You're lonely and proud
I'm stoic
I'm a cathedral
I walk around
Pretending not to be
Ruined

Dark and harrowed
Weeping willows

I'm a cathedral

Stoicism breaks
Like stained-glass windows

(But I'm a cathedral, I'm a
Cathedral)
Cristina Dean May 2017
Others can be good
Let me be this
Pathetic scrawls
In a notebook
Let me play again with my
Deamons
Let them take
Over
Let them swirl in the night
Like my tongue in this stale beer

You haunt me with my own impotence
I spend the days trying hard not to regret, trying to forget
But I am lost and confused. And it's not you.
This is me
Without a lover to have and hold
This is me in a restless frenzy
This is the needle
This is the sound of your laughter drilling at my chest.
This is the hit in a bathroom stall
This is my heart cracked open like a walnut.
It is not you
This is me reaching out
in the dark
For the the green of your eyes
This is my sickness
Love like the hot breath of a beast.
Love like a nasty stickiness
Love like dancing goblins around a burning stake
Love like a dry heat
The sun torching the sun
The sun torching
Icarus'
Wings
Cristina Dean May 2017
I know what is there
I know the love
waiting in your chest
a fist
ready to unclench
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