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  Nov 2017 natalie
xmelancholix
to be in love is such a beautiful thing
if you are unafraid of the heartbreak
that is sure to come
one of these days
when the realization that keeping secrets of our
own means that they must have
some secrets they are holding from you on
how they act and they talk when
you’re not around
and it ***** and it hurts
almost as much as when you realize that


being in love can be a beautiful thing
if you don’t mind the occasional
one sided worshipping
on the broken pew of your heart
thinking about the future and the possibility that things might
or will
fall apart


being in love can be a beautiful thing
as long as you’re okay with constant static
lingering in the street light of their love
found flickering directly above the lonely
bench on the corner of melancholy st. where
it’s okay to sit in the haze and in the rain
because you have their love keeping you warm


being in love is nice
if you never mind being a
masterpiece never balanced, some sort
of discord throwing everything off
doomed to a composition but
never remaining composed

being in love is nice if you can love
in the dark because
in the light,
in the light there’s nothing to see
most times
if only a blank gaze at best
but you flip the switch
and love in the dark anyways because you know
it’s what you do best


being in love is alright if the
idea of having them at their worst and
not only at their best doesn’t
scare you too much
because being in love sometimes means
falling in love with them at their worst
and learning to love unconditionally


being in love is alright if
you can learn to treasure the time spent
away from them
knowing that the time apart is what makes
the time together
the sweetest
and that it’s worth it in the end


to be in love is fine
I guess
if at every notion of their success
you feel a happy sadness in your chest-
the happiness for theirs
and the sadness in finding
that the joy you
bring them might be
surpassed and the slightest thought
of that is just enough
to remind you that someday
you could be replaced


but don’t get me wrong,
please don’t get me wrong

to be in love  is to understand that
you’ll never have all of them-
to understand that in the storm of their body
and the nourishment of their breath
must come with the lightning and
maybe that’s why people call people
in love
lovestruck


but hey,

to be in love

to be in love is one of the
most pure things on earth
where the worst part is the innocence
and the best part  is the innocence
and the fragility
and the glow
and the fulfillment
and the loving in the dark
and living in the light

oh, to be in love
is the greatest thing because
somehow
loving a
silent film masterpiece
where their eyes never speak
is all you’ve ever needed
written in the style of Lawrence Ferlinghetti for my creative writing class
  Oct 2017 natalie
Longing Eternally
teardrops on a bedroom pillow
blood drops into the bathroom sink
my heart drops into my stomach
my voice drops to a monotone whisper
my body drops to the floor
my mother drops me off at the hospital
morticians drop my body into the casket
the priest drops the casket into the earth
the worms drop into my hollow chest
  Oct 2017 natalie
Nat Lipstadt
"gravity has taken better men than me
just keep me where the light is"...John Clayton Mayer

where the light is...
this lyric gets carried from midnight to midnight next,
from troubled sleep to the bus stop, to and from work,
onto, back to, the homebound bus stop once again,
from solitary man to father to grandfather and cycles back
to once again a troubled sleeper poem writer,
who just wants to know, John,

when I find it, will, does the light fill, complete and heal the cracks...when I find that light...

in the city, starlight been banished by street lamps pointed downward, far too often it is believable that the whole world has been wrapped in white crinkled, filmy, wax paper, then,
how will the light know where it is needed most,
how will it find the empty chest cavity that writes these lines

there is real and artificial they say, nature vs. man made,
sun upon the face that heals for but an eight minute
bandaid summer ferry crossing, the fluorescent that says here, here is the bus stop, tarry, sit and rest, while you wait for
answer unscheduled, on a bench beneath to the street light
that illuminates a small swatch of street
between the dark spots on the x-ray of
this patient patient's soul awaiting,
are either of those
the light I need John?

no worries man, I'm just teasing, well knowing, neither of us,
tables turned, know where the light is, up high, down low,
if it is yellow or gold, if light is real or imagined,
only the sensation of the curettage needed to be healed when the
chest drained and the light supplants the drained fluids,
when it interferes, interpolates, how it found me or I it,
how I recognized it, how it reignited the home fire, and
I'll drop you line how light, lightly to find or be heavy found,
how light supersedes, defeats, the gravity of daily tugging,
and how what happens afterwards is golightly
up to us

2:10am **** it
now children, go back to your silly little love pretense poems and pretend you never read this
  Oct 2017 natalie
Vela
You left love notes
Written along my ribcage
You said the spaces
Made perfect lines for poetry
My skin still remembers
Even after I washed you off
  Oct 2017 natalie
leyla
cherry pits held in my cheek
blackberry juice stains on my teeth
sticky heat and the tartness of love
the golden honey glow of your peach fuzz
the taste of summer lingers on the tip of my tongue
august sun fills me up and i come undone
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