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 May 2016 Addison René
Kj
dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.
 May 2016 Addison René
Deeee
It started with the fingertips of our hands. They touched. They melded. Next were our wrists. Fingers intertwined, shock waves coursing. Then came our lips. And our hips. Fire burning, sparks flying. Scorching each part of us. And we loved it. Soul to soul, skin on skin.
Sentiments breathed.
Feelings shared.
Words meant.
We became completely merged. Inseparable. Just us, to take on the world together.
A team. A pairing. A union.

And then came the fingertips of our hands. Peeling off. Slowly, nondescript. Next were our wrists. Dropping everything we held close.
Dropping the spark.
Dropping the flame.
Then our faces moved far enough apart that we could see. And we saw. I hadn’t wanted to see. I had wanted to close my eyes and touch you again. To pick up our flame and run.
With you by my side I could have.
But I had seen. And I knew. And you knew. So we parted. As slowly as we had merged.
*As painfully as well.
 May 2016 Addison René
Viseract
They told me to shoot for the stars
But the gravity of negativity
Outweighed the thermals of positivity
And even with everyone's support
To Hell I fell
Their eyes.
And their pupils.
Let the lectures permit,
instruction in incredible hues.

Paint me with you,
really soak it in-
to my skin.
Love lies on the worn carpet of our lives,
bearing the weight of years of footsteps.
It supports us all without question,
never once posing impositions upon us.
We all have our own form of this love,
defined uniquely by personal experiences.

It coats us all with a fierce veil of memory,
it bears the weight of life.

Show me your love
and I'll show you mine.
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