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Andrea Jan 2014
Lost notions of hope
fade into thin air,
developing with destructive growth.
Warm sunlight on an early morning
evaporates a single teardrop.
Broken waves crash
in debilitating consolation.
Moaning winds blend to create
agonizing discontent.  
Darkness brings upon
growing rage and
Remorseful renegade
ends with burnt offerings
and insincere apologies.
Misty air dissipates,
dishes break.
You and I
replace foggy memories full of
grief and regret and unsaid words
with
Indifferent opinions
lacking courage or conviction or compassion
creating comforting chaos.
The slumbering void
full of encompassing individuality
somehow pulls us closer.
Freedom and peace
found.

*-andrea
Andrea Jan 2014
This is a poem about being uncomfortable in your own skin.
Think small spaces,
Too warm,
Too soon.
A car crash.
Being trapped in an elevator.
Shifty eyes,
pure white lies.
Unclear shadows on a foggy night,
salty wounds left open for much too long.

Think about demolishing something,
that is perfectly fine as is.
Think about finally making love to the boy
with the softest lips you have ever tasted
And has those eyes,
Those eyes,
that remind you of home.
Think about the buzz in the middle of your stomach
And your eyes that oh so dramatically
roll to the back of your head
When your closest ones
Pick apart and analyze every aspect of your decision,
Critique
By
Critique.
One
Immoral
Choice
To
The
Next.

This is a poem about mistakes that aren’t truly mistakes
And lust and blood and bruises
And passionate kisses and risky decisions
And sleepless nights and dour girls.
And broken mirrors and ripped pages.
This is a poem about what has become your life.

*-andrea
Andrea Dec 2013
She is stunning.
Wavy hair, the color of sand
on a calm California beach.
With wide, naïve green eyes.
Her lips,
the color of cupid pink,
slightly parted with confusion and distress.

Where is she?
She surrounds herself
In a field
of black roses
and tainted carnations.
Her mind is blurred,
Her movements are shaky.
She looks around,
Where can she go?
She wants to go back home,
Where the hopeful daises
and the white lilies lie.

She wants to look at the world,
and see the protective, green trees as she tilts her head up.
She wants to see
the bright, yellow sun staring at her,
with welcoming eyes.

She is tired of seeing
Air filled with smoke and despair and sadness.
She hates seeing the
grass on her lawn,
that used to be so clear and vibrant,
turn to utter decay and an anguish color of
Lost hope and defeat.

She wants it back, she wants it all back.

Little does she know, that no matter how long
she spends contemplating and compensating
in that repulsive field of black roses and tainted carnations,
She will always turn back to those
lovely,
hopeful daises
and white lilies.

*-andrea
Andrea Dec 2013
And still
My jaw is clenched
And I can feel your
Precarious breath,
Hitting me.
Like
The moment you realize you’ve had one whiskey too many
after you’ve invited that uncanny man
to your apartment.
And it makes me so deranged
I’m not even quite sure
How you can possibly contain the power to make me this
Exhilarated and unsure and electrified
and unbottled.
Every single word that                                                             ­                                                                 ­                      spills out of your mouth,                                                           ­                                                                 ­           
Sounds like the soundtrack to my dreams.
and I cling onto it all, only because
I want to remember every last detail, and
The only sensible excuse I have,
Is that you were my first.

*-andrea
Andrea Dec 2013
It’s December and
I tried to explain to my body
That I need to stay at a constant 98.6 degrees
And that it’s not normal
For those 98.6 degrees to skyrocket
Whenever your bare skin meets mine.
Apparently,
I’d taken a liking
To being consumed by fire
In the middle of a blizzard,
In December.
I’ll never quite manage to grasp
How you make my thighs shake
And my eyes go wide
Each time you’re merely in the same room as I.
Or when you smile.
When you smile,
it looks like all the biblical miracles
Placed into one crooked curve
And you gave me memories
Risque, raw memories that will keep my cheeks blushing and my head spinning
For ever so long.
Although,
I had hoped that by this time in winter,
Something more would’ve sparked.
But you only seem to know of
Pale spring mornings
And sticky summer nights.
I feel like I don’t even know you.
I touched you, I held your hand, I kissed your lips.
You poked and prodded the deepest parts of my tar black soul
That were so beyond your comprehension.
Yet, you don’t seem real, this doesn’t seem real, we don’t seem real.
Am I even real?
It’s December and you’re more of the boy I made out to be in my head
Based on those few blissful moments
Than the boy
Who would warm me up,
To much more than
A constant 98.6 degrees.

*-andrea

— The End —