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Dulce Ivonne May 2017
Some children wondered why the grass is green
or the sky blue
Well, I wondered why your touch was made of ice
I learned of gravity and the f word
and decided
your presence felt like ******* free fall

You say you've changed
I know you have
but your kindness
still turns sour in my mouth

I want to love you
but how can I?
When I accidentally wiped your poison kisses
with the same sleeve I wore my heart on
Dulce Ivonne May 2017
Hate is a coiling gust of air seeking it's way out
Apathy sags,
murky and cold
in complacent instinct.
While hate can be tofu to a child expecting sweets,
apathy is nothing but the silent flickering of a neon vacancy sign.

Hate is bottled
yet bursting.
Apathy  is free,
but sedentary.

Hate is muscular
it shouts and threatens
while the other beckons,
just to push you away.

One: lava fit into a mold.
Two: so hot it becomes cold.

Hate is the fire
and apathy the barren field of ash
from which no phoenix shall rise.
Dulce Ivonne May 2017
i've got feelings in the freezer
stored, saran-wrapped, tin-foiled
so when emptiness feels like starving
i microwave some pain
Dulce Ivonne Nov 2015
We were fugitives tonight.
of light;
The blink of a window
drawing naught but dusk.
We grind against fate,
crossed our fingers and flew
from what we are, were-- might be.
Closed the peak whole
lest it should dawn
and glid doomed,
to some place nice.
What even is the past tense of glide/gliding?
Dulce Ivonne Oct 2015
Sunlight reaches your eyes,
to flicker,
forever rest or die.

Your air is of dandelion dreams
whispered in the distant past.
All smudged into
a dusty closet where they
roam endlessly.
Dulce Ivonne Jul 2015
Most times,
I live on the pause;

the lingering,
between what you say,
                    and what I hear.
The livid moment of incessant
existence when I take from life,
the meaning within moments.
The weight of a second, drawn
like blood,
from the bare atmosphere.
Dulce Ivonne Jul 2015
Life sips.
This doomed, draught of time.
I watch
languid metal absorb and rust,
wood swell in bloated pride.
As my carnose existence
dusts under its sapped burden
of scaly skin and arid tongue.
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