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Ellie Belanger Nov 2019
At the corner, waiting to turn.
His hand in my hand
but I’m still looking for
distracted by the dream fading.
I need to wake up,
I know.
But it feels so nice
when you visit me
sleeping curled tight in my covers,
and have grand and tragic
adventures on my behalf
as we chit-chat in the slumbering dark.
Oh! The tug is tugging
his hand is pulling
it’s time to turn.
I can’t help but to look both ways
for your cool asphalt shadow.
Ellie Belanger Aug 2019
What speaks to you?
The tongue varies - but tastes,
Tastes, my dear,
They change slowly.

Is it the touch of warm skin?
The sashay of cascading hair
and the pleasant popping
Of undone buttons?
Mortal desires
Have mortal consequences,
My dear.

Is it assurance in your wealth?
Do you long to never worry
About the poverty that oppresses?
You can have much but never
Have it all,
My dear.

Would that these words
Could speak to you
And cause a shift
Deep within your soul
If such a thing exists,
My dear.

But my tongue is twisted.
So it goes,
My dear.
Ellie Belanger Aug 2018
you are like
being a child, waking up
from a dreamless slumber,
suddenly awake
warm beneath the soft comforter
your grandmother sewed for your brother
the one faded almost to threads,
so white and gently patterned in the eight am sun
and fall has come
and the air is clear and dry and cold
but the sunlight is warm
so you cast off the comfort of the comforter
you holler silently down wooden hallways
you scatter loosely down broken gravel pathways
and out into and endless grass
up to the waist, with purple and golden flowers
all covered in wet night dew
and you sing the song of the soul
that is
the chilly tickle of water droplets running down your legs
and the slight scratch of the blades of grass across your ankles
and legs.
The song of morning
and of bright sunlight
and of fresh air and rebirth,
a song of things passing on
and new things beginning to

you are like the small minutes
of infinite and beautiful and
humble freedom
that makes us all human again.
Ellie Belanger Aug 2018
This end marks the beginning
Just another page written
Edited into a new story
A continuation
But in a different language
In a place yet unseen
So that all the tears cried
Out of fond farewell
Can be the ink
Of this new chapter
Ellie Belanger Aug 2018
I am lonely.

I am lonely.

I am lonely.

But shhhhhh

Don’t tell anyone
Ellie Belanger Aug 2018
There’s a hole in my heart that’s bigger than Texas
And all the words gushing out remind me of exes
And late nights not sleeping and half-written texts that
I never sent to you.

There’s a sun in the sky that’s hotter than heaven
And the heat index creeps up way past eleven
Humidity high enough to turn fifteen into seven
As the party finally ends.

There’s a worm on the sidewalk that’s been rained out
And I wonder if he knows anything, if he has any doubt
Or if he just slithers and scrunches his way about
Careless of the gravel.
Ellie Belanger Aug 2018
they say “you don’t belong to anyone”.
and it’s nice.
It’s a nice thing to say.
even if it’s not true.
I am no body’s property
I am a citizen
A woman
A student
A teacher
A worker
A dreamer
A writer
A singer
A poet

But I belong to
And belong with.

If I did not,
I would be as free
and as lonely
as nothing.

For even the space between electrons
Make the atoms what they are.
Even dust and dirt hurtling through space
will one day collide with another matter.
Even the loneliest whale,
Singing it’s song to itself
belongs to the ocean.

So when the man I love says
“You’re mine”
I think
“That’s fine.”
I don’t mind
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