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I don't know how
To tell you why
The days move slow
And so do I
Drawn out in your parlor
I am drunk off a memory
I am drink off the thought of putting my fist straight through your head
I can't forget any word of what you said
Honest open I showed you my world and you promised
You promised
But I'm the one you wanted to fill the void no I'm not the one you needed
I was your toy
And the date is set
The bed is made
Your heart is set
And I shouldn't have stayed this long
I'm just too busy picturing a 1000 forms of revenge
While you're too busy talking about the lines of your new dress
Spinning twirling the focus of the party
You talk over me and I sit complacently ready to tear you apart
You took root in my heart and walked away time after time after time
But the difference is that I'm big enough to recognize what fault is mine
So I'm seasick listening to the harrowing details of your relationship with god
All your devoted disciples sit at your feet so isn't it odd that
My fingernails are digging into the inside of my palms
Isnt it strange that
I'm acting like something is wrong
But as you continue to spit **** to all our mutual friends at somebody else's birthday party
I've decided that I will let you have no part of me
And so it's 2am and I'm coming clean in your doorway
I'm a mess of track marks and contraditctions but all I can say is
You're not my fix
No you're not my fix anymore
You're not my fix
I'm not your girl anymore
The date is set but I'm not coming around
No I'm not coming around anymore.
Pt. 2 of December 13th 3am
If I'm being honest
I'm tired of being a poet.
I'm tired of findig meaning in everything from the lines of the sky to the cracks in the side walk
I'm tired of using extended metaphors to explain how overwhelmed or angry or sad I am 
I'm tired of immortalizing the people I love or hate in half assed lines of poetry
For once I would like a good day just to be a good day or a bad day just to be a bad day
A landscape to hold no higher meaning than to magnify the glory of existence
For the people I know to hold no cosmic significance in the fabric of time
I would like to sit and be quiet
To write and be at peace
For the storm to pass over
And to find some relief
This is not a game for me this is how I breathe and I am tired of having to hold meaning in every crack and every crevice
My poetic nature has become a menice in my tired skin
I'm tired of letting the light in
But this isn't something you quit
This is something you breathe
This is something you are
This is something you need
Even if it doesn't make sense all the time
This is the one true thing I know that's mine
My sense of rhythm and my sense of rhyme
And it isn't easy all the time
Because these days life moves faster than I've even known
Faster than I can process what I've been shown
These days it's easy to feel the weight of all of my time spent alone
My mind isn't home
I'm chilled to the bone
These days I'm tired of being tired and tired of writing about how tired I am
Like I'm six feet under but I'm not yet dead
Using poetic devices to say what's already been said
I'm tired of playing this game
Imortalizing name after name
I still feel the same
Even though I still keep writing
So what I'm trying to say is that I need poetry like I need water but sometimes if you drink too fast or you drink too deep you feel like you're drowning
Out to sea in familiar surroundings
It's astounding how tiring being a poet can be.
I'm tired of myself
Return often and take me,
beloved sensation, return and take me --
when the memory of the body awakens,
and an old desire runs again through the blood;
when the lips and the skin remember,
and the hands feel as if they touch again.

Return often and take me at night,
when the lips and the skin remember....
The lords that lord over us are accused of defrauding us.

She crackles and spits and has spurs on her boots and
she sways as she shoots and she always shoots first.

If I thirst for her touch or hunger too much
she walks away.

I burn on a pyre and cry to her,
stay,
looking back on it,
I
thought I heard her say,
'come what may if it came anyway you'd still burn'

It's funny and sad when it turns out to be bad
and you're laughing as if you've gone mad.

I wanted not needed to be shot and for her,
she hits the spot
causes me pain, but
I need to be her target
over and over again until
I become a link to the chain
attached only by the pain on
my face.
 Feb 2016 E A Bookish
Emma Livry
I never knew of
A person who would threaten
Me behind tulips.
1.5.16
 Feb 2016 E A Bookish
Emma Livry
I cannot fathom
The fact that you are not lost-
A fathom away.
A silly laugh and a toothless smile with sparkling green eyes. A selfless spirit and dark brown hair. His face lights up at the silliest things. Since you have been away, I depend on him more each day. Such a little man to bear such a big responsibility. Your picture sits on the mantle, he looks at it and says daddy. He recognizes you in your uniform. When we walk down the street, he points at anyone we meet who is dressed like you. I know why you had to go, but I still don't understand why you didn't come back. Each day I pray to God for his strength and I find more of you in our son. So for now I will go on, knowing that a part of you is always with me. He reminds me of you all of the time and that is both a blessing and a curse, since I know I will never hold you again.
 Feb 2016 E A Bookish
Kagey Sage
Oh I just wanna get out of this cattle call to life
Go into the store filled pastures that used to be the wolf’s woods
so I can be the sheep

and the peddlers wear the skin of my sacred spirit animal
Oh, oh
The peddlers wear the skin of my sacred spirit animal
Oh, oh

Once, I dreamed I was running from a killer
in a faux artisan grocery store
Just when I thought I was beat
a wolf pup came, spurred me on
and distracted my would be murderer

and the peddlers wear the skin of my sacred spirit animal
Oh, oh
The peddlers wear the skin of my sacred spirit animal
Oh, oh

In 1600 and something
they turned her woods to a moonscape
They fenced in the chickens, and when a wolf ate one
they put up a poster
saying she ate their child

and the peddlers wear the skin of my sacred spirit animal
Oh, oh
The peddlers wear the skin of my sacred spirit animal
it was an inevitability
that we'd unearth the evidence
to validate Einstein's theory
of general relativity.

three cheers for the
method of science,
an appliance that
liberates and enlightens,
suffocating the miasma
of dogmatic parasitism.

pariahs can't stand beneath
the weight of empirical data.
a culture of imperialism
intoxicating inane idiots,
inundated by asinine philosophy.

ideologues instigating turmoil—
vainly believing
an intergalactic being
created the cosmos
in seven days for the
predestined elect.

to insist inanely that the legacy
of our existence could be measured
in seven millennia
is to extinguish the light
from the majority
of our neighboring galaxies.

you read the opening lines
of your holy text too literally.
open your mind to the poetry
of a reality that no deity
could ever breathe into existence.

we are not special.
our fate is tied to a
planet choking on CO2
and you deny the truth
in the same breath you
disparage any challenge
to your impotent,
imaginary friend.

**** sapiens—
mere animals
cursed with
conscience.

if you would deny
the ancestral history
of our evolutionary biology
simply on the premise
that it's “only a theory,”
then i'd invite you to put
your vain hypothesis
to the test and take a long walk
off a short bridge.
perhaps the theory of gravity
will provide with you some clarity.
Scientists recently proved Einstein's theory of General Relativity. This poem celebrates the scientific method.
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