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Elizabeth Feb 2013
One night.
Two People.
Three words.
Never the same again.
Elizabeth Dec 2011
I used to love all things military
because they seemed so romantic.
The stories, the movies, the songs, the pride
and even the tears.
Looking back on it,
I cringe at my naïveté.
Silently, I close the books,
turn off the TV and radio
and run from the tears that aren’t so romantic after all.
For him whom I love. I know the sacrifice you had to make, and though it was a dagger in my heart, I understand. Thank you for your service.
Elizabeth Oct 2012
Do not come near me unless you are willing to
pursue me with reckless abandon, even until the end of the earth.

Do not look at me until you can appreciate the beauty that God
has birthed in me and stand in amazement of it.

Do not touch me if you cannot do so with tenderness and respect.

Do not speak to me unless it is to say that you love me more than you love yourself.

Until you are ready to fight for me, you are not worthy of me.
Elizabeth May 2013
Is it wrong to
want a place
in your biography?
Elizabeth Mar 2012
Sometimes I feel like a fool for going down this path,

But I don’t exactly regret it.

Yes, I know…

Everyone told me to turn around,

To back track and be quick about it,

But it was one of those things where

I had to know for myself.

I kept hearing your voice calling my name,

And I searched for you day and night…

Only to find it wasn’t you that was calling me,

But your heart.

It lay there on the ground, crying out and bleeding.

Your body was nowhere to be found.

You knew what you had to do;

you left.

But your heart wasn’t in it,

So you left it here.

I have half a mind to leave

Mine with it,

And do what I have to do.
Elizabeth May 2013
Alas.
Your eyes upon
me
make me feel
pleasantly
awkward.
Elizabeth May 2013
I have become
fluent
in the language
of your
body.
Elizabeth Dec 2011
My
nose
is
on
fire
yet
it's
called
a
cold.
Elizabeth May 2013
She has heaven's wisdom,
but she is condemned to earth.
For "E.A."
Elizabeth Jul 2013
It's like locking the door,
and leaving the window down.
Elizabeth Nov 2012
Crosses on roadside
Did not scare me, until I
almost became one.
Elizabeth Jun 2013
Poor worms: flooded out
of their homes to be eaten
by ravenous birds
Out of the flood and into the bird's mouth...reminds me of those people who kick you when you're down.
Elizabeth Dec 2011
How cruel that he would give me hope, then leave.
Elizabeth Apr 2012
You, sir, are looking
at the damsel in distress
who rescued herself.
Elizabeth Mar 2014
I just want to do life with you, dear one.
Elizabeth Oct 2012
I open my eyes and peer into the darkness,
unsure how much time has passed,
unsure how I got here.
Unease floats into my mind and settles there,
warning me to remain submerged in this dream-like state of mind,
warning me that there is something menacing about facing reality.

Ragged breathing to my right
snaps me back to reality
with agonizing quickness and
I flinch from the pain of realization.
The beast that hovers beside me
inhales all that is left of my innocence
and exhales death.
Death…
That is what I smell on Its breath,
as if It had eaten someone’s soul.
Maybe the girl before me?
I don’t think I have a soul left to lose.
I have already sold it to the Devil
and he gave me over to one of his demons.

I reach for the blanket
and drag it up over my exposed body,
but the Thing rips the fabric from my grasping fingers.
“You can’t hide from me *****”.
I will my skin to turn to stone,
and imagine that I cannot feel
Its biting nails and grimy fingers
that leave trails of blood and dirt in their wake.

Drift away, I command myself.
Drift away from here.
Drift away like a leaf in the fall.
Be small and unimportant;
do not attract attention.
Drift out of this room
silently and gracefully into the night.
Do not stop.
Do not look back.
Do not let the pain distract.


But that which has worked
so many times before,
is failing me now.
The illusion is rapidly fading,
taking with it
what little control I possess.
My mask begins to crack
and the tears seep out.
The beast sneers at my weakness.
“What’s wrong *****?
You don’t like what you came for?
Too ******* bad, because
you’re mine now.”

I turn my head to the side
to focus on a nail in the wall.
“Look at me” demands the beast.
Why do they always demand that I look at them?
Is it some sort of power trip?
I refuse to look.
I glare at the nail in defiance
and am rewarded with a blow to the stomach,
but still I refuse.
I must keep some semblance of control.

Drift away, I whisper to myself.
A slap stings my face.
Drift away from here.
Blood trickles down my lip.
Drift away like a leaf in the fall.
“I said look at me!”
Be small and unimportant;
Do not attract attention.

Pain in my abdomen,
fear in my gut.
Drift out of this room…
“You can’t leave until I’m finished with you”
Silently and gracefully into the night.
A fist connects with my arms
Do not stop.
And then with my chest
Do not look back
And then with my jaw
*Do not let the pain distract.
This is dark, I know....but there is healing in speaking out...and being transparently honest.
Elizabeth Jan 2013
For the exiled man,
home is never
where he lays
his heavy heart.
How I long
to hide him
in the shelter
of my own!
But alas,
he is
not a thing
to be possessed.
Elizabeth Jan 2012
I’m starting to forget what your eyes look like in the sunlight,
Though I do remember how they looked on that rainy day when you left for home –
gray as the clouds in the sky, or was it gray as the ones in our hearts?
I’m beginning to forget some of the little things,
such as how many freckles you have,
as well as their location,
but I do remember those beautiful
leopard spots on your neck that I love to kiss.
I forget how large your hands are in comparison to mine,
But I do remember that your thumb and pinkie finger
are almost directly across from each other
when you spread your fingers.
Don’t ask me why I remember that,
but not how your teeth are aligned.
It’s not as if I didn’t spend enough time staring at your smile.
I tried to memorize it, but I suppose memory
cannot always withstand the test of time.
I don’t remember if you ever snored while we slept next to each other,
(Which may be a good thing)
But I do know that I never slept so well
As I did with you –
Safe from all the nightmares of my past.
I don’t remember ever having met anyone so remarkable,
But I do know, that I’m glad I met you.
I'm not quite content with this poem...any suggestions?
Elizabeth Dec 2013
Sometimes
I like
my
handwriting
more than
the actual
poem.
Elizabeth Jan 2012
Fatigue, frustration, abandonment,
turmoil, pain, and discouragement.
All these you have experienced and more.
The stories are written in your eyes and
etched into your skin,
though most don’t see or, quite frankly,
care enough to even notice.
but I do…
I do, because I wear the same mask.
You could probably use the rescuing,
but you’re too busy being strong
to call out for help.
Or perhaps you are like Atlas,
holding the world on your shoulders.
You can’t trust just anyone
to help you bear the burden;
if somehow the world is dropped in the process,
the consequences would be catastrophic,
to say the least.
So day after day, you don your cape
and fly off to rescue the same damsel
(who thinks she is in distress)
that you rescued just days before,
while still balancing the weight
of the world.
What amazes me more than even
your strength, is your ability to
laugh in the face
of such daunting circumstances.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
your smile says confidently,
“You can try all you want,
but you can’t steal my laughter.”
Yet there is no arrogance or pride
to be found in you;
only humble confidence and
gentle compassion.
Those are the traits of a true hero.
Elizabeth Oct 2012
I imagine that I will
fold my arms over the
cage around my heart,
subconsciously endeavoring
to suppress the air
in the hollow beneath it.
But I'm sure
I'll only succeed
in drawing attention
to the vulnerability
I was trying to
hide in the
first place.

Even though few
people consider fleeing
as an act of bravery,
I hope I will find the
courage to turn
around and run.
But glancing back,
I will drink in
that which I've
been pining to see -
your face,
handsome and solemn
as ever.

Your heart no longer
says my name,
yet mine has yours
written all over it.
I'm scarred from all
the times that I
scratched it out
with a razor
in the hope that
I could somehow
forget.
It's a battle
that I continue to lose.
I don't know if
I will ever win.
I'm doubtful,
but ever hopeful.
Elizabeth Dec 2013
She writes,
can't you tell?
Everything is
covered in
ink.
Elizabeth May 2013
Holding on tightly
to what was
never grasped:
insanity defined.
Elizabeth Jun 2014
When I said that my last boyfriend
wasn't the cuddling type, you asked,
"What kind of man doesn't want to touch a girl?"
You'll never know how beautiful you made me feel
in that moment.
For Josiah
Elizabeth Feb 2012
I was not prepared
for this journey
in which I walk
alone.
All my life,
there have been
at least two
travelers at my
side,
but not now.
I have taken
a different route,
one that has no
path to follow,
no signs to
confirm that I
am walking in the
right direction.
Some have called
me suicidal
to choose such
a path,
for it is dark
and there is no
light to illuminate
my way.
Voices in the wind
urgently whisper
for me to
turn back,
telling me
that it is
a lost cause,
and that I will
soon be one
myself.
But I ignore
them, and press
forward.
My feet are sore
and ******
from wandering
barefoot in the dark.
My knees and palms
are bruised and
scraped from
all the times
that I have
fallen.
My face?
Tear-stained, but
determined.
I do not
know
how long this
journey will
take, but
I know this:
I will pursue
you until
I find you,
until you tell
me that you
no longer
love me.
Then,
and only then,
will I allow
myself to
die.
Elizabeth Apr 2012
There’s a Ken doll in the back seat of my car;
He’s been demoted from passenger.
My parents bought him for me one Christmas as a joke – “Ken Perfect” they called him…
The boyfriend that will always listen with a smile on his face
and a sparkle in his eye.
I thought it was a cute token of my single-ness,
But of course it didn’t last.
The men came and went,
And poor Ken roasted through the summer
And froze through the winter.
Always with a smile on his face
And a sparkle in his eye.
Why is it that nice guys
Always finish last?
Elizabeth Jan 2013
I miss you,
****-it.
Tell your ghost
to leave me
alone.
Elizabeth Apr 2012
Where are you,  knight in shattered armor?
The months seem like years.
Do you not notice the time?
I do - it is my constant companion.

Occasionally I see your “mood eyes” (as I call them),
when mine close at night.
Piercing blue and sometimes gray,
those tiny windows to your soul.

I remember how they sparkled mischievously
as you performed your magic in my parents’ kitchen;
laughing at my child-like awe
as I watched you pull out my card.

Do you know that you have ruined the word “coconut” for me?
I can’t even look at one without thinking about migration.
Sometimes I wish I had that effect on you,
where you can’t even look at something without going back to October.

It’s the little things that haunt me:
your hand on my shin,
that spot between neck and shoulder,
three kisses in rapid succession.

I wish I could haunt you,
come to you as a ghost in the night
wrap my cold arms around you from behind
and breathe love into your ear.

Would you react?
I doubt it.
Your heart is already cold as stone.
You have forgotten the warmth of my love.
Concerning the one I miss.
Elizabeth May 2013
It seems to me that falling in love when you're lonely
is like going grocery shopping when you're hungry -
It will satisfy you for a while,
but when all is said and done,
you are left empty
of wallet or
of heart.
Elizabeth Mar 2012
I want to write you a love letter,
but my hand remains motionless
on the page.

Oh that I could write music!
To be able to compose a melody
that intertwines thoughts
and ideas better than any of these
words could ever hope to do.

Or perhaps paint a picture;
the swirl and streak of my brush
illustrating the explosive reds,
happy yellows,
and sobering blues
Of our relationship.

Maybe I should lead you to the
warm sands of the beach,
let you dip your toes in the
cooling water and feel the constant
advance and return of the waves
wash over your ankles and calves
and tell you that this is what my love
for you is like…constant and gentle.

Indeed,
I should do all of these things,
for they are easier than writing
a love letter.
Elizabeth Nov 2013
of innocent and
illicit meetings,

of scalding coffee
and **** cider,

of October air
and goosebumps,

of piercing stares
and demure blushes,

of nervous laughter
and bright eyed smiles,

of beautiful stupidity
and exquisite risk taking,

of sweet shyness
and hesitant touches,

of passionate giving
and exhausted joy,

of shared secrets
and utter honesty,

of motorcycle rides
and smiling skulls,

of early morning coffee
and late night magic tricks,

of story telling
and musical laughter,

of leopard spots
and three quick kisses,

of secret meetings
and getting caught,

of forbidden words
and transparent hearts,

of hands wiping
away escaped tears,

of sad departures
and naked good byes,

of miles and miles
of never ending distance,

of long awaited phone calls
and lengthy emails,

of sleepless nights
and lonely days,

of miles and miles
that separate,

of silence,

of war,

of long awaited contact,

of letters,

of wounds,

of silence,

of deafening silence,

of love

of heart ache.
Elizabeth Jun 2013
“It was a question I had worn on my lips for days – like a loose thread on my favourite sweater I couldn’t resist pulling – despite knowing it could all unravel around me.
‘Do you love me?’ I ask.
In your hesitation, I found my answer.”
-Lang Leav
Not my poetry, but I related so much that I wanted to post it.
Elizabeth Oct 2012
I adamantly
refuse
to become a
whiskey lullaby
for him.
Elizabeth Dec 2011
My
knight
in
shattered
armor
is
more
handsome
than
your
inexperienced
shiny
one.
Elizabeth Jan 2013
It finally stopped raining in my head:
blissful, deafening, silence!
Elizabeth Dec 2013
Sometimes my sleeve says it all -
for that is where I bear my heart.
Elizabeth Jul 2012
My bare feet
stand on the linoleum floor,
sticky from the hairspray
that is used to cement
every last one of your hairs
to your head.
I could cut my finger on it -
you said so yourself.
Though it's not my finger that
is bleeding,
but rather my heart.

My ears are ringing,
my head is spinning,
and my stomach is sinking -
sinking like a ship
with its captain still on board.
Desperately, I grab for
something,
anything -
anything that will keep me
sane,
but your assault keeps coming.

Every word that is spat, I taste.
Every blow that is thrown, I feel.
I read every thought written
across your sour, distorted face.

There is only one way to stop
the blood from flowing
onto the sticky floor,
and I must act quickly.
I summon the cold from deep within
and feel it begin to rise,
first through my toes,
then my calves and
into my lower belly,
until finally,
painful relief wraps
Its icy fingers around my heart.
The out-pour of blood has ceased,
but so has the beating of my heart.
Still needs some editing, but I wanted to get it down on "paper" before I forgot it.
Elizabeth Apr 2013
It’s Thursday night
and she sits in the corner of her room
eating skittles and
watching the sun
fade behind the trees.
Painting her nails
a grayish-purple –
crowning each tip with glitter,
she wonders if life gets any better
than this moment?
Can it be any
less complex?
She feels that the
end must be near,
but here in this moment,
she is not afraid;
only anxious for it
to come to pass.
Elizabeth Jul 2012
Like a captain aboard a sinking vessel,
he waits for the last passenger to disembark.
But if that passenger refuses to be saved,
does that make the captain loyal or foolish?
Either way,
it's a tragedy too painful to watch.
For my father
Elizabeth Jun 2013
The thing is, in reality it’s not beautiful to hate yourself.
And sleeping without dreaming is not a way you want to live.
There’s no one coming to save you,
no knight in shining armor,
but that’s not a good enough reason to give up.
And all you’ll be is broken,
and trust me,
it’s not worth it,
This world is not how they romanticize it to be,
but sometimes,
it’s much more than that.
I didn't write this either (wish I had!)...not sure who wrote it.
Elizabeth Dec 2011
No, I am not a butterfly. I am a fluttermutt.
A joke between me, my brother and my mom...we called moths fluttermutts...and oddly enough, I identify with it.
Elizabeth Jan 2013
Look out the window -
The morning sky’s pale green light
suggests cleansing rain.
Elizabeth Apr 2013
It was as if you were talking
about nothing more important
than the weather.
Blithely, you spoke of how
the cold front would move in and the winds would begin to shift,
causing the occasional sporadic shower that lasted no more
than a few short days.
But that "cold front" turned out to be a blizzard
and those "shifting winds" blew ice into my heart at 70 mph - freezing it in its broken state.
The "light showers" were waves of sleet
and it stormed inside my head for months instead of days.
I should have known better
than to believe a weather man.
Elizabeth Jan 2013
Once upon a time, sweet soldier, we were everything!

We were shy glances and piercing stares,
bitter coffee and sweet cider,
nervous laughter and easy smiles.

We were all-nighters and painfully early mornings,
utter exhaustion and unexplainable energy,
distracted work days and focused only on each other.

We were photographs and video recordings,
magic tricks and storytelling,
Monty Python and Charlie the Unicorn imitators.
(We were total dorks!)

We were late night jogs and wrestling,
motorcycle rides and beach-walking,
seekers of adventure and last minute decision making.

We were short pecks on the cheek,
and long passionate kisses,
fierce embraces and soft caresses.

We were soul-searchers and wound-healers,
dreamers and risk-takers,
keepers of secrets and whisperers of truth.

We were sanity and craziness,
possibilities and improbabilities,
with everything and yet nothing going for us.

We were in love.
Elizabeth Jan 2013
Wooing you is like wooing a cat.
I walk half way
and wait for you
to meet me in the middle.
Holding out my hand
in a gentle gesture,
I let you sniff me out
to determine whether
or not I’m a threat.
I don’t speak too
loudly,
I don’t move too
quickly,
and I certainly
don’t touch you without
your express permission.
You rarely come
when I call,
but instead of
allowing bitterness to
build within me,
I am learning to
enjoy the surprise of
your unexpected presence.
Your elusiveness
challenges my self esteem,
yet your touch
rebukes my insecurity.

I cannot gain your
affection by force.
Indeed,
I would only succeed
in reaping resentment;
but there is beauty to be found
in the tenderness that is
freely given.
For "D"

— The End —