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My scars are hidden
by the dark fabric that clings
to my skin.
They come in many shapes
and different shades of pink and white.
They tell a story of pain and darkness,
anger and sorrow,
but mostly of fear and helplessness.
They hold all my secrets;
the secrets I’ll never tell.
They’ve watched me as I cried.
I cry because of them.
They remind me of the darker days.
When I’m smiling and finally feel happy,
they’re there to remind me that
no matter how hard I try to change,
my life is still ****** up.
Us
I think about us;
what could've happened,
what never did happen,
what I wish happened.
But nothing ever happened.
Sometimes I regret it,
other times I don't.
Everyone would always say
there was something there.
And I would always deny it.
I'd never say what I really meant.
I'd never show what I really felt.
But if you looked really hard,
you'd see those micro-expressions
that said that I was desperately
in love with you;
that seeing you again made me feel...
indescribable.
Seeing you again made me remember
that I miss you.
Even when it looks like I've forgotten,
even when it looks like I don't care,
buried deep down underneath
my fake nonchalant smirk
I'm crying out for you.
 Dec 2012 Emily Helen Culver
JL
The loneliness gets to you first
A chill that runs up the spine
Culminating in hair standing up on the back of your neck
The fires are lit on the roadside
And the dark one culls me
*his whispers are inside you
If you listen you will hear them
When the loneliness has gotten to you
Point of view change
I am not a mess,
just someone who
occasionally falls apart
trying to find balance
in the stars
and in your eyes.

but there are places
balance cannot exist,
us two on a see-saw
the weight of unspoken
words
always lifting
one of us
over the other

or how the planets
might one day
get a little tipsy,
just like us,
and spiral
everything
out of control.

But I am no longer afraid
of black holes
stretching my cells
three miles wide

just of poetry
how it can never
stay inside me
spewing out things
I don't want to believe

and often of you
how I never know
what's what
inside your mind, and who
you've chosen to be,
half of me
or the empty space,
cold when you leave.
Cold, empty air
Bitter, icy tears
In the sea of black and sorrow
I stand alone
The place where you used to stand
is empty and bare
There is nothing I can do
as I watch you sink into the ground
Buried away with all my broken dreams
of us, and what we would be
Recycling,
love long forgotten,
Others, unwanted, left behind;
Don't delve farther than 'sparkling'  
because I'm wearing nothing, but a smile.
Take a peek through my looking glass...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nxO-yPQesA&NR;=1&feature;=endscreen
Pretty reckless
discerned
unmasked
Anna's reflection
is the opposite of mine
duality noted

Shes fanged and raged
held within her cage
which just so happens
to be my flesh
and I cant bare her mess
Die Anna! Die!
Epiphany from the Berry Fields

You would not come with me
through constellations of Jack-in-the-Pulpit,
your reasons shrouded in obscurity.
I went there once to pray ---
Did I tell you? ---
I spied a grey squirrel
gnawing a cherished butternut
in a fury of drunken hunger;
forgot at once my prayers.

You went instead, alone,
to the Kingdom of the Mushroom.
I sealed my mouth
afraid to enter there.
You saw violent phosphorous rivers and
vivid galloping colors,
that were of mystical internal origin.

We might have eaten
vine-ripe strawberries and
drunk cold mountain water,
that gushed from the mouth of
the cave under the cliff.

Perhaps, like me you were afraid,
terrified by florid fields and familiar female.
How sad ---
Sometimes I am so dense ---
I should have told you,
I went there in the distance
as a girl.



       *Coincidental Drift


Through the airport window pane,
isolated, I watched the jet
traverse the field in silent shimmering motion.
My vagrant gaze remained
fixed upon the infinite horizon
long after the shadowy
plane had passed from view.
This seemed to me to parallel
my motionless furtive feelings,
as after one I've loved
has migrated in another season.

It was not long after this
that she re-entered the room,
bathed in the murmur of
alluring fragrance which
quickly drew my mind from
the solitude of thought to
a sensual appreciation of her perfume.
How easily she drew my mind astray
from pleasant thought of you and yesterday.
I recalled how earlier this morning,
as she lay neither asleep, nor awake,
but somewhere in between,
I had tried to touch her outstretched hand,
yet, uncannily she had withdrawn it.
The smoke that wafted above our bed then
was the only pervading reality and
not the Mona Lisa smile on her face,
nor the emptiness of my longing hand.

She's said, *She's ready ---
--- that her bags are packed ---
and shouldn't we be going?

Yes, Yes I suppose it's time.
And a wind howling in my brain recalled,
I'd either been here once before or
seen it etched upon an empty sky.
As seen from both perspectives
I would like this life of endless
Greyhound time schedules to cease.

What self-inflicted alien abduction
tore me from the valley of my birth,

leaving me to wander empty streets,
each the branch of a coppiced maze?

I grow weary of quotidian fastfood buffets
downed with the aid of espresso baristas.

My legs have lost the muscle-memory
that strode the river cliffs with no regard.

Time to end the sleepwalk of forty years;
rejoin the forward guard of Iroquois.
affection: a drug too expensive
you sell it to me, i give it for free
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