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 Jul 2013 explorereality
Ugo
In the burning right hand of the bald city,
denizens frame calories and count instagram blessings
while beacons of hope refund inspiration in USADA *** cups.

Abyssinian maids wail over yesterday lovers
who wore Ginsberg’s skirt with less  pizzazz
and watched bedbugs **** blood off knee caps
wondering, what if Jesus Christ drove a Nissan?

As bullets of paragraphs fall Vietnamese pesticides on my head,
The dusts off my breath sing homilies
With letters of broken leather whiskey,
For even in the most dishonest jest,
clandestine toothbrushes are overrated
and every first false lie is the only truth.
I walk out their back door
and onto F street.
I stand there for a second
halfway up the hill
staring at the deep reds and soft pinks of the fading sunset
and then turn and continue on my way
into the shadows of the multi story brick buildings
that form my high school
my old school.
I walk through the staff parking lot and under the library
where I spent my lunches for three of those four years
alone.
I climb the stairs and walk past the couch,
the giant cement couch that gets re-painted every night
with a message of some sort,
this time it's white with green letters welcoming the 2014 seniors.
the lights are all on and another guy walks past on the other side of the lawn
I stand there for a second and he passes me
I want to stand here forever
staring at all the buildings
staring at my life for four years,
but I continue on
past the annex, the gym, the Stuart
past the Catholic church where I took pictures in the last snowstorm
past the Mar Vista portables and the art portable
and down Blaine street
where we'd run freshman year in PE,
tapping the gate at Chetzemoka and running back.
Sophomore year I'd walk the same route
during photography and video productions, with friends.
Some days I would turn and walk down to Aldriches,
some days I would continue on
some days I would rehearse my own poetry under my breath.
Today I turn a block before Chetz and continue down the hill
past the condos and the turn off for Point Hudson
past the skate park
past Memorial Field (packed with so many memories)
past the park, the old police station,
the ice cream shop dad used to work at,
the tea shop where I've spent so many hours,
the fountain, the stairs, the writers workshop, the old underground coffeeshop,
my therapist's office, the best pizza in town,
the motel where my mom's first roommate now lives (and works),
into the port and past grandma's old workplace,
past the restaurant my grandpa used to spend hours at
and the boat he used to live on
past the port showers they used to use
and onto the trail along the beach I would walk with mom and grandma
when my now 12 year old brother was in a stroller,
past the mill, sitting at the bottom of three long winding hilly roads,
containing memories of that awful polluted stench that clings to the first third of this town
and would cling to my dad when he'd return from work,
and up the road we lived on when we first moved here.
Past the homeless trails I have scavenged for beer cans on for hours for spare change
and the apartments we used to live in,
past the flowershop where I bought the corsage
that the cheerleader I went to prom with kept getting complimented on.
Past my best friends house
and past the flooring place that we mowed the grass for last summer.
Across the roundabout that has grown into the highway
past the crematorium and waste not want not.
Past the apartments that she lives in, my name still somewhere in her heart.
Past my fathers Jeep and under the archway, covered in dead roses.
Across the mossy yard and through my front door.
I'm going to miss this town.
Let me be the one who walks through open doors
Life showing remnants of days ignored.
Stubbing the candle in search
of normative light.

So that scented tables guide the way,
into frolicking lands where harps should play.
When these creatures take my hand
Finally all is complete.

Valleys sink and mountains rise
shifting between separate pairs of eyes.
Taking me to where is, should be.
Forlorn, for being in the now.

Take stock staggers the rocks
into shapes forming the cinder blocks.
Perhaps the mundane
can in some ways beautiful.
If you can give me any pointers as to how i can improve just leave a comment. would love to hear from you :)
for a while
you were my home
for a while
you were holed up in my chest.

we made blanket forts,
set up christmas lights,
threw pebbles at traffic,
and soon,
we were unable to distinguish days from nights
then i took you for a tour
into my soul, through my delights

I lead you to a mirror

my dear

that's where you first saw you and me
but you only saw your scars
and i still tried to show you what we could be
but at the sight of yourself
you lost what could have been ours.

you ran away
leaving a trail
running through me
and soon
your words became my skin
your smile, my cells
my arteries were open and gushing
but you were constantly hushing
lest anyone hear my heart bursting from its encasement, underneath your heel.

and now, memories of blanket forts and laughing snorts can't drown out the howling wind blowing through my open chest.
where we used to play.
Let me be just a memory, but don't linger on me
just a flash, a glimpse of time well spent
nothing more,
nothing less.
I want to be there, smiling,
when you recognize how lucky you are
how privileged you are
to simply
be
breathing
and then leave me there
and remember me for my heart

for your soul
I need... no.
I want to stay awake.
I want to talk to him,
Imagine him.
But I'm slipping.

Is it possible to be sleep-intolerant?
Not insomnia, just intolerant.
I want to be.
I'd accomplish so much!
I'd write,
Read,
And imagine my love holding me.

Of course, I'd miss my dreams,
But, in this reality, I'm also
*Living one.
I am happy.
People tell me I "Radiate" it,
And I cause others to feel it as well.

                            I am just one hell of an actress...

I am happy, but not the way people think.

I'm with you, and I am.
But there is still that.
The disorder,
The disease,
The disaster taking place in my head.

                                   Could you cure it?

I just want to be as happy as everyone else.


                                                                                         Sincerely,
                                                                                         ~Kestrel
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