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Pea Feb 2018
i was alright until now
you left me needy
you left me longing for your skin
you left me missing the taste of your weary fingers
you left me like you left your songs playing in your mom's balcony
those tunes that did nothing but talk about anger and ***
g o d
i miss those songs
i miss your breath
even when it meant that i'd have to deal with your cigarettes
i miss the muscles on your face when i ask you to smile for me
i miss sinning with you

but even when i miss everything,
darling, *i just don't miss you
inspired to write about an old friend though please don't misconstrue that i actually sinned in whatever way your playful mind takes you to ;-)
  Feb 2018 Pea
consistent contradictions
gambling away my
happiness to the gods,
or the devils,
i can never tell which
i can never tell which
witches are good
and which ones are bad
and i'm on the edge of
glory and humiliation.
consistent contradictions
of a woman whose heart
is not in her body but
within another's, whose
home is june and whose
jail is the present
presently prosecuting
my own **** fingers
for falling and failing
and fumbling for the
light switch
for faltering and
sweltering in the heat
of heaven or hell
i can never tell which.
i can never
anxiety and loneliness are a dangerous combination
  Feb 2018 Pea
i. the curly, green-haired
leo with the cry-baby tattoo
on her left calf; fish net stockings and
loud guitar playing and
menthol cigarettes. driving through
the park at 9 pm, ***** shots,
the white house with the a-frame roof,
hugs that made your heart feel as warm
as she did

crying as i left my room again to be
intertwined with a girl who did not love me, but i wanted to;
months pass, lonely car rides with
one-sided conversations and
seven years gone,
quiet disconnection
that made you feel as cold
as i did

ii. brown eyes, brown skin,
round glasses and chicago streetlights.
holding each other close on the subway
lakehouse parties in the beginning of spring and
pisces season and tarot readings and
soft kisses on the train.
holding hands at the aquarium,
sweet poetry and calm and
a sense of oneness that made you feel

hurt for the third time
a panic, a loss
i held their heart in my hands and
let it fall
i still carry the guilt on my fingertips

iii. short hair. freckled cheeks, i
fell in love with the way the skin
crinkled around her eyes when she smiled.
an apartment, a home built
around our lips touching
wrapped in blankets on the couch,
dense smoke and her hand on my leg while she
drove. chinese food and
waking up against her chest and
laughing so hard
my ribs hurt

crashing. her anger withering away my
heartstrings; pain and
crying alone in the bathtub
moving away
drunk tears on the interstate
punching my thighs
in place of the way her
words made
me hurt
feeling extra lonely these days. they come and go.
  Nov 2017 Pea
who took away your softness
and made you feel
the harshness of the ocean?
who took your tide away?
your lips tasted of salt once
but the blue dye of your
ocean has begun to fade.
you were then
so plump and mighty,
but today you lie flat
in the shallowest of
tangled in the algae
gathered by
your fingers
  Nov 2017 Pea
It was always me
waiting for you to come back
or me watching you leave.
Pea Aug 2017
when you wake up in the morning
and the sun doesn't shine,
you'll find it in your arms,
seeping in your veins
  Aug 2017 Pea
Nat Lipstadt
for Alyssa Underwood

my poems do not trend, go viral,
Fast and Furious!

yet, they do not die

they lay in plain sight pebbles scattered,
smoothed by time,
upon the surface of the
green earth waiting patient, virtuous,
purposed for itinerants bards
to trip over one
one some someday

somehow they accrete a readership,
slow stepping and steady from,
|the seekers and the stumblers,
the droplet drinkers,
meanderers of the tomes and tombs of prior years,
miners for nuggets in the poem pools that form
beneath the alluvial streaming
of the waterfall crescendo
of words

I like this

when another traveler sends me a like,
a petite amuse-bouche bite of appreciation,
for a long ago, barely recalled, writ,
allowing them to carve their initials upon the
external, visible roots of my tree trunk,
invading me, by darkening a prior tree internal ring,
forcing me to look down,
look back,
take measure of myself,
accepting myself as not wanting,
nor lacking in other's acceptance

these statements are neither  boastful or illusory,
yet still joyous, like caramel pleasures,
slow to chew, fast to the taste,

reminding me of old friendships,
well valued,
though no longer fully employed,
their uncovering is my own refreshed exposure,
their discovery is my own re-discovery,
exposing flaws and fallacies,
even fallow,
mostly shallow facts
about me

all of them,
a sundae of truths and lies, sharing a happy laugh
with and at
when I think to myself,

"****, did I write that?"

copyright 2015 by Nat Lipstadt
all true.
sometimes I type in the search mode a word unusual, offbeat,
of my own choosing,
and let it lead me to the older nuggets of others,
familiar and unfamiliar,
from under the trees of their forest...

Oct. 7, 2015
Manhattan Island
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