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our story needed to be shared
it was epic
with moments of divine beautiful happiness
and moments of raw animalistic pain
so i attempted to write it down

it took me years of reliving every detail
writing on napkins in coffee shops
and receipts in grocery stores

it took me years of memories
three suicide attempts
and two men i never really loved

i finished last night
i finished our story
and then my screen lit up
and then the walls came down
and then i realized our story hasn't ended
all we've been through is the prologue
The store mannequin
Was rejected,
Her stats didn't comply
For a window show
To show its wares
To a town of passersby.

Her Do wasn't quite couture,
Her ******* were just such,
The arms that loped
Across her chest
Looked a little butch.
Her belly with its ripples,
Was all a bit too much;
Her ***** profile it was thought
Was maybe just a touch...
Her hips which had male appeal,
Were thought a tad too light.
Her legs rose up like lamp posts,
Her feet a a smidgeon tight.
Hanging, covering all her faults,
A dress not draping right.

The window dresser
Across her harlequin face,
And packed her with
In the original crate.
What can I say. I like extended metaphors.
I've fallen asleep before
with a record on repeat
aiming, somewhere between
half and whole heartedly,
to control my swirling feelings--
to train them to the
predictable repetitions
of a 3:34 composition.
Because at least
this way, I'm aware that my chest
will sink
a little with the weight of truth
at 0:58
and then my heart will flutter each
time 1:47 comes around
while peaceful bliss
remains for the rest
Because it happens
each time it plays.

And there aren't surprises
or random bursts
of crushing sadness
or anxiety
that makes
my heart
pound full speed
while the melody plays
over and over
again and again.
If I'd written
My love poetry
Years ago,
When our passion
Covered college sheets,
When we were sleek
And bared our bodies
When we wore our hair,
Your ******* unbarred,
When we rolled
In your backyard,
Wetter than the dew;
That's one verse
I'd write for you.
Scratch out lines
On your legs,
See Venus rise
From the nubile shell,
Type stanzas
To compare your eyes,
Your neck,
Your lips,
Vis a vis;
The tender terror
Of our first kiss.
I don't believe in God
But I believe in faith

I don't believe in miracles
But I believe in hard work

I don't believe prayer works
But I believe prayer heals

I don't believe we need to give
But I believe we should

I do not believe in many things
But I believe in much more
Statistics say
I am smarter than 95% of the people I meet
People say
Intelligence is overrated
Statistics say
I was born into a better situation than 98% of the people I meet
People say
It's not where you start it's where you finish
Statistics say
I will live longer than 94% of the people I meet
People say
Life is fragile
Statistics say
I won't fail
People say
I might
 Nov 2014 Georgia Williams
I want to softly whisper
incomplete poems
on your collar bones
that don't rhyme with anything
but your heavy breathing.

I want to bury my face
in the curves of your neck
because you smell like the winter clouds
and I've been gazing at the sky
since you left.
dad left
for his second tour of duty
on my third birthday

mom kept
a jar full of jelly beans
on the living room coffee table

every night
she gave me one to eat, saying
"when these jelly beans
are all eaten up,
dad will come back home"

i would sneak another,
to help dad come home sooner

one night
the phone rang
and i watched mom
wipe away a tear
as she filled
the jar
On this Remembrance Day, I think of all those who have served, with a special thought for Dad.  And though she has no medals, I also think of Mom; every tour of duty Dad went through, she went through too, taking care of us on her own.

*** Edit: Thank you for all your kind words!  Due to a recent outpouring of sympathy, I feel it necessary to clear up the fact that my dad did in fact make it home from this mission; his tour had simply been extended for an additional 3 months.  Still, it isn't easy being part of a military family - and that's what I meant to show. ***
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