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Gossamer Nov 2014
It's cold and these blankets are not enough
It's cold and I am not as tough
as I used to be
back when
it was you and me
and though I love the snow,
I think I loved you more.

Or maybe that's what I let myself believe;
that I miss you because you don't miss me.
I cannot name this feeling,
this emptiness in my bones
But I can hardly feel the fire
and all I really know is that

Sometimes when I get lonely
I go back to missing you
I step into the shower
Like we always used to
and feel the flames
as they cascade down my face
it's not the same,
it's not the same,
but maybe this hot water
can replace
your embrace
for tonight.

It's quiet and I miss the lovely sounds
of your singing from when you were around
and I still
feel your touch
lingering
and it's too much
to know that I may have been the one
to throw it all away

And maybe I'm losing my mind because
all of my friends are deep in love
while I'm deep in a rut
but this lack of sound
is threatening to shatter me
and I don't know if I could recover,
but I do know that

Sometimes when I get lonely
I go back to missing you
I step into the shower
Like we always used to
and feel the flames
as they cascade down my face
it's not the same,
it's not the same,
but maybe this hot water
can replace
your embrace
for tonight.

My skin is red from all this heat
won't you please say that you need me?
My temperature is 102
oh, don't you know that I love you?
And if I do disintegrate,
If you find me here too late,
will you make the water cold?
Will you make sure our story's told?
Gossamer Nov 2014
When I was little,
We would play kickball
In the cul-de-sac.

You would scold me
While I was in the outfield,
Told me not to puppy-guard
The bases.

I told you to run faster.

Last night,
You wouldn’t let me
Leave, wouldn’t let
Me sleep alone.

I told you not to puppy guard
My heart,
To have faith in yourself,
In me, in us.

I told you not to puppy guard my heart.

You told me to love faster.

I told you I couldn’t.

You seemed broken, frozen.
Gossamer Nov 2014
The landscape is a thought thing.
It’s an art thing, but it’s also a thought thing,
because thoughts are art.
Think about it.

As you think about the past and
dream about the future,
you are a painter.
As you work your way toward
a goal, you are
a sculptor.
You criticize your reflection
in the mirror and create
a self-portrait in your head
that would be unrecognizable
to others. In these
moments of insecurity,
you are an abstract artist.
When you try to remember
the face of that person
on the crowded city street
who briefly stole your heart,
you are a
sketch artist.

This is the thing:
you may aspire to be a
business owner,
a doctor,
an author,
an actor,
a dentist,
a professional athlete,
but do not forget that
no matter where life takes you,
you will always be an artist.
You have always been
an artist.
Gossamer Nov 2014
Why won't the tears flow
why can't I cry
I am numb from the cold
and slowed by the alcohol
running through my veins,
my brain;
there is not enough
alcohol
running through
my veins;
my heart still aches -
I can feel it.
My pulse still shakes -
I can feel it
in every part of me.
And he was beautiful,
and i told you that,
and you drank a little too much
and showed me how it's done,
how i'll never be as pretty
as skinny
as enchanting

and that other boy is
beautiful,
too,
but he'd never think twice
because he's a good guy

i thought the first one
was a good guy
but he was just good
at making me feel
special

i thought the second one
was a good guy
but he was
no different
from the first

i have felt used
and i have felt
wanted

but i have never felt
needed,
never felt
loved

and sometimes
when i feel the heaviness
throughout me,
I feel like maybe i'll
find someone
who will make me
believe i'm worth it,
but it's nights like these
that make me question it,
make me wonder if maybe
i was meant to walk home
alone
in twenty degree weather
in a skin tight dress,
catcalled,
called a *****,
because apparently loneliness
equates to promiscuity,
and i suppose if i
was worth it
i wouldn't have to write
about being lonely
because i wouldn't be lonely
if i was special
if i was worth it
if i was worth
anything
i will probably forget about this later oops
Gossamer Oct 2014
It's always at night.

I remember the first one;
the air was heavy with the heat
of summer, the bonfire
at full blaze. The sprinklers
came on and everyone ran,
but you just laughed. I soon
came to learn that your typical
reaction was to laugh. I soon came
to learn I loved it.

The second night, we were
uptown, our path lit by
traffic lights and flickering street lamps.
I walked next to you.
It was enough then.

The third night came unexpectedly;
I was supposed to be in bed by midnight,
but suddenly, it was four a.m.,
and we were sitting on someone else's bed,
in darkness, our only light being the illuminating
laptop screen, music in the background,
and you were inches away
but I felt farther away than ever
and your hand brushed my leg and
I have never wanted to lie with
someone so badly and
you are exhausted but still smiling,
still focused on the music and
I have never wanted to kiss someone
so badly and i do not know why
i do not know why but i know
that we are not possible,
and it is all a fantasy
and desperation is a bitter taste,
a hollow feeling that burrows itself
in your bones,
and when i think of how much love
you have for her,
tiny cracks begin to form in my crystal heart.

I've heard you tell them you're going to marry her
when you're drunk.

Last night,
you read my poetry
and listened to my playlists
and how am I still so willing
to give so much away
and risk so much
for someone
who may never
give a ****?
Gossamer Oct 2014
Allow me to make a confession:

I did steal.
(I did not know.)

At the time, I was
waiting outside a
wedding hall.
She
was listening:
to engines idling,
the muffled sound
of music.
She was beautiful,
graceful;
she lit a cigarette -
noticed me -
and her feet
were bare.
She offered no indication
that she felt it.

She wore sunglasses and smoked.

I did steal.
I sat outside,
and I did steal.

I did not know.
Rearranged words from a page in "And The Mountains Echoed" by Khaled Housseini
Gossamer Oct 2014
"Don't make me beg.
Don't go back,
don't go cold,
somewhere in
the dark."

She slowly
rises to her feet,
wonders how
she will learn
to leave, how
not
to go back.

Through her eyes,
the fire stops:
her heart begins
to die.

"Don't leave."

She pictures it:
No kisses.
Alone
In the wind.

"Don't."

She walks.
Rearranged words from a page in "And The Mountains Echoed" by Khaled Housseini
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