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haley Apr 2016
he sees the ocean in my eyes
ringed with sunshine (he provides)
he looks at me so steady
holds my gaze until I laugh and look away
brushes the hair from my cheek
and whispers
"you are gods perfect creation"
and I feel something in me
he is the closest I will ever get
to holiness.
if religion felt like this,
I would kneel with the best of them.
haley Jul 2015
I eat overripe fruit
bags of chips
bowls of cereal
and drink hot
cups of coffee
hundreds of water bottles
leave everything strewn about
for weeks.
my clothes lay mixed
clean and *****
covered in dog hair
I can't bear to organize.
every item shifted
reveals an image of you,
some remnant from a time
forever lost.
haley Jun 2015
i hope the beast we share
(our only remaining connection)
keeps you up at night,
pulls our old photographs
and the letters i wrote you
from the drawer where they rest
and make you remember.
i wonder if you kept the poster,
the collage of our memories;
i bet you burned it
(just to see my face warp
like you claim my heart did).
i know you act like you don't care,
like you're better off,
like i was a bad friend to you,
like i was never anything but
exactly what you asked of me
(i tell myself the same things,
except when i say it,
it's the truth).
i need this beast to stalk you too.
i can't be the only one to shoulder the weight
of our heavy silence
(why does it still hurt?).
haley Mar 2015
sometimes i trace my own hip bones
in the dark,
and run my fingertips over the curvature of my spine,
pretending the warmth belongs to someone else.
i speak my own name in my mind,
imagining it's syllables spoken tenderly
by a lover's tongue,
each letter dripping with sugar.
my fingertips itch for closeness,
and curl around imaginary fingers,
like wishful muscle memory.
i have so much love to give.
i have so much love to receive.
haley Feb 2015
i have so much love to give.
i'm brimming with it.
it moves in me like water,
leaks out like the tide of the sea.
when the moon gets too close,
the love in me rises
and struggles
against my boundaries,
pushes itself up my throat.
my biggest obstacle is swallowing
it back down,
calming it,
when the moon
is eclipsed.
haley Nov 2014
in autumn,
gentle fingers press forget-me-not seeds
between her teeth,
warm lips breathe "i love you"s into
her throat.
all winter,
she clenches her teeth,
holds her breath,
grins only in black and white.
at the hint of spring,
blue petals climb the cracks
between white boulders,
cultivate hope.
with the heat of summer,
she crunches ice,
tries to excavate the reminders
from her gums,
comes home with ***** fingers
and the taste of blood
on her tongue.
haley Nov 2014
I know I must be hard to love.
my body is all sharps angles, stretched tall
and draped with gold.
when you need me,
I'm hard as steel, twice as cold.
when you forget me, I'm soft as water, drowning
in myself.
my mother jokes, "don't ever get married."
I laugh, tell her I won't.
I try not to think about it.
I don't know what I want.
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