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 Mar 2014 Heaven Dawn
Emily
iron
 Mar 2014 Heaven Dawn
Emily
my mouth tastes like pennies and your hand is too warm on my thigh under your parents table and i wish you would move it and i know the way you squeeze softly would be attractive to other girls but i am not other girls

i used to read books out loud to you and when i stumbled over words you would stroke my hair and i don’t think you even heard a word i was saying

you say you love math because there is no uncertainty and i think about how i am never a fixed point and i wonder if this is why you’re not always there when i wake up

you tell me you know me better than myself

my face feels too tight and flushed and i am not a crier but i wish i was now

you like to control me and i like to control me and i feel guilty for this

her lips look very soft on your cheek and it’s been a few months but i remember you never let me kiss you in public. she has bigger eyes than me and i still think about you

there are 2 bottles of sleeping pills and my favorite knife and a pack of cigarettes under my bed and i kissed a boy whose name i don’t know last weekend and it felt good

i haven’t cried myself to sleep in three weeks

your hand is too high up on my leg and i want to go home
 Mar 2014 Heaven Dawn
Ivy Rose
Every poem I write is of you.

I write of your chiseled jaw and cheeks.

I write of your collarbones, from whose depth I could drink wine.

I write of the bed of stars you laid me down upon.

I write of your golden skin under the soft white sunlight.

I write of your eyes which remind me of the moon.

I write of your spine which resembles the solar system.

I write of my love and of my man, whose entire soul resembles the composition of the universe.

And I can only hope I am a galaxy within it..

(i. r)
like thighs

                   (shes got 'em)

them thick as ******* thighs
all skin and creamy
and the backs o' her knees taste
so good
                      (like sugar shes got 'em)

and that dark little spider web
o' ink shes got coming up her
shoulders out over her clavicles
shes got her neat little muscles
under it all bunching and loosing
muscles when she's (head down
biting 300 thread count) her hands
don't lie gripping and grabbing
snaring sheets and,
  

                                          ,
                   ­                                                              ,
There are fingers tangled in my hair, pulling, grasping.
I breathe, the fingers have moved to my throat, pressing.
Skin on skin; heavy, weighted breaths.
You are the map and the territory.
I feel you under my fingertips, warm and radiating.
A stolen kiss, a pinch of teeth.
I have been here before,
But this is unfamiliar.
I have done this countless times,
but I have never felt so close.
1.
you will never know
how close i came
to loving you again
When a boy who leaves goosebumps on every inch of your skin tries to play you his favorite song, don't let him. He'll get stuck in your head and under your fingertips and when he leaves, you won't be able to it without feeling like you're choking.
2. Don't let him touch you all over no matter how much you want to feel him against you. Leave a few spots untouched so that when you're sleeping alone again, at least your left wrist and an inch of your right hip won't sting with the remaining burn of his mouth.
3. Don't let him break your ribs.
4. Don't watch the sunset with him. He'll poison it. You won't be able to look at the sky without swallowing a mouthful of him.
5. Don't mistake wasps for butterflies. Sometimes when you feel your stomach flutter and your hands start to shake, it's pain. Not love.
6. Just because he tells you he loves you doesn't mean he's going to stay, baby.
7. It's okay to delete his number after he kisses the pretty girl he met when he was drunk. It's okay to leave when he hurts you. You don't have to keep falling for him.
8. When he tells you that you're beautiful, try to remember that you were beautiful before him, too.
9. Just because he reads and smokes cigarettes and talks about stars doesn't mean he's your soulmate.
10. After you kiss him, remember to wash your mouth out right away so he doesn't burn into your tongue.
11. He'll kiss you in the rain and take you to little coffee shops He'll brush your hair out of your eyes and kiss your nose. He'll grab your waist and whisper in your ear but six months later you'll find yourself drunk texting him that you miss him, and he won't respond.
12. Your heart is going to break a million times. It's going to feel like the world is falling apart around you. Your lungs will stop working some nights. You find yourself grabbing at your bones trying to hold yourself together. You're going to feel like you're dying. It's going to be okay. You'll find someone else to kiss you goodnight.
i am seven and in your living room
with antiques & photographs
of family that are more like strangers
and handshakes at christmas
there is a jar of circus peanuts by the armchair
and i remember being told that these are here because they are never out of stock
and that they are the only things
children will not want to take from me

i still do not like the color orange.
i am eight and round the bannister
to an upstairs that reminds me
of heaven in that
place i can't go sort of way & i am
knuckle deep in your pumpkin pie
wiping it on my uncles suede jacket
our hands still shake but the jury is still out
on if he looks at me and napkins the same
i hope you do not sleep
with my apologies under your fingernails
i will not say them out loud
i know i should have mowed your lawn
i should have been a home
for second hand smoke
if i could go back i would be your ashtray
i remember the day you forgot who i was
i bound into the room and throw my arms
around you like an armistice
and you ask who i am
we are not in church
but everyone stops singing
i am passed from child to child
while we all laugh
but my lungs feel like
they've been mugged in an ally
who's son does he look like, mom?
my father says like gospel
you pull on your cigarette
sip from your watered down wine and shrug
and i am neck deep in forgetfulness
i imagine alzheimer's
as being born again every day
so, we will spend ages
looking at captions to photographs
telling your stories to strangers
as my father begins to forget
and when i imagine probate
an unfamiliar hand unfolding a will
to be read to wayward angels
i want to burn down the house
and sleep in the ashes
Her sculptured body
Strong thighs
Under a canopy
of Branches
She's comes alive

With her Ballerina pose
She Reaches out
For the night sky
While she dances
In union
with the breeze

The beautiful Ballerina tree.
Don't know how many of you have seen the ballerina tree or dancing tree, as she's known by both.  So beautiful I wrote her a poem.
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