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I need to fill up my eyes with your smile
I need to take this cold skin I am wearing and turn it
into something you would wanna touch one day.

I'm holding to your memory
Like an old lady holding to a bag where she keeps the scraps
of a lonesome life—
A photograph, a book and some keys not opening any door.
Not anymore.

I remember the talks we used to have late at night
When you were asking me
Who or what I am
And I've never been able to give you an answear you'd like.
Never found it.

And now you don't ask me anymore
And it's late for anything I say
and the spring is showing her beauty in the air
while I am sitting here with my heart sinking in solitude.
And the wind is blowing, is bringing sadness in these  eyes of mine
while the blossoms are flying up to the sky.

And for the first time in my life I have an answer:

I am the girl with blossoms in her hair
and winter in the eyes

who loves you.
So that I can purge
these feelings inside of me
The feelings and urges
Of recent heart cracks
That make me
Want to hurt you
The solution it seems
Unsurprisingly to me
Is to
Write
More
Words

I don't need to talk.
Talking is circles
And friends agreeing
With every view I see
Even though my view
Has been skewed
By you.
It's no secret
I'm no fool
So why do they do it?

If I could just
Gather these feelings
On to a page
Surely my rage
Will subside
And then
Like a full body sigh
Things will-
...feel lighter
And you will be
More memory
Than constant reminder

So here I am
Madly scribbling
All this time later
These words
Which allegedly
Will release me
From all the
Convictions of you

But
I write with a pencil
Just in case
The seasons change and
I should ever want to erase
These documented tears
And instead
Pick up the phone
And talk circles
With a friend
Or even
talk circles
With you.
I never liked poetry
until I wrote it.

I couldn't understand
why stanza's split up
into three or four or 12
lines.

Why a poet
writes rhymes of sadness as if
it's a better way to show it

I hated that everyone
thought they had the answers
to leading a better life
because they were the ones
who took the road
not taken.

But then, one day
I pressed a
pen to paper

And the words that
were once kept inside
flowed out like those rivers
that the poets kept talking about.

And the stanzas
separated themselves
into groups at parties
that all mingled together

while also standing alone.

My words became physical,
The tears I couldn't press
out of my eyes
were pressed on paper.

And the poem became
a song
and the song became
a new life form

And everyday I look
at what I have created
and

Smile.
I tried memorizing your every feature.
I tried loving you to bits.

But let me ask you this:
*Have you ever tried to love me?
 Apr 2017 trixia ella marie
oni
the thing about fires
is that sometimes
you just have to watch them
burn
 Mar 2017 trixia ella marie
Jay
I cradled myself in thoughts of you to keep me safe.
Now I lay cradled in the arms of another empty night.
Reveling in your silence.
Wrapped up in abandoned promises.
Lost in your words.
I love how close you are to the distance.
As if I could slip away
and fall between the cracks of the mattress and bed frame,
only to be turned over and over again in the ripples of the sheets-
pushed away by your tireless storm.
I cling to the reminence of what used to be a sturdy ship.
Now just a board of something that once was.
A distant memory.
A hope
that maybe these broken pieces can bring me to your shore.
I probably won't drown.
To miss someone
That's not even yours
Hurts more
Then words could explain
I feel so alone when we don't talk. And so alive when we do. I just wish that you were mine. And I could be with you
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