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m Feb 20
pencil shavings and falling snow,
records on the phonograph
playing songs from a lifetime ago

my body, my heart, is sore
and the melancholy mutations
of my future force me to burrow

deep, deep into the familiarity of
razors and a phone that no longer
rings, because there's no one to call
my phone feels useless now that she's not there to call
m Jan 21
***
the promise of heaven;
a notion I have ignored
until right now--
I'd give my entire life over
to an unknown god
in the hope of a sisterly reunion
eternally in the sky--
maybe i'll become a christian, maybe i'll become an alcoholic
m Nov 2020
the first forces my hand
to these keys, to these cadences,
to the heartbreaking repetition
of melancholy moments--
the comfort I find in you is
intoxicating, illuminating,
my heartstrings are at your will as
the scenes of my life,
carved into old wood from the junction
by the grace of your hands;
precious in execution, precarious in practice,
persecuting my every thought and action;
yet my intention is pure in form:
m Oct 2020
october, my love, your comfort and
courage--your absolute devastation--
my soul lives forever in you--
all the years, the tears, the natural
ebb and flow of hope and heartache--
the bittersweet autumnal hymn of death
of warmth in the sun and cold everywhere else--
infinite dreams, romantic projections of the
necessities of a human heart--
incongruency of aesthetics so beautiful
they have to be true-- dancing through
recalcitrant golden sunbeams
of somewhere, somehow--
m Sep 2020
the better part of last-minute
and i spend it staring at your lips;
the poems spill out of your mouth
and stain my hand-me-down rug;
as if our brokenness is compatible,
my masochism needs company
and you are eager to disappoint.
the tongues and whispers of secrets
in a cyclical nature; i have been here before.
the familiarity the fear the focus:
the fallacy of finding love in an empty heart.
please
m Sep 2020
i think that most of motherhood is the aching for that feeling;
the feeling of putting every single thing you are too small to fear
into a being that is nearly too small to love;
everything that is terrifying, everything that is menacing,
brought to light, literal light,
in your actual arms.

i am young and fertile and stupid I know.
but there's an ache, a breaking
inside of me, that is terrified
repulsed and jealous, at the thought of gaining
the inexplicable peace of the splitting of my soul
into myself and hope.
my heart is breaking all the time I need to stop drinking
m Aug 2020
pgh
a city that sleeps,
that coos, that cries,
that holds me with no rain;
the tiptoe treasures
and my trying-too-hard-to-smile-eyes-
there is always time, always
reflection, always melancholy,
but I'm reminded that nothing
is always. because always always
ends. and everything always
always begins.
i've moved during a pandemic and im sad and scared and incredibly happy and excited
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