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  Jul 2020 Joyce
lavender has always been just that - lavender.


I met her.

lavender is stealing is kisses in the kitchen,
nosey neighbours peering over,
two souls, simply smitten.
lavender is sneaking glances across the crowd,
spotting her smile - seventh heaven, standing on a cloud.
lavender is nerves getting the best of you,
but feelings you’re willing to push through.
lavender is being shy,
‘stay a while longer, don’t say bye’.
lavender is laughing out of your stomach,
wanting to show her off in public.
lavender is melting with each message,
slipping away from the world for just a few seconds.
lavender is a racing heartbeat when she lays on your chest,
then contentment, as your jumping heart takes a rest.
lavender is forever looking at her lips,
mind filled with thoughts about dancing with her, hands around her hips.

I met her.


lavender is accepted in every garden,
I will keep my lavender hidden.

lavender will always be just that - lavender.
I recently came out. I met an amazing girl. My life will be forever changed.
Joyce Sep 2017
if you're not sorry, i'm not sorry.
let's get drunk. let's get ****** up. let's forget each other's names and call each other charles and maude for no good reason.
let's go swimming in the river and freeze our ***** off.

this world, this world, this world. it's too big for us and we love disappearing in it.
if you're not sorry, i'm not sorry.
we'll write a song and these will be the only words.
we'll sing it sweet and out of tune around a campfire and watch our friends kiss the wrong people.

i wanna die smiling. i don't care when. i just wanna.
promise me you won't be around when i get boring.
promise me we won't even talk about it when the time comes for us to leave each other.
one of us will wake up and we'll just feel it. we'll just know.

that's how i want this to go.
a song with only a chorus. no bridge, no fade out, just a steady tune that doesn't get tired.

keep driving.
i wanna know what the air smells like in nevada. i wanna see it all.
if you're not sorry, i'm not sorry.
let's stop talking. keep this song on, it's my favorite.
Joyce Apr 2016
i will wrap my hands around each of my organs and rip them out one by one. i will call it poetry and make you watch. i will blame you for the mess. when it rains, i will take you out to taste the thunder with me. we will dance until lightning strikes the ground around our feet. we won't stop until the flames kiss our skin. when you complain about the way your toes burn, i will convince you that this is called love, and you will whisper an apology into my lips. i will be thinking of metaphors when you touch me. and when the winds become too strong, when it is all screaming chimes and unhinged doors, i won't stay to clean up the mess. i will pack my things while you beg me not to go. all of my poems have sharp teeth and they are a warning that i do not do anything in a whisper. no. i am the type of person who comes in with a first aid kit. just in case you hurt yourself while loving me. just in case it almost kills you.
i don't know what this is. but it's something
Joyce Oct 2015
You were always too good to me. I was a hurricane, a nasty one too. I ripped your heart of its roots and flooded your soul with my absence; a tornado of emotions that destructed everything in my path and flash floods were always spilling down my cheeks. You kissed me everyday and told me you would never leave. Remember that one time you sat up with me on my bed all night and rubbed my back just because I was sad? I remember. Remember that one time you woke me up because you had made the perfect cup of tea and you thought I would like it? I remember. It's all the small, little memories that are my favorite. And even though we have both grown so different (i grew my hair out and you cut all of yours off) I still love you. I love you I love you I love you. I miss you, too. But I know you are busy and having a good time with your new friends so I'll leave you alone and take another drink of this whiskey that tastes like you.
Joyce Jul 2015
sometimes i put on red lipstick
and go nowhere
sometimes i wish you were here
take me out and paint the town
the color of my heart
did you know i've always
loved the way you say hello
these are things you should know about the two of us
sometimes i think
there must be a couple dancing
in a little snowglobe somewhere
and i bet they look just like we do on these nights
three am and nothing to do
break out your dancing shoes
i've heard there's a hell of a party somewhere
and it starts after we get there
Joyce Jun 2015
In my dream, we were ghosts together. Not really sure how we found each other, not really sure how long we'd been floating past streetlights and bus stop benches, not really sure how we got this way. We didn't talk about things that happened in the past, or how everything around us was changing faster than we could hold on to them, how their shapes shifted before we could get a good grip. I cried on your shoulder when you finally said "Baby, I think we're dead." We both already knew but we weren't ready to admit it. I guess we were just stalling, wrapping time around our necks as if the seconds would choke us back to life, but it was not the noose we were looking for. You said "At least we have each other." So we forgot our names and emptied our organs to fill them with forever. After that, time was water slipping through our fingers, time tangled knots in our hair. We traced love letters in the sky with time and watched them dissipate to nothingness, into thin air. It was all we could do to hold on to each other. And we still fought. Eternity was a rushing river we waded through waist-deep, pulling us apart and back together again, our limbs weaving, interlocking, before we broke off and swam in opposite directions. You were the first hopeless thing I wanted to believe in. You stepped inside me and held my lungs so I could laugh again, you called it home. When I missed things like coffee or rain, you sang until I couldn't remember ever being alive, and we were happy again. When I woke up, I felt older. It smelled like something had died in my bed and I realized that I am forgetting what it's like to be alive. I'm afraid we're becoming ghosts. But not like we were in my dream. I wanted to die with you, but not like this. I'm not happy anymore and I don't think you are either, maybe this thing's not working out. Maybe this is as far as it gets for you and me. Maybe time has been writing us love letters back all along, but we don't look up at the sky anymore. We don't step in puddles of rainwater, we don't know how to swim anymore.
A really emotional prose piece. Missing a certain somebody. 6/4/15
  May 2015 Joyce
twelve caesuras
because i eat my words like a hearty meal
and ***** them out when no one is watching
i cut myself open because i want someone to
sew me back together, i don't care how haphazard the
stitching is as long as they make me alright

because i listen to the analog clock tick away the seconds
of my life, it kills me, you **** me, i **** me, for i am analogous to
wasted times and wasted lives, and potential being wasted on
the easier things, and being wasted

because i can't tell if the scratches on the wall are mine or
the demons trying to break through, burn themselves into
my skin, though they might have been there for a long time
i tried to get better, but better doesn't come for some

because the sweet-tasting wind blows and flowers grow on others but
tornadoes twist and i stay alone, a decomposing forest i call home
slivers of a silver soul, drowned and drowning gold in chrome

because i unravel like the strings
that hold together all of my things
i want someone to sew me back together, i
don't care how haphazard the
stitching is as long as
make me alright
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