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You're eyes look a lot like home
And that feeling swallows me up
And holds me, not tenderly, but with
A scorching intensity
That leaves me freezing with no way to warm my brittle bones
Whenever you blink
And that leaves me with a fatal hypothermia that I'll never recover from
Whenever you leave
 Apr 2014 Justin Phipps
Natasha
I lay
still on my uncovered
mattress, the bottom
sheet has been somehow
lost in the
abyss of my blanketed
hideaway

The tree
branches broken, their
remains still sway
another lonely night
another bitter,
cold day awaits.

Goosebumps scatter
themselves amongst my
arms and I cannot
stop the clattering of
teeth. Programmed,
trained to be sustained throughout
life, I'm a puppeteers
finest masterpiece.

I dream,
I sew clovers together
in hopes to find
dumb luck
But the vines, in disguise
with a mind of their own
grow to imprison me
caged, stuck

*****.
sometimes commitment hinders my spirit
 Apr 2014 Justin Phipps
Natasha
the problem with
being a poet in love,
is that you savour
& trust each word your lover has
without  question.

we are simply in love
with bare literature,
spoken from the lips of someone we hold
in higher regard
than ourselves sometimes.

when you love a poet
each word you utter,
should be a piece of artwork

each sentence,
a highly thought out structure of awe and beauty to leave us seeping
in the warmth of your voice
caressing such fine words

so when deciding that you love someone,
who writes or reads
fill their souls with beauty, memories & truth especially,
for a poet's heart breaks at ease.
thoughts.
When I was a little girl
And my mother still laid out clothes for me
She'd always tell me
"You're the prettiest girl in your class,
But you'd be beautiful if you combed your hair more."

When I was a bit older
And I didn't care much
About what I wore
My mom would always say
"You'd be beautiful if your clothes matched."

When I was 14,
And I skipped breakfast and lunch
And binged at dinner
I lost my appetite
And felt like throwing up
When my mom said
"You'd be beautiful if you didn't eat so much."

I wonder if you saw what I did to myself
If you'd have the nerve to tell me
"You'd be beautiful if only you didn't
Take a razor to your wrist or a finger to your throat."
 Apr 2014 Justin Phipps
Megan
in seventh grade
my hair turned blue.
it was my hairstylist's mistake.
the black mixed with the blond.
but none of that is important.
what is important is
in seventh grade
my hair turned blue
and the words that followed
this statement being made aloud
used to be an embarrassment.
i used to be embarrassed
by what my teacher had told me
when really i should have listened.
when he overheard
and saw blue hair.
he told me something:
that i am a strong,
independent woman.
and that no matter
what life throws at me
whether it be blue hair,
or green hair,
or anything else.
i can hold my chin up.
i should have been
anything but embarrassed.
because that set of words
that mini speech in front of my peers,
has to be one of the most important parts
of my middle school years.
He tells me that
My body is a map
And he wants to explore
He tells me I am a lost continent
That is more beautiful than
The rest of the world's wonders
But he doesn't see it all
Not the scars littering
My legs and sides
Or the uneven grotesque lines
On my thighs. They plague me.
He doesn't see all of me
And I wouldn't have it
Any other way.
If he sees me and all my worst flaws
He's gonna leave
They always leave.
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