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 Jul 2014 Julia Elise
Tess
With my words I do not paint; instead
I beat them into what I wish to see.
A cudgel has not the elegance to make,
And I am executioner of my heart.
It's on the t-t-t-tip of my tongue
Crude instrument of communication
But slaver to which my life comes from.
You owe me this to end my frustration;
You owe me this to let me paint my scene,
To glorify the beauty and the heart
Without the violence at my core of being.
But not today - I do not make my art.

My love, I tried to write a poem for you-
Incomprehensible, my words fell through.
I should waste more time revising. I feel as though it may benefit me; may I extrapolate the fact I stated waste more time, not spend. I could use that time practicing songs on my bass or beating Mario’s *** on the GameCube. I feel mediocre but that’s okay because I AM mediocre; and a sell-out. I should make that point clear. I smoke; not like a chimney, it depends on if I feel like combusting into a cloud of tobacco ash. I would happily crementate my being. I would happily get hit by a car and become the road ****. I would happily fall from a concrete building into a six foot deep cavern. Passive suicidal thoughts at eight in the mourning; just like coffee but it doesn’t make you need to ****. Just those bitter moments you need to get your day started on the wrong side of the bed.
Excuse my spellings of combusting and crementate...both mean to burn in some way or another... This was the only time i stressed about exams and i never really stresses. im glad its over. i do smoke a lot more now.
Dear Talia,


My mattress is tattooed with your scent.

You held me as I slept.

You kissed my forehead and told me you love me.

You whispered three syllables into my mouth. You create waves in me that wash away cigarette burns. I would hold you tight in the unforgiving night.

I want to drink cheap coffee with you as you smile between each sip and as I master the art of looking at your smile. I want to make love with you like it's going out of style and until our lungs are burning like California wildfire.

I want to evaporate into your breath.

We were side by side in a bed made for us, and I fell asleep in your arms, listening to the calm of your breathing and the frantic beat of your heart.

Your fingers weaved through my hair, and I counted heartbeats, hoping never to stop.

My brain is soup and my hands are worn down from hours of typing your name. Talia. Talia. Talia Betourney.

I want to rock in and out of your body, as you kiss my lips with precise lightning strikes. After you shock me, time and time again, I want to wonder if the lightning misses the sky.

I am flustered and as I type this, I lose control of my thoughts as I become swept into your green-eyed, dark haired heaven. I cannot dream a better dream than your reality. I want to kiss you for every gasp I've never been around for and for every moment of pain. I am not here to save you, though: I am here just to love you.

Your hands swallowed mine, as I was closest to your body. My eyes drank the darkness, and my mind escaped.

In my sleep, you told me you love me. When I woke up, you told that panther something and I wanted to know what his ears heard that mine didn't.

You wouldn't say, and your hands grew slight tremors, the same way farmers grow slight weeds.

We started to kiss like our lips were the antidote. You whispered into my mouth. I asked what you said, being able to make most of it out.

You said, "Nothing." But, baby, that wasn't nothing. That was everything.

After a few minutes, I told you that I made out most of it and that it was okay.

You turned to your side, and your hands shook. I love you so much. I love you. I love you. I love you. Turn back to me. Look at me. Hey.

"It's okay. It's okay, and it's going to be okay, because I love you, too," I said to you, as I looked into your eyes, seeing myself.

You smiled.

We kissed like famine was non-existent, and like the apocalypse was imminent. End my world with every kiss, revive me with every flick of the tongue. Wash me with lava, and give me acid to drink; nothing could **** me in that moment, except the batting of your eye lashes.


I wrote you this poem and it *****, but it spilled out of my fingers after you left:

In a far and distant galaxy, there is a father for you, and a father for me       
And a silver car for you and I; driving underneath the alone-grey sky.
And a blue soul that learns to be happy.
And our blood will dye the Dead Sea.
And underneath a together-old tree, our young love will try.

And while our muscles are far from weak,
we will kiss until our mouths are dry.
We will kiss for an entire week. We will kiss until we forget how to cry.

Our brains will tell us we’re irresponsible.
Our hands will shake from all the trust.
You chew on my lip like I’m impossible.
You’ll ******* blood; I taste like rust.


How you could be afraid of my not loving you escapes me.

Don't you know why my heart beats so fast?

Today was the first day we said that we love each other. I hope it isn't the last, because I love you very much, and I don't think my mouth can go a day without knowing those words.


Yours,

Josh
 Jul 2014 Julia Elise
nivek
going round in circles
you are more in-tune with the Universe
than you give yourself credit for
She said people were seasons,
and when I first met her, I couldn't agree more.  
After getting to know her, I wished that I didn't.
Her ex-lovers were Winter, and her eyes were a shade of Spring.
I could see the vulnerability of a car crash
swimming in each fountain trapped behind her emeralds.
She was beautiful in the way that could cause suicides,
and fix spider-webbed windshields after each collision of,
“Are you okay,” and, “I’m fine; I promise.”

Every story was Winter, and she was always left alone in the snow.
Mauve lips mouthed words that silently whispered,
"When is this too much? When are you going to leave?"

People are patterns,
and all she knew was the tessellation of temporary love and permanent loss.
Her hands trembled as she looked down.
She was in transit; moving after each hope of home fell apart.
And I wanted to kiss her like the world was falling apart.
 Jun 2014 Julia Elise
Allison
The way he exhaled as if it were his last
He held it between his *******,
as if it were the last flower he'd ever pick.
I only liked him for the way he smoked his cigarettes.

The way he swallowed as if it were his medicine
He carried it around as if it were his child,
and I admired it.
I only liked him for the way he drank his whiskey.

He said it like it was his vows
He made every promise like he'd never made one before
I loved everything that came out
I only liked him for the way he said "love".

I look back upon these reasons
I realize these aren't ways to love someone
But you left me with bullets in my head.
I do not love you, I do not love you.
"Quit while you're ahead"
words I should've listened to,
I didn't know they applied to me
I didn't know they were about
my love
my life
my constant.

I didn't crash and burn
I had a slow,
ungraceful decent-
clambering for stranger's likes and comments-
for their approval of what should be
my deepest, most personal thoughts
mattering only to me
but instead plagued with the single thought
"I hope this trends I hope this trends"

If I had quit long ago
they would have asked
"whatever happened to the girl
who wrote good poetry?"
but they won't ask now.
they won't notice.

I poured black oil
over my previous work
and in a shocked attempt to clean it up
I only smear it further.

"quit while you're ahead"
I've lost my chance,
now I can only leave in shame.
and I'm sorry for that.
It's been obvious to all except me that for awhile now, my rising inability to cope with the world around me has destroyed my work.
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