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 May 2014 Julie Butler
xoK
Sitting here
Waiting, wishing, wanting,
I can't even focus.
The distraction of you pervades my mind's eye.
Write it down, the eye tells me
As if it were the messenger perched upon my shoulder.
Each breath that crawls in and out of my lungs feels heavy;
Saturated with wishful thoughts and flickering candle light
Like shards of glass
Shining and reflecting the unseen.
The wind blows cold here.
Can you feel it too?
When I was young, the teachers said I had a vivid imagination.
They deemed me "creative"
Because I liked to play pretend.
That 8-letter C word hasn't left me since.
I still like to play pretend, so
Let's make believe we can touch.
Put that scene on repeat please.
Ever since I was young I've had this vivid imagination.
The night I cried a monsoon for lack of you,
Somewhere between each breath lost
I found a realization of epic proportions.
I sat with myself in the dim light,
My arms wrapped around me,
White knuckles,
Cradling this vessel that felt hollow as a canoe,
Pretending the arms weren't mine, but yours.
Wanting.
In bed with the blankets tucked around my silhouette
And your thoughts in words cradled in my hands,
I can imagine your front against my back
And your warm breath on my neck.
I can almost feel… a rush of blood to my heart.
Name that song.
Sorry I have to plagiarize that thought but it comes so easily.
A rush of blood straight to the core.
Pumping, pulsing
Sometimes I just sit alone with my heart.
Close my eyes and listen to what it has to say.
It seems to tell me, hey I'm keeping your engine running, but you have to do the rest.
And I say a prayer for that motor inside my chest that keeps everything flowing
But I know that it won't do it all for me.
Isn't it miraculous to be alive?
Earlier today I thought: my God, do I have trust issues.
I'm confused about what's real and about how to believe.
I've been told plenty of things that aren't true
Like how pluto is a planet...
Just kidding it's only a moon.
But who's to say it's only a moon?
My moon is your moon and that seems pretty swell to me.
People say it's a comfort to look up
And know you see the same moon as someone far away.
Maybe I'll take that for truth.
Might as well.
What've I got to lose?
On second thought I might want to avoid that question.
What have I got to lose?
My head, my heart, my sanity...
It's a question for another day.
But for now I'm sitting here
Wishing, waiting, wanting
For my make-believe to get real already
And for all my distraction fantasy to spring to life.
LDR life.
 May 2014 Julie Butler
SG Holter
Few can pronounce it
Unless Scandinavian.
The r's are all rolling,
And the letters all sound...
More or less not as
In English.
Just let it go, it's a 'twister,
I know.

My names are all old-norse,
Not modern Norwegian.
(Viking-speak sounded
More close to Icelandic).
Sverre means "spin like an arrow",
Expression for being untamed; un-
Controllable; wild-man.
G is for Guttorm: "Where Gods
Seek Shelter"; a fortress for those
One thought needed one least.
Holter means "edge of the woods";
The end of the forest (or where it
Begins).

The Wildman Where the
Gods Seek Shelter at the
Edge of the Woods.


My friends call me Sverre.
It is a name I've shared with
Swordbearing kings.
I am equally proud
When addressed.
Medication is our only Sedation
Exchanging sadness for nothing
I'm sorry Therapist, but little Johnny isn't insane
Its a societal disease spreading like a plague
Look into those deep blue eyes
question the emptiness he holds behind the eyelids
was there ever a light for him to see
Or has the light been smothered by
Greed, savagery and propaganda.
Medicate the young
They will see the world as molded for them.
Teach them to step in histories tracks
And I promise you, The world will Rotate.
Gift wrapped,
and colorful we come,
to hide our,
demons,
within,
the ugly truth lies inside,
behind the makeup,
behind the lies,
vanity,
exposed,
used,
unfair,
where oh where to begin?
as hard as plastic,
and as cold as ice,
we the creatures of sin.
For the first time I couldn't see ***** water under our shining city lights.
I kissed you in the site of where I made my first great mistake
and found that nothing ever changes. How did you make me forget
those seven months without you?  

For the first time in a long time, you spoke to me without her
in the back of your throat. You made me seek comfort in the frigid grass
where our friends once stood.

For the first time I wanted to remember you in the dark
formations of frostbite. Your love is the pink, needle stabbed skin of hypothermia and I will never forgive myself for wanting to freeze.

For the first time in a long time, I thought I had truly won
since you showed me the pain of losing. I let you feed me three word lies
in cold smoke and twirl me across the concrete. I let you try
and cushion the blow of broken bones. Failure, I’m sure,
you never saw in splattered marrow.

This was the last time you let me love you and this is all that’s left of it.
I swear this is the last of it.
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