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Oct 2015 · 578
Gods And Monsters
Marie Christine Oct 2015
The skin bursts juicy and fragrant around the tender white fruit inside
filling my mouth and my head with a delicious knowledge and sense of ripening power
i can feel the beat beat beat of my white heart darkening to red then to black the beat beat beat that takes me from ignorance to enlightenment
the delight of the fruit and its incredible taste not comparing to the joy of the sin the rebellion filling my heart quickly turning from ignorance to utter bliss
Punishment we can never overcome, upon us and all my descendants, a secret pleasure of disobedience becoming rooted in our mouths, brains, hearts for all eternity
in this land of gods I have created a monster, the world of angels and unnamed animals a place of serpents, sagacious humanity, and beautifully intermingled immorality

Sin, shaping itself smoothly around the core i hold in my *******, has made me wise and in my own eyes I am the Gods and Monsters in this Eden made of blindness and willful naivety
Oct 2015 · 837
Mother Dear
Marie Christine Oct 2015
Mother Dear,
I love you with a love that is uncertain, tentative, conditional as the sun in the sky
You broke my heart years ago.
you took my life, the one I wanted and ripped it up
you claimed I never loved anything that I did,  and never wanted to be with/see/love any of it, all of it again you claimed I asked you to do that

As if I didn't know my own head and my own words
You took away the horses that ran as fast as my thoughts, the books that reminded me that I wasn't truly alone, removed me from the friends like mirrors of my heart
and for the first time...I knew what it felt like to love nothing and be loved by no one.

I wrote I hated you, I starved myself to feel like you didn't own me and you took that from me too...taking away my journals, forcing me to eat when I would rather have allowed the bones to jut from my body in subtle defiance
You couldn't take the novels I wrote in my mind or the memories of those days, pieces of words and conversations forever circling back to haunt me like the ghosts that make you who you are

You made me a shell, a blank, southern, suburban wife in the making someone who disgusts me...but you are my mother and I can't hate you

I have to love you- even when the feeling is fleeting and I question it.

Your hair curls like mine you say and I can only imagine yours curling from the heated vapors frying in your brain all empty the way you want it
"Ignorance and bliss" you say and that is why you live in your tiny bowl of stupidity and joy- a hopeless optimism that angers me more than anything else.


I want to despise you sometimes and others I want to be your best friend
You have hurt me in ways that nothing else could ever compare to
but without you and your dedication of 87 days to a hospital bed, I would not be here at all
I do not know if I can handle looking at your eyes with my own or holding a hug for more than a moment but i know i always try
I must always try.

Moments pass with us in tune and as friends or even better a mother-and-daughter
not at war but at peace and it is nice
And then you say, your hair is too long, your shoulders or slumped or you need to lose weight and the feeling spirals and fragments like a million little snowflakes

no one feeling the same but all of them razor sharp
cutting me in jagged pieces of who I was and reshaping me into a girl, young and frightened, a girl who I do not recognize. A girl who I do not want to be

the pieces of your cold words bury themselves under my skin and
they rattle around in my mind long after they melt against the warmth of my anger
Oct 2015 · 928
Lot #47
Marie Christine Oct 2015
A million leaves rotate in a slow spiral to the ground already littered with the colors of autumn
the creek, frigid even in summer, flows as quickly, quietly as possible down to a creek larger in size, to a river, to the ocean eventually taking every laugh and tear with it
every summer from since ages before I was born i have been there generations laughed and cried and fell in love upon that creek, next to the campsite
Lot 47 was just a lot, it was wider, had bigger trees but it is just a site
a site where my grandparents loved each other more than life itself, where my dad laughed harder than he ever did at home, where mom learned to cook, where i got the scar on my ankle, where our names are illegally carved in the trees

where i learned to build a fire, hiked for miles, saw baby elk up close, fawns and bears.
Smokemont is just a place, a place of happiness and love and nostalgia of family and friends and a sense of forever
it is a place i will never go again but whenever i close my eyes and reach for peace it is the place i end up
with the smell of nanny's chili at dusk and coffee early in the cold humid mornings where mist rises off the creek like a magical fog seducing us in solitude and a quiet joy. The marshmallows roasted to a golden-y perfection every single night with Poppy telling stories and nanny squeezing into my chair wearing a navy blue hoodie and telling me to put on something warmer

Where i sit and read harry potter for hours, where we are all one again and when i open my eyes...poppy has sold the camper, nanny is buried with river rocks from lot 47, and we swear we won't go back without her
Sep 2015 · 1.5k
Italia
Marie Christine Sep 2015
In my homeland I would sit and drink wine
I would look out over the coast, drink espresso in cafes, walk in mircowedges over cobblestone streets in tight brown pants and beautiful coats.
I would cook and bake and love and read and write, i would kiss my Nonna's cheek and speak with my hands.
But...
This is not my homeland and I do not drink wine
I drink beer from a keg, starbucks with pumpkin, and the coffee here is drunk sitting down.
I don't look over a coast but a concrete jungle of noise and smells that aren't fragrant or delicious
there is no kitchen for me to cook in my dorm and i wear nike shorts and bean boots and i feel this life is not a grand one

My homeland is not this place and indeed, nothing like this place and for that, i am grateful
Sep 2015 · 840
Untitled
Marie Christine Sep 2015
I live in feeble attempts to make my life matter,
Every moment my wings beat against broken glass to escape
but i cannot.
Searching for a way to get out to be free to live a life of more than entrapment in a zoo of madness
My life is not lived it is recorded, chewed up, spat out, cooked, served
It's encaged by everything i could've/ should've done
my life is not lived it is not anything but...but, it matters
Sep 2015 · 967
Bright Screen
Marie Christine Sep 2015
In the darkness on the edge of my bed
your name lights up my phone

Eight months later and I still can't breathe when i see it
I want this to be us starting over

but it is just a text and you hurt me before,
in the darkness your name lights but my face
my heart, everything again

8 months of getting over you is gone
your name lit up my phone and i am yours again...
before i even open the message
Apr 2015 · 936
Drowning
Marie Christine Apr 2015
The water is deep and you are gone.
again. I should be used to it. I miss you most when it rains. The petrichor drowns your scent/laugh/touch/voice- the waves of missing you crush me with their weight. Sometimes, i drown. More often, i swim. rarely, i float.

"Sea to shining sea", I you, we are lonely. Never alone, they say we say, but always alone. cold nights and endless mornings. Sometimes, on calmer days i look back .
To when you were here. When we were we. I love you. To the depth of your ocean. with the weight of your ship. To wherever you are and back again. but.

You are not here. You are gone and the dark water rises to cover my mouth so you can't hear my scream. a small mercy.
The sun rises in the morning- it makes me cry.

Our stars- the same where you are as i am in our white house on our porch with my flag- are gone. It's harder to imagine you here. the sun is too bright to lend me your warmth.  And you are gone.

I eat lunch, see friends, miss you. Our house feels like my house. But a picture reminds me. It is shared by two. Sometimes.

sometimes  i can close my eyes
         and picture you here; sometimes i think of you and smile. Mostly, i wait for you. wonder about you. Rarely do i go a day without missing you, never do i go a second without thinking of you.
    
You come back to me like the waves. But you are not- The Same. I worry until you leave again. Then constantly, i worry still.

But this time when the rain falls, you drown. I don't. yet.
The waves proved too much and they knock "rap, rap,rap" on my tiny red door in the middle of the blackest night
they are sorry, they say.
so am I, I cry until i flood the earth, fills their oceans, drown my pain and their pathetic remorse, the flag they give me is soaked but it helps me stay afloat

This little white house is mine, not ours, and i can no longer swim.
Apr 2015 · 705
Thoughts
Marie Christine Apr 2015
You are my favorite thought
the one i search for when my mind looks for peace
who i imagine when i am sad/lonely/angry
you bring me peace/company/joy
and i love you
my other thoughts are not like you they are darker/political/ambitious
but you, you are calming and i can't not think of you
Apr 2015 · 756
Untitled
Marie Christine Apr 2015
We are too happy. we were- must have been.
You are not here.You are far away and i lie alone. I wake alone.

Your letters, all i have of you- fill me with love/longing/fear. I worry for you and things you have seen. Places i won't go.

everything you don't/ can't tell me screams wordlessly in my brain. It's too loud for me to sleep. To quiet to stay awake.

i tell you only lies. pretty ones. "I love you (I do), i miss you, you'll be home soon" i want to say-
I am not okay. I miss you so much it is like the knives we got for a wedding gift, the ones you've barely used, are sticking cold and steely in my heart and i am dying,  you won't be home soon you never are. But i wish you were- i love you- i write to you- i'll wait for you.
Apr 2015 · 1.0k
sea
Marie Christine Apr 2015
sea
I kiss you. Goodbye. I wait under you- watch until the plane
goes up. above my by miles, away from me my countries.

The gravel road of our driveway is cool and firm
the sand of the desert is hot and shifting and you are gone

You promise to be home soon- we both know you won't but pretend to believe this is a promise you can keep

you will not be home soon, if you come home at all
I miss you i wait for you i want you here
but you don't come, you can't
The love of my life is in the Navy
Apr 2014 · 1.6k
Hate/Like/Love
Marie Christine Apr 2014
I like being alone
I hate being lonely

I like being quiet
I hate to not be heard

I like being a wallflower
I hate not being seen

I like being alive
But god, oh god
I hate this life
My thoughts. Opinions would be great! Editing suggestions are welcomed too!
Apr 2014 · 21.9k
Phone
Marie Christine Apr 2014
I wake up
Check my phone
There are no texts/calls/notifications

My sister wakes up
Checks her phone
She has to scroll down to see
All her messages

It is lunch break
I check my phone
There are no texts/calls/notifications

Sometimes my phone
Made for social acceptance
And interaction
Makes me more lonely
And it shows me that I am alone

I go to bed
I check my phone
I am alone
Apr 2014 · 440
11:11
Marie Christine Apr 2014
I wish that
I could see myself
Through your eyes
A reflection they should be
My mirror to your
Soul
But then I think
That I probably
Don't want to know
What you think of someone
Like me
Apr 2014 · 5.4k
4 am
Marie Christine Apr 2014
4 am is not for the happy
It is not for the fulfilled
It is not for couples sleeping soundly in each others arms
4am is for the lonely, awake in emptiness and the feeling of never being good enough
It is for the desire to be perfect
And to love and be loved in return
4am is for the poets spilling out their blood and thoughts on paper
Giving life to the words they did not have the courage to speak
4am is for the brokenhearted who spill tears that come to no end, a waste
And are wasted on missing someone who doesn't miss them
4am is for those with a smile on their faces but sadness in their eyes and hearts when they are cut their demons bleed out
4am is not for the happy or fulfilled or the couples sleeping soundly in each others arms
4am is for people like me.
Apr 2014 · 291
Untitled
Marie Christine Apr 2014
I love him
I know I do
He doesn't love me
He doesn't know me
I want him to
I want to open up to him
To bloom for him like a rose
But he doesn't see me
He looks at me no
He looks through me like
I am glass
For a moment though
I swear he sees me wants me needs me
He reaches out to touch me
I hold my breathe
He stops he shakes his head
I am gone I was a mirage
I am not real to him
I love him
I want his love
I cannot have it
He doesn't see/want/need/love me
Please.
I beg silently.
Give me a chance.
To love you. To be loved by you.
He doesn't hear. He doesnt see.
I am not real. I love him.
I fancy this guy that made me believe he cared for me. He didn't. I found out today. I'm alone. So so alone.
Apr 2014 · 526
Untitled
Marie Christine Apr 2014
The rain would be more wet
If it was like my tears

The ocean would be more chaotic
If it was like my soul

Anaesthesia would be more numb
If it was like my heart

camera negatives would be more blurry
If they were like my thoughts

The icebergs would be colder
If they were like my feelings

Torture would be more painful
If it was how I live
How I feel today
Apr 2014 · 628
time
Marie Christine Apr 2014
time
fast/slow
calm/hectic
quiet/loud
I realize it is leaving
I chase it
it escapes
I run
I fall
it doesn't stop
for me to get up
it runs faster/faster/faster
I can't catch up
I lose time
I run out of

time
Apr 2014 · 611
nightime
Marie Christine Apr 2014
sometimes
nightmares don't
end when
we open
our eyes
they only
become real
Apr 2014 · 681
words.
Marie Christine Apr 2014
I wanted to write/type/say
exactly how/what/why
I felt
but somehow
the paper/screen/air/mouth
stayed pure and empty
somehow it could not
have described it
any better
how I feel right now. inspired by today and all its events
Apr 2014 · 9.7k
beach day
Marie Christine Apr 2014
ah.
the smell of it
of salt and sand
there is no
elixir on this
good/tragic /blessed
earth like it
Apr 2014 · 560
Poets
Marie Christine Apr 2014
I want to know you moved and breathed the same world as me.
says Fitzgerald
but everyone disappears, no matter who loves them
says eggers
let us forget, with generosity, those who cannot love us
says Neruda
they say. they say. they say.
they speak.
and they change me.
poets poetry power change
Apr 2014 · 818
too small.
Marie Christine Apr 2014
this town will
always be too small
too tight too cramped
for all the dreams held
inside my head

im sorry
but I cannot stay

— The End —