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Feb 25 · 151
lost.
mari Feb 25
me? am i lost?
what are you
talking about.

i have two feet
firmly planted
in the earth.

i know where
my toes dig
best into the soil.

i know how to move
with the winds.

how to flow
like the rivers.

just because i
am a thousand
miles from your
home and heart

does not mean
i am lost

does not mean
i am not content.
Feb 24 · 181
my lover's lover.
mari Feb 24
my lover’s lover is beautiful.
her skin is soft, and clean.
her hair is made of rays of light,
her songs are from the sea.

my lover’s lover is wonderful,
her laugh is bright and clear.
her body dances like fire sparks
he's lost when she is near.

my lover’s lover was there first,
truly, i cannot lie.
though i was his second choice,
somehow i thought he'd try.

my lover loves her more then me,
for my lover has good taste.
i just wish i could've be the one
to maybe take her place.
Nov 2018 · 176
i will.
mari Nov 2018
i want to say so many things
but a kiss from you turns my

tongue to lead and i cannot
dream when you are in my bed

i cannot hear when you are
in my ears and i cannot cry

when you are still in my eyes
i cannot tell you anything, darling

my sweet, my dear, i cannot
give you the words i want to share

cannot give you the love in my bones
for fear that you could not hold it

i will sing in whispered tongues as you
dream; i will mourn you before you leave
Nov 2018 · 1.2k
i am.
mari Nov 2018
i am a sunny sky
when you need an
umbrella and i am
the morning frost
when you pray
for summertime
i am the crashing
waves when you
rest in the meadows
i am the moon
to your meteor shower
and maybe i will know you
one more time
Oct 2018 · 3.0k
hunger.
mari Oct 2018
hunger did nothing for me.
it gave me no new growth,
it did not give me strength
for my bones, it did not fill
me with wonder and longing.

hunger could not stay with me.
it romances with tiny spaces
and the idea of belonging,
but my stomach growls louder
than the wolves outside my bed.

i stretch, i shrink, i swallow;
hunger could not fill me up,
hunger cannot take up space,
hunger cannot hold my body
in my bed at night and tell me

it’s all going to be okay.
i swallow you, hunger,
i cast you out,
hunger gave me nothing
and i loved her as nothing, too.
Sep 2018 · 569
thank you.
mari Sep 2018
thank you for not loving me.
it made me burn myself and
learn that trees can live when

fire has hollowed them out and that
forests regrow after the flames come.
and that sometimes, destruction can

be a darling lover, bringing beauty
back to the forest floor, dappled light
on ferns, and trees reaching to the sky -

thank you for not loving me. it made
me reach my arms up, to see if i
can go anywhere near as high.
Sep 2018 · 643
write me.
mari Sep 2018
i will write you
a love letter,

i  will write you
a breakup text.

i will carve our initials
into the redwood trees

i will burn the forests
to hide your name.

i will paint my body
in your colours and hues;

i will slip away
as you sleep.
Sep 2018 · 584
honey.
mari Sep 2018
you caught me with poems
on my lips like honey

with your hands on my hips
with my hands in your hair

you’re the sweetest thing i’ve tasted
and my favourite thing i’ve lost.
Sep 2018 · 440
friends.
mari Sep 2018
all my friends are flightless,
all my friends are fair-weather.

they can only stay
one season at a time.

they disappear with spring rains
and fall’s abundant colours.

all my friends are broken-hearted,
searching for something in mine.

all my friends live six feet under,
singing their songs from underground.

all my friends are broken-winged thunderbirds,
all my of friends were never found.
Sep 2018 · 212
someday.
mari Sep 2018
i tend to forget that
things will take some time
cycles around the sun
do not happen quickly

yes, the moon may change tides but
she moves slow and deliberately
and i know they say that
rome was not built in one day

but my heart has been
sitting open for so **** long
and i know that it will
someday lead you home

and if not today, well,
we have so much time
i know that you will be
here someday.
Sep 2018 · 135
free.
mari Sep 2018
i am so tired,
i am so grand.

i am so broken,
on earth and on land.

i am so empty,
i am so full.

i am overflowing,
against the ocean’s pull.

i am so fragile,
i am so free.

i am everything
i thought i could be.
Aug 2018 · 900
coffee.
mari Aug 2018
make an effort
my darling
my lover
seize your broken
bone mornings
and burn your lips
with the hot, bitter
taste of me
to wake
you.
Aug 2018 · 394
epilogue.
mari Aug 2018
you’re so good in theory i forget
that this book has been closed before
once, twice; how many epilogues
do you think we’ll be able to write
before we finally run out of words?
Jul 2018 · 1.5k
transform.
mari Jul 2018
today’s word is: transform
nothing is the same and
nothing is different

it moves and grows
and changes and morphs
we are a thousand things

when we wake up in the morning
and shall be a thousand more
before we lay our heads to rest
May 2018 · 17.8k
compared.
mari May 2018
i am so small
compared to the mountains
i am so little
compared to the sea
i am so tiny
in comparison to the islands
and i am so large
compared to what i thought i would be
Mar 2018 · 2.2k
forest fire.
mari Mar 2018
i wish i could
call you
a forest fire,

wish i could
call you a thief
or a liar.

i want to scream
that you were an
avalanche,

that you buried me,
and never gave
me a chance.

i would curse
the mountains
that bore your back.

i would do
anything to
bring you back.
Feb 2018 · 780
explore.
mari Feb 2018
there is so much left to explore.
there are so many maps that you
have not even opened.

so many
roads that you do not
know the names of. do not
know the taste of their asphalt.

so many late night gas stations
open roads truck stops static-y radios.
there are so many miles on my body
your mouth has yet to kiss.

there are so many mountains i know
that your shaky knees shall conquer,
so much music i am waiting to hear
from your lips.

what do you think
of overthrowing the oceans,
what do you think of jawline kisses
and driving past graveyards ghost towns
and where your grandparents used to live.
there is so much left to see.

you have so many lovers that
you have yet to meet their skin.
hold on a little longer, my darling,
we can take our time. we could take
all the time in the world.
we could have had it.
(but, we didn't.)
Feb 2018 · 491
moth mouth.
mari Feb 2018
i do not care;
my mouth
is made of moths.

they have no mouths,
no tongues, no
teeth.

i could not cocoon
my lips
if i tried.

i do not care!

why do they
will me
to speak.

my moth mouth,

moth *****
empty closets
fur coats.

i don’t care.
they cannot eat.

i cannot eat
any more
poetry.

i flutter
around the light, but
i am never
warm.

moth mouth
girl, what
are you doing?

you care. you care.

my mouth,
cocoons.
(trying a different style.)
Feb 2018 · 313
understand.
mari Feb 2018
do not talk to me
as if i do not
understand
how the cycles
of this world work.
how the moon turns
the tides,
how the sequoia
trees grow their roots,
how the honeybees turn
flowers into sweet nectar.

i do not pretend
to be able to see
the fabrics of the universe,
i do not claim
to analyse every
atom in your name
under a microscope.

i am not a child, wondering
how the birds are always
able to find their way south.
how the salmon know
exactly where
they were born,
how the sun moves
across the sky.

would you still love me
if you realized that
my tongue is ringed like
the centre of a tree,
my finger-bones are as
sharp as stalactites,
my mouth is as salty
sweet as the ocean.

do not talk to me like
i do not already know
that you will drift
away, eventually, like
anything i ever let slip
out of my fingers
and drop - plop! -
into the river’s depths.
Jan 2018 · 460
tired.
mari Jan 2018
we’re too tired, but we’re awake anyways --
as if no one will ever see
the sun rise if not us,
as if no one else can feel
the pain we force on aching bones.

as if, we are the only ones
ever to feel this empty.
we pile on excuses
like layers in the winter,
scratch out our dreams
onto scraps of old paper.

we can only scream when
our heads are underwater,
and they wonder why
we haven’t drowned yet.
the truth is, we don’t know.

we kick and scream
at the thought of giving up.
of being alone, of being with
someone, of being alive.
how have we held on so long?

someone must be the one to try
and hold the world up,
somebody must be the one to witness
the pink sky at four in the morning.
and if not us,
           then who?
an old poem from this summer that i still feel in my bones.
Jan 2018 · 777
exist.
mari Jan 2018
there’s not much that we can do
to stop the world from turning.
it goes - spinning, and twisting,
and we try to hold on for dear life.

the children in the playgrounds
point their hands at the sky and cry,
“the moon, the moon! do you see!
she is coming to visit! see, see!”
as she tumbles down towards us.

some days we exist without sunlight
and some days the sky is blue and pink,
and green and gold. when the northern lights
first escaped from our bloodstream,
i thought the world was ending.

when the colours first pooled in the oceans
and in the corners of your eyes,
the painters didn’t know what to do.

when our lungs started to collapse,
when the cars won’t start
and the streets are filled.

there’s junk growing in our rib cages and
we’ve still never fallen in love.
did you hear the poets praying?

did you see what it looked like,
right before we doomed the world to die?
our daughters and sons never forgave us.

the children in the playgrounds
bounce the moon like a basketball
and the sky becomes quiet once more.
where did all the people go?

the streets are empty
and the sky is dark,
and all of the poets
lie awake in the night.
Dec 2017 · 239
wilderness.
mari Dec 2017
my heart is made up of a thousand lakes
scraped into the earth three million years ago

my body was made by glacier movements
and oceans tearing away my topsoil

my heart is tall with jack-pines and spruce
my hair is wild, nested with song birds

my lips painted pink with bright sunsets
and sometimes i am enveloped by this world

and other times it is what makes me
feel as alive as i do right now
Dec 2017 · 237
a question.
mari Dec 2017
step outside, take a breath
of the fresh sea-salt air and
tell me, honestly, do you
believe that true love exists?

just look at this world around you.
your rosy-tinted glass eyes
light up the dark like christmas lights
draped unceremoniously over city trees.

you could wake up every morning
in the mouth of the ocean and you
would still return to me,
dried sand on your skin
and salt on your lips.

i could dedicate my life's ambitions
into studying you, this miracle of nature.
tell me, how can you see this world
as wonderfully and pure as you do?
teach me this magic.

tell me how to let the sea swallow me whole
and the trees to grow their roots around me
and maybe then I can believe
in the same love that you do.
Dec 2017 · 381
patience.
mari Dec 2017
how much longer can we dance
oh so closely
without touching?
this barrier of smoke and air
feels electric, jolting, shocking –
this voltage that i imagine you
carry gently on your lips.
i would bend myself in half
once, twice, three times,
in the hopes it would help you stand.
it’s been so long now of imagining
your hands soft on my face that
you barely need to whisper my name
before
i am finally yours,
i am yours,
i am yours.

— The End —