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Today my eyes are sore,
swollen with the promise of tears if anyone gets too close.

And I keep thinking about you,
as the winter sky presses down on me
and I know I’m not okay.

The remittent sadness is back,
proclaiming itself to be the king of my land,
my body,
my mind.
It plants ugly flowers in my rib cage,
watering them with it’s early morning rain.
And I know,
that tomorrow when I wake,
for a split second I will forget this loneliness,
but then I won’t.
And the dread will kick in
kicking my sleep drenched euphoric thoughts into reality.
And then my brain will say,
‘Oh, I woke up alive again’.

But most of all,
my heart will say,
don’t’.

My eyes are sore today,
you know this,
I know this
and I am thinking of you a million miles away
and a bird knocks on my window
and then everything is silent
and that’s when the loneliness gets too close

*and I cry.
You look so handsome in the sweater you’re trying on,
and,
for a moment,
I look at you and smile my great big smile.
(However you become uncomfortable),
and ask me,
“what?”
because you do not understand it. (like he did)

I tell you,
that I am sad,
and what I really mean is
“I’m absolutely falling apart”
and you,
simply ask,
“What’s up?”
as though it is that simple..

Day 7,
of starting university,
I tell you it is hard
and you,
not knowing the depth of my problems,
make a joke about how hard your day off was.

You do not know an inch of me.
You do not know what my heart sings,
or what it longs for.
And if,
I let you in,
You would but look through the window,
and you would ask,
to see no more.
Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.
No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens’ cry.
Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I’ll rush a dagger through,
Though I in hell should rue it!
Hell! What is hell to one like me
Who pleasures never know;
By friends consigned to misery,
By hope deserted too?
To ease me of this power to think,
That through my ***** raves,
I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink,
And wallow in its waves.
Though devils yell, and burning chains
May waken long regret;
Their frightful screams, and piercing pains,
Will help me to forget.
Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night,
To take that fiery berth!
Think not with tales of hell to fright
Me, who am ****’d on earth!
Sweet steel! come forth from our your sheath,
And glist’ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!
I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the ****** dart,
My last—my only friend!
 Oct 2014 Marisa Bordeaux
NDHK
There is this space that exists inside.
In between my ribs and just under my heart.
It's not in a place to constantly remind me of its presence there.
But it does get nudged from time to time.
It holds onto things I've tried to rise above, to let go of...
But never fully doing so.

Things like negativity and doubt and stubbornness...
Like self esteem bruising childhood judgements.
Like bitter regret of missing out on "I love you" before someone dies.
Like ignorant teenage decisions there was no reason to be making.
Like that secret you told and the one you promised to keep.
Like dutifully cleaning up after destruction since it was easier than starting over new.
Like the coltish grace of learning to be a woman without one.
Like leading a child with having no direction of your own.
Like taking that last piece.
Like hoping karma takes over.
Like waiting for a sign before walking away from toxic people.
Like throwing your heart out there with only faith and hope to be its wings.
Like innate fear of being alright with who you truly are.
Like disappointment for taking all these years to figure yourself out.

Those are some things that rattle around on a quiet and calm night.
On a night that finally arrives after strenuous days bleeding together...
They ghost in and remind you they're still there.
It used to terrorize the still moments when that happened.
No control over the flood of images and empathy associated with each and every reminder.  
I thought it was in times like that, when drowning with the sorrows of yesterday was just as easy as an exhale.

But I was wrong...
I was mislead in my own thoughts.
Because when I was tapped on the shoulder by history.
It wasn't trying to hold me back.
It wasn't intending to maim my conscious.
I believe in fact, it just simply wanted to show progress.
To show the "then", compared to the "now"
How every piece of who I am today was shaped and structured in part, to everything I haven't let go of yet.
How do you know when your soul is weaker than strong but mighty enough to fight?

In being made to contemplate all the wonderful and fulfilling things and parts of who we are,
We also have to give credit to the dark pieces
The events and people that have burdened and burnt but never destroyed.
Like any balance in life we acknowledge both light and shadow.
Appreciation of the good in our lives is more fluid when we have proof of the struggles we've overcome.

Be it years ago or hours,
Seeing how far you've come from that which had held you under or has trampled your spirit.
It helps enlighten bit by bit.
And a step at a time is how we all move forward into who we're meant to be.

So i think, that space that exists very close to my heart but just far enough away...
I think I'm okay with it being there.
It may hold scars in the eyes of others
But I know scars are just golden reminders;
Of that which make us stronger.
For if one has no scars, what has one conquered?



*©NDHK
 Oct 2014 Marisa Bordeaux
Ugo
because we fell in love with the law
and fell out of love with ourselves.

because the ***** of great minds
wear pineapple fatigues in their fathers’ *******;

from Judas swallowing 9 bullets
to one day being a kid at heart
a symptom of some abnormality.

Ever get the feeling that you’ll die on a Tuesday?

Or one day wake up on their government bed
Screaming,
“you can blame the French Revolution
On silent reading!”

watching

as three teacups of *** plan war on the asphalt.
When rain falls
it arrives like
an army charging down a hillside,
beating their fist against their shields.
Or it arrives like
tears from a father's eyes
as he opens his arms and says
"Welcome home, son."

When rain falls
it is greeted by
open umbrellas and rubber boots.
Or it is greeted by
children with eyes closed
and faces toward the skies
as drops fall on their tongues.

When rain falls
it is caught by
rooftops, gutters, and windshields.
Or it is caught by
the eyelashes of two lovers
saying hello again
after ages of goodbyes.

When rain falls
it lands on
tree leaves
who carry it to their roots.
Or it lands on
cracks in the sidewalk
and encourages new life to burst forth.

When rain falls
it sounds like
the rushing rivers
and the tides breaking on the shorelines.
Or it sounds like a prayer gently whispered
to ears patiently listening.

When rain falls
its promises are protected
by the guard of a rainbow.

When rain falls
its promises are protected
by the guard of a rainbow.
Suicide's too good for me.
I often stare into the sky at shadows on the moon,
with my attention fullest on the days of the full moon.

Discerning craters, mountains on its dusty pockmarked face,
that glows when sun stares winking flares upon the blushing moon.

I squint to find the waveless flag, the rover parked somewhere,
discarded by the shiny humans come to greet the moon.

Her light gives sight so subtle as to soothe and not disturb
circadians whose radians are rhythms of the moon.

Tree silhouettes' slow pirouettes sway by the summer breeze,
bathed in the sun's own afterglow under the watchful moon.

Imagining the lunacy of werewolves in the night
who, bathed in glow, to dogs they go a howling at the moon.

While all around the nightsong sounds in symphony they croon
the ballades of the wonder of the lighted sky queen moon.

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Ghazal
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