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Jan 2015 · 402
laundry day
MartinaLove Jan 2015
I will wrap you with my heart as
small as you are -
Let you go from my brain

Kindly

remove your delicious incisors
from my breast.
Sting of salt in that open wound;
shutter that vulnerability -

no one wants to see.

I will carry you in my pocket

pressed up to that sharp bone
until I forget -
and in the cycle, wash you out.
Jan 2015 · 352
tomorrow land
MartinaLove Jan 2015
I'm not afraid of shadows; I'm woeful for what I do to them.
Traveling nearly 93 million miles unobstructed until
i get in the way.
B-b-but my shadow lingers; delicately licks my spine
making me shiver.
Seeking pleasure outside my means, I reach
for it and fall to the ground,
metallic kiss with my teeth.
we've all tried to chase it;
elusive and spry this depth
always one step ahead unless We
make peace.

Flat, rectangular boxes hum in the distance -
Take this to feel [              ]
better, saner, safer, thinner, smarter -
anything but you.

but you are me. eye see you.
I will wrap my polished dna around your rusted parts
and oil your chamber with tantric love
until you swell
with majesty; overfilled with law of attraction
and vibrate with hums of mantras -

Body satiated and laden with sweat, we hold
sweaty palms to racing heart and sync.
The light within aligns with shadow
and our race is done.
On the horizon - a new hope begun.
Jan 2015 · 995
Twin Flame
MartinaLove Jan 2015
Under the watchful gaze of two suns
I lean in to kiss your dry lips.
Technicolor fissures in Space -
hold onto me

       every different lifetime
leads me back to you and comes
circle - The Earth
tips like the time
you spilled cardamom in the *** brownies
making love sour for a week

       We made sense sometimes;
even in this parallel universe - where moons
kiss and galaxies weep -
We burned into the heart, moments inverse
and our souls steadied the pace.

       Dripping stardust and covered in Love-
it's understood.  We are never apart -
Always One.
But I bait my breath each time I'm born
letting go only - when I hold your hand
again.
Jan 2015 · 888
je t'adore
MartinaLove Jan 2015
I don't recognize that face -
there is no memory,
of him and me -
it's erased hastily -
smudged as my makeup
bleeding
from my eyes.

how many broken promises
fill the emptiness
in a life; and the fear
of being alone
is like a watchful dog
she sits and stares into the spaces
that cannot be atoned.

Which voice lies silent
when shades grow brighter
than light?
Remorse taste like metal
or **** as artificially sweetened lips.

Familiar places will fall
just as you will,
fall into patterns of willful deceit -
their shapes twist into grotesque masks
that quickly transform to smiles
when you look - see.
Dec 2014 · 554
The one that got away
MartinaLove Dec 2014
Dear ____

I found a letter the other night that I had written to you years ago.  The note said that you were my soulmate and that one day* you would realize it and come back to me and I'd wait for you forever.  So here's another letter that I will send...out here in this space where anyone can read it and interpret it as he may...

You will never realize I'm the one for you because you can't see who you are.  Underneath the layers of skin and bones, you're more.  That heart that beats and those addictions you crave glaze the truth in your soul and distract you by keeping you deep into the ground instead of planting on top of it.  I'm sorry that you never got to reciprocate the love I gave because you will never know a family, a home, or a future that surpassed your greatest dreams.  You will know mediocrity.  And to be honest, that makes me more sad than you could ever imagine....

And really, I don't care.  I do, but I don't because I feel like I ought to and that's the only reason I still even entertain these thoughts.  Do you understand?  I guess you can not give a **** and that's fine but there will come a day (it always comes) when you  see me (bump into me perhaps?) and you will apologize and see that I was right.  But I will be living the extraordinary life and even your disquiet will not dim my light.

We chose before we were born into these human, frail bodies - our souls would do this dance.  So, thanks.  For teaching me exactly what NOT to do. And for being the beautiful ******* that you are

Love always,
Me
Dec 2014 · 310
P.s.
MartinaLove Dec 2014
So I think I may be alone in thinking this - but I feel like the world is flat.
People disappear after a certain time and they never come back.  They don't have to be dead.  They just somehow cease to exist, and I figure it's a beautiful thing.  When you're gone - you can't come back... and I love it.
So, please, stay away because I don't know if I could say no and I'd rather not be tested.  The world is flat - fall away.
Don't send me a post card.
Dec 2014 · 374
Sunday night
MartinaLove Dec 2014
I'm slumming it with you; I do it
because I'm bored and you
you're good at what you do...
but I taste green and you spit metal.
Rich girls and downtown boys
never have happy endings ♥
Dec 2014 · 314
open message
MartinaLove Dec 2014
..I dont know. you've haunted me in a way all my life. sometimes it is beautiful and sometimes it is scary. bizarre strokes of fate seem to throw us together as you say. hmmm. Sometimes when I think about us as kids, I think about how much the memories I have of us have become, for me, an idyllic romance. It is the search for this perfection that has eluded me in what I mentioned the other night as "reaching out blindly in the dark". am I being foolish for thinking such thoughts? I remember signing my letters to you in the most outlandish fashion (remember when we used to send each other letters?? Oh God I wish I still had those letters. To me they were love letters of the highest purpose) I think on one level we were kidding around, but, for me, when we would tell each other how much 'we loved each other from the deepest recesses of the heart' or however we put it, it was real. Maybe I am being naive. We are 26, and I am looking back at two kids not 15 years old. But those memories continue to haunt me, and seem to laugh at me and my attempts to find anything like it in my life as an adult. I hope I am not being foolish..
Dec 2014 · 525
She cums
MartinaLove Dec 2014
The sway of her love swirled in her cup
the appendage clearly broke
on her sleeve;
She wears socks with little bows
white ski blows on steel.
Don't weep in my mouth.

It's so good I can't mention
how *** is less
*** is less
but more caution than lust.

Truths taste sweeter when tricked up
red-flame hair and silky thighs
She came with trouble and left
with eyes - swimming in obsolete wholes
not halves.
Dec 2014 · 741
Unholy Paramour
MartinaLove Dec 2014
Tangled hair
Black eyeliner smudged across a high cheekbone
Brown eyes dull as filers
Chipped red nail polish - bleeding moons; hearts.
Ragged edged nails
Collar bone prominent
Perfume of ***, blood, sweat -baby powder
pervades the unmoving air
Deep kiss, longer tastes.
Bloodied lips, chin, and neck.
Pheromones twice as high.

Adjusted attitude; Displaced emotion
Shut down - short cuts
Wounds on bones
Lesions on the toughest muscle
on the mind

Black hair sweetly slicked; pulled.
dark side of the moon- shaded eyes
lips full and pink-
Therapy in ink.
Water falling out of mouths.
Limbs intertwined; two end, two begin.
Musical sounds, bells laugh; caught
swallowed, spread.

Don't you forget what has been said.
Smile if it makes you happy.
Uncheck the clutter from the motels mind.
The brightest star -
died millions of years ago.
Wish it away and off it goes.
Colliding in a kaleidoscope
that turns out to be made of cardboard
and ******* dust.

Boxed up. Box cuts.
Walled in.
Fearlessly
vicious.
Mental vacation.
Emotional retardation.
Physical contemplation.
Separate spaces.
Different faces
Never Meet.
Dec 2014 · 469
Ophelia
MartinaLove Dec 2014
How confusing.
She liked the attention but never wanted it to go that far. When she innocently leaned against the door and smiled - he told her she knew that she drove men wild. When she sat near him, he told her her perfume was intoxicating; she didn't wear any. When they discussed politics, her eyes glazed over and he said she was "adorable." When they read Shakespeare, she cried. He laughed and caught her mouth with his. She didn't mind too much.

She danced in the air and spun around singing - her hair a windmill. She touched the flowers growing on the trees and turned and said: "Why don't people stop and smell the flowers more often? They really are so lovely." He spoke into his ear piece, nodded, and stepped on the loose petals that had fallen off. She watched him walk ahead of her - always a few paces - and thought he didn't see her at all.

Laying on her stomach on the floor, she read her novel, he read the paper at his desk. He lightly caressed the bottom of her foot, she squirmed to move away. He saw her body move and couldn't help himself. She sensed the difference in the air and became tense. She liked that he watched her and arched her back - her toes curled in. She hoped it would stay like this. Anticipation was better than end results.

She didn't mind when he touched her but asked him to stop when it did.
He never stopped.
She again said that it hurt but he didn't listen. It was almost like he moved into a different world inside of his head and what was real was only what played in his mind. She thought about the clothes he bought her; the pearls that she wore when they were alone; the shoes that were women's size 6 but looked like Mary Janes- a Catholic girl would wear with her uniform - she, no older than 13.  It was a game at first, she got caught up.

His kisses were hurried and she split her lip on her teeth when he pressed hard. He inhaled the scent of her hair and pressed his index finger against her mouth. When his hands moved lower, she shuddered. She was confused by her feelings. He unbuttoned her jeans, and pushed inside her. His hands came up - blood. She told him that it hurt and he should stop. He simply looked at her - eyes glazed. She moved outside of herself.
He finished and kissed her head.
She sat on the hardwood floor in her purple t-shirt and pulled her legs against her chest. She stared at the scab on her right knee. She moved back into herself and her body felt heavy.
"I'm glad it was me."
She didn't reply. Simply turned away and stared unseeing at the white wall.
Some things are better left unsaid. Better left inside the recesses of the mind. The dark corners where memories are stuffed into boxes; taped, stapled, and tied into knots unbreakable.

But the feelings followed her. Other boys and girls came and went. So when they kissed, she wanted more. When he touched her, she felt nothing until it hurt. When he cared for her, she wanted his love. When they made love, she wanted to get ******. And after when she was alone, she cried for herself and everything she lost.

Ophelia is drowning.
Dec 2014 · 975
Heroin
MartinaLove Dec 2014
Needle thin pressures like slivers in my head.
I'm ****** up again.
But you -
you make it really quaint.  Hop scotch number count,
1 hit - 2 jumps
it makes it work again-
the piston in my heart.

— The End —