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Mary Bolton Mar 2013
Little girl, your hair is in curls.
Little girl in the lace dress, the world is so big.
There are people in a city, far far away;
they will straighten your hair and take away your shoes.
Little girl, keep your curls, they are the life in you.
Little girl, keep your shoes on, let no one take them from you.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
I need a rainy day, but not the cold kind.
The kind that happens on a summer day
where you can sit outside all day
on the back porch watching it-- but, we don’t do that anymore.

I can hear the rain falling, every drop, as the fists swing.
I knew it wouldn’t stop.
I knew the only thing I could do was fight it,
but how are you supposed to fight the rain.

Every word is lightning, striking through every nerve in my body.
You know I’m the one with the sharp tongue,
but you continue to strike, Mr. Lightning.
Why do you like so much to hurt me?

It seems that the storm is above my head,
it follows me, throughout the house . . . there is no escape.
I don’t know what I did
to make the rain love me so much.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
Because of you, the sun shines on me, even when it's raining.
Every time you look at me, love radiates out from you, and i can believe in it.
Never leave me, because i wouldn't be able to live.
Just one kiss, and i'm captivated. . . Yours forever.
Am i the only one who feels this way? no, i know you feel it too.
My best friend, my life, my soulmate, my love, my other half.
I love you.
Never ever leave. promise me.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
I am Teddy.
I live in a box,
though I used to live in a bed,
your bed,
sitting bravely by your head
while you slept.
While you dreamt of fairy worlds
and princesses in castles,
I protected you from the evil wizards
and fire-breathing dragons
as you held me close in your arms...
I was your best friend.

But now that you’re grown,
and you’ve put me away,
who will protect you?

I am Teddy.
I live by your side.
I’ll be here forever.
You used to love me too.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
I am writing a story.
I’ve only been working on it for almost 3 months. . . not long at all compared to how long I plan to be working on it.
It is a work of art, a masterpiece, actually.
If it were a painting, I used only the finest paint.
If it were a sculpture, the richest clay.
A photograph, the exposure was perfect.
But, it is a story. . . and hopefully, I am using all the right words.
I hope I never finish this story.  
Because if I finish the story I will have no reason to write anymore.
This story, might--scratch that--IS the best thing I have ever written.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
Throw me out the window, literally, that would probably hurt less than theoretically.
But then maybe you’d care enough to call, and talk to me for more than 49 seconds.
I wish I could tell you about my flight, but I can’t, literally, so maybe I can, theoretically.
The minute you said goodbye I felt myself take off.
I left the ground with such sudden urgency that I didn’t notice how fast I was going.
Next, I felt myself collide with the cold, hard, glass:
cold as ice,
hard as a rock.
Within milliseconds, the glass shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, each piercing my face, one by one, every time you said you couldn’t call.
And then, after the glass pulled the blood from my body, I went cold, and fell.
I’ve fallen down three stories, one for every day, and I’ve still got four more to pass.
You’d think the icy wind across my skin would feel liberating as I fall, but all I feel is cold.
falling
falling
falling
all the way down.
You say you know what this feels like, but I promise, you’ve never felt the shards pierce your soul like I have.  You’ve never felt them pierce your heart.  You’ve never fallen, with no knowledge of what will be thrown at you, and no knowledge of how far away the ground is.

And the worst part is, I’m falling alone, because you’re not here, and I can’t tell you this.
So for now, I put on a happy face, and instead of falling, I am flying.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
I must be an angel, though I don't always believe it
I must be a princess, because you are my prince.
I must be beautiful, though mirrors and society cloud my view of myself.
I must have an amazing voice, because you like to listen to it.
I am perfect.
And I know this because you tell it to me.
You must be right, because you deserve the best, so I must be the best.

Today, I am wearing my socks inside out like you do.
Isn't it marvelous how things so unusual and imperfect can become things we can't live without?
Mary Bolton Apr 2013
The transition was a magical thing.
The butterflies,
finally grown and matured enough to be on their own,
have left my stomach.
They were once wrapped tightly in their cocoons.
But when I met you,
they began to evolve into something beautiful.
Then all at once, they were flying . . .
All around my stomach every time I heard your name.
And when I saw you,
they got so excited they could barely contain myself.
And when you kissed me and held me in your arms,
they had never felt more alive.
But now that they have gone,
it is only love that remains.
When I hear your name,
it warms my heart like golden rays of sun.
Each time I see you I am complete again,
no longer living half alive.
And when you kiss me,
my body fills with the oxygen I need to keep me alive.
The time has come when you are my lifeline.
No longer an infatuation,
but a necessity that I need without thinking about it.  
So do me a favor, my love.
Next time you look up at the stars in the sky,
see if you can find our names.
I promise they're written up there.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
Say my name.
Spell it out with your fingers in the air.
Scream it to the mountains,
let them hear you.
Let my name roll off your lips,
let it ride the silver waves.
Write it in the stars,
each hand picked by you.
Twinkling, you’ve chosen only the brightest
to match my eyes.
String them together with the melodies of gods.
I can hear the trumpets.
No.

Say my name.
Whisper it in my ear,
your cheek against mine,
between inhale, exhale,
“I love you.”
Take my hand,
I’ve no better use for it.
I’ll give you my heart because
without you it’s incomplete.
Everything is perfect.
Mary Bolton Apr 2013
There was something there,
just a glimpse.
It lasted only a split second.
Something there,
that was pushing me back to Him.

I think it was you.
Because not only can I not imagine life without you,
I can’t imagine death without you either . . .
and this seems like the best option.

And just minutes after this realization,
came the final push that I needed.
Back to him.
I know what I was meant to do now.
It’s all for you.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
I’ve always had a way with words.
They said I should be a lawyer because
I knew how to convince them of whatever I wanted them to believe.
I know when to sugar coat the facts, and
when to give the cold hard truth.
My problem is knowing when to keep my mouth shut.
My mother always told me,
“If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”
But since when do I listen to my mother?
My wit is quick, and bites the pride of others when I strike.
My words are sharp, they cut like glass, only after they leave my mouth.
I wish my tongue was forged of broken glass.
Maybe then I’d know how my words can hurt,
and they’d hurt me instead,
before they ever left to scratch someone else.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
I backed my ambulance into a tree.
I tried so hard to avoid it,
But there it was, right behind me.
I'm surrounded by trees,
And behind those is a body of water.
Nowhere to go.
As soon as I see a way between the trees
And try to take it,
I am drowning.
Desperately trying to stay afloat,
But I'm not the best swimmer.
One day, I won't be strong enough to hold on
To the air above the water,
And I'll let the water fill up my lungs
And take me, just as it took my ambulance
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
As I walk down my driveway, past the seemingly endless field of
green,
sprinkled with little purple weeds, dotted with clumps of yellow
daffodils,
I think about how much I love flowers.
Roses are my favorites, but daisies and wildflowers are a close
second, I think.
I like to think of myself as a flower.  Maybe I’m a wildflower .
. .
It would make sense, seeing as my spirit is as free
as the wind that blows the petals across the fields of green.
I am a wildflower.
I am the flower, firmly rooted to the ground, unable to escape.
My roots, they are tangled, and mangled, and torn, and broken,
but strong . . . they refuse to move.
Like chains, they keep me here where the seed was planted.
I am a wildflower,
trapped in a garden of weeds . . .
none of them wildflowers.  We are not meant for the garden.
Oh no! Not when there are fields, and pastures, and valleys, and
hills, and mountains out there.
Here in the garden, we get food and water, and daily care.  But
there in the world!
That is where I am meant to be!  When I see the birds flying
overhead I shake with jealousy.
I feel the wind swaying me back and forth, as if it is calling
me.  “Come with me, oh sweet wildflower.  Let the world see your
beauty, while you see the beauty of the world.”
I want to touch the mountains.  I want to sing with the sky.  I
want to hear the wind saying,
“Look, I told you it was beautiful.”  I want to dance with it,
as it carries me everywhere.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
Something is missing from my smile--
This endless winter in my heart...
When the other half to my whole
is gone, so is my soul.
But when we are one,
(Which is always in my mind and yours),
always together, together and forever.
Birds will sing louder, flowers will smell sweeter, stars will shine brighter, and we will look upon
this world we have created, and it will be love.
Winter can't hurt us.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
I wish I had the words
To describe the feeling
Of your lips upon my lips.
I wish I had the words
To describe the times
When your fingers touch my skin.
I wish I had the words
To accurately explain
How I feel about you.
Heaven.
Paradise.
Unconditional love.
The epitome of shangri-la
Comes nowhere close
To being next to you.
The paragon of perfection,
Only a fraction
Of my feelings for you.
The quintessential Prince Charming
Has nothing on
How you treat me
Like a princess,
Your princess.
Words are not enough.
I wish I could describe
How much I love you
But there is not a word.
To say I only love you
Would be an insult.
You
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
You
I look out into the sea of people,
and see not one knows me.

Some of them have known me for 10 years,
some for 2 years,
but, none of them know me.

They see me every day,
and they think they know me.
For I have become a master of deception,
hiding my thoughts behind closed doors of emotions,
putting up walls to see who is brave enough,
curious enough,
to break them down.
They see the smile upon my face,
see the way I like to laugh and talk,
see the expressions on my face as I try to hide
yet, none of them see me.

None but you.
None of them know me the way you do.
I see the way you look at me and I know you feel the same.
You know me better than anyone,
better than myself, even.

I can’t hide from you.
You see every little twitch of muscles that control the moves I make,
and you determine the legitimacy of it;
whether I’m faking or not.
And you see all the different sparkles in my eyes;
they smile when they see you, and gaze off when my mind is elsewhere.
You notice my expressions and my mood,
and the tone of my voice as it goes up and down hinting at secrets I wish not reveal,
and you decipher them,
as if you can read my mind.

My mind.
The labyrinth of stories and thoughts and hopes and wishes and dreams
and worries and doubts
hidden to all for so long yet,
known by you.
You have braved the walls and,
opened the doors and,
deciphered the mysterious world that is
My mind.

And it is for this reason
that my mind,
my soul,
my heart,
my love,
and my life
is you.
Mary Bolton Mar 2013
You are the raindrops that kiss my face, and run down my cheeks;
and the tears as well, because I know you’d never let them fall.
You’d catch every one.
You are the soft, blue blanket that wraps around me every night,
and now seems so big because you aren’t under it with me;
and the sweatshirt I wear to sleep,
because it’s yours and it still smells like you.
You are the wind that blows my hair in my face,
because I know how much you love playing with my hair,
and how much you love my face.
You are my other half.
And I know this because I can feel the hole in my chest
where half of my heart used to be, but now isn’t because it’s with you.
And because you hold my heart (I know you protect it well),
I will only be half alive until we are together again.
One soul, two bodies.
I am you, and
You are me.

— The End —