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You mumblers and raspers
Of resp'rat'ry rattle:
Open your throats!
Forsake ye! the gaspers,
You quoters of cattle
And prattle of goats!

Or lay ye with horses
Whose tongue ne'er divorces
Those ivory choppers,
Those sibilant stoppers;
You lispers: beware,
Whether stallion or mare,
While you nibble your oats!

Stop your speech-stumbling!
Go suckle an udder
You dizzy, damp calfs!
Restrain your talk-tumbling,
And swallow your stutter
Nor utter foul laughs!

You outspoken nags
Mimic bolt-broken stags
As you bleed allegations
Down paths of my patience
And clatter your antlers;
What heavy-hoofed ranters
For no one's behalf!
les c'est
c'est les

autre autre

c'est les autres

c'est c'est
autres c'est autres les
c'est
les les
les
 Apr 2014 Mary R Short
Violet
the wounds
on my wrists
are healed
where i used
to cut
now can i just
heal my heart too?
 Apr 2014 Mary R Short
Theia Gwen
When I was a little girl
And my mother still laid out clothes for me
She'd always tell me
"You're the prettiest girl in your class,
But you'd be beautiful if you combed your hair more."

When I was a bit older
And I didn't care much
About what I wore
My mom would always say
"You'd be beautiful if your clothes matched."

When I was 14,
And I skipped breakfast and lunch
And binged at dinner
I lost my appetite
And felt like throwing up
When my mom said
"You'd be beautiful if you didn't eat so much."

I wonder if you saw what I did to myself
If you'd have the nerve to tell me
"You'd be beautiful if only you didn't
Take a razor to your wrist or a finger to your throat."
 Mar 2014 Mary R Short
Mikaila
Remember when I told you
Not to force me?
I meant that.
Force me to love you
And I will hate you.
Force me to hate you
And I will love you.
Force me to stay
And I will run,
Force me away
And I will never leave.
I promise you this:
I do not love you more than I need to be free.
My freedom means
I
Do
What
I
Choose.
Not what you think is right,
Not what you think is safe,
Not what you think is
Best.
You cannot make me stop thinking of you-
Months,
Years,
Decades,
I will enshrine you
Out of spite
And throw away moments of every **** day
Reconstructing your face in my mind
Whether or not I ever see it again-
I promise you this:
I do not love myself more than I hate being
Forced.
 Mar 2014 Mary R Short
Mikaila
I woke up to a morning hazy grey
And drew a shaken breath beneath your ghost-
It hangs, a husk, upon my bedroom wall
A shriveled flower, tinier than most.
It's tangled in a web of woven cords
That maybe I will see you in my dreams
And when I do, my consciousness recoils,
For love is not as gentle as it seems.
Last night I saw your sparkling eyes again,
And woke predawn with tears upon my cheeks
I hadn't even noticed they were there
Contented as I was to be asleep,
But when the dream was shattered so was I
And lying there alone among the dark
I heard the rain tap softly on the glass
And I struggled, quiet, not to fall apart.
And just as I was curled into a ball
To calm the ragged hole inside my chest
I caught a glimpse outside of shining streets
Where winter ground was by the summer blest.
I had thought you took rain with you when you left-
It hadn't fallen since you flew away
I thought you took the warmth, as well- bereft,
I'd gazed out on a thousand bleak white days,
But here outside my window was a gift
A burnished silver street spilled on the ground
And golden branches reaching from the trees
And fine white mist billowing all around.
I peered out from the safety of my bed
And saw the world transformed beyond the pane
Your footsteps have not graced this ground for months
And yet it had been silvered by the rain.
And for the barest moment I could breathe
Although you may have cast my love away
A peace descended, gauzy like a shroud
And silently I hoped that it could stay.
The plant beside my window sighed its blooms-
Jasmine blooms at night, I'm sure you know
And in the blackness white flowers festooned
The pillows and the sheets like lacy snow.
And in my questing fingers they were silk
In contrast to yours, brittle on the wall
They still smelled sweet and, suddenly compelled,
I forgot my tears and gathered up them all.
Their perfume sticky on my hands, I prayed
For the first time since the winter months began,
"Let me find my happiness somewhere,
Let me feel it to remind me that I can."
I prayed to thunder, lightning, and the storm
That rages in my bones, chaos and light
I prayed to the cold clarity of the rain
That trickles through my veins, blindingly bright.
Something heard me as I whispered there
The wind spoke back to me against the glass
And I reached out my hand to feel the cold
Of water, loneliness and ages past.
I always wanted to become a storm,
I've always cried much easier in dreams,
Admiring the freedom of the fall
As droplets pelt the sidewalk and it gleams.
This morning I slept peaceful, just the once,
That sweet low rhythmic murmur overhead,
And the ache of missing you was not severe
But neither, for the moment, was it dead.
Good morning, darling, I've forgiven you
Each day of silence gouged into the walls
And today I breathed my own forgiveness too
Beneath the falling rain's hypnotic drawl.
 Mar 2014 Mary R Short
Mikaila
I reached for you, as drowning people do sometimes, and you recoiled from me, as sane people do much of the time. But think on this: Kind people do not lay blame on those who suffer.
But then again, I do not tend to love kind people.
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