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 May 2019 matt d mattson
Mims
I understand you
Is what I told myself over and over
But never truly could see
I love you
Is what I told myself over and over
But never truly could feel
Never knew what it felt like
I just assumed the mind games and the conjoined pain
Was something like it

If it hurts its passion
We've all played that game
But we know the ending
Yes, the ending
Stays the same
No matter how many times
I replay it in my brain
I realized it wasn't ok
 Apr 2019 matt d mattson
NM
Grow
 Apr 2019 matt d mattson
NM
Stop trying to shrink into places that you have already outgrown.
 Apr 2019 matt d mattson
Heather
Thank you for making me feel like your diamond
Though we both know this was a dazzling illusion
And for my trick?


I will disappear
 Jan 2019 matt d mattson
Mims
*
 Jan 2019 matt d mattson
Mims
*
I'm trying to be happy with the little corner of the universe I can control

I can not manipulate the night sky to call me back after 9

I can not ask to borrow the Moon's favorite dress

I can finish that book

I can wear those jeans

You

Have not taken

Everything

From me
Healing
 Nov 2018 matt d mattson
Alex B
Someone stole my color
And threw it to the wind
Scattered like ashes
I don’t know if I’ll ever find it

Someone stole my color
From the face I know so well
I saw it in the cotton candy clouds
And the teal ocean swell

Someone stole my color
I guess that’s where it went
The world looks so much brighter
Like something heaven-sent

Someone stole my color
And that’s what no one knows
Depression isn’t black
It’s the color of a rose

It’s the light orange in a sunset
And the yellow of a peach
Light blue, my favorite color
So simply out of reach

Purple like my favorite eyeshadow
No, lavender, I’d guess you’d say
And my favorite music artist
Although he has passed away

Someone stole my color
Now everything’s too bright
I suppose sometimes darkness
Isn’t the opposite of light

Someone stole my color
So I’ll wear grey and black
As if in mourning
Until I get it back
 Aug 2018 matt d mattson
Mims
I check my calender
I'm running out of time
But they say summer
is just a state of mind

.
.
.
Not even us
He told her she was pottery; a vase with grooves and cracks.
The patterns of the history she hid behind her back.

Within his words he layered in- like thread upon a loom-
The sweetest undercurrent to illuminate that gloom.

In certain cultures, he decreed, when pottery is cracked
They aggrandize them with gleaming gold to bring their splendor back

For they believe, with certainty, once damage has been wrought
Those tiny cracks, now filled with light, hold truths that can't be taught.
In the dawn, I saw you there
With misty eyes and tousled hair
And with the sunlight flooding though,
I knew the summer scent of you.

You trickled yourself over me
The way the light pulsed through the trees.
And hand to hand we carried on
Across the dampened morning lawn.

Our pluming breath of spectored speech
Soared skyward towards the dancing leaves.
Gaze to gaze, brown to green
The morning lost it's sacred gleam.
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