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Mia Barrat Apr 2015
.
.
.
not
a word
passes between you
and I, dear city, when
you open my eyes then
veil them again. You like
to surprise me and I like
being led.  Surround me
with  noise  and lights: I
really don't mind being
blinded with beauty. As
I silently step into your
sad-skyscraper skeleton,
you let me know that all
these different humans
-the ones you birth, mind
you - tire you  terribly.
Sometimes, you even
wish  you could pop a
sleeping pill, or maybe
two or three (the secret
being that you'd swallow
the whole bottle if no one
was looking). Don't even
try to feign perfection. I
caught you sleeping that
one time: it was so
beautiful I
almost
cried
.
.
.
Who's my favorite personify-able city? Who's my favorite personify-able city? Yes! Yes it's you! Good city.
PS: The title means "the city that never sleeps because of the nightmares"
Mia Barrat Apr 2015
it's so much easier to write about her

(i see her when i stare into the mirror
she stares right back
and the viscid jealousy
seeps into my ears
and out through my eyes)

i write her up
and erase her completely
and push her out
and summon her again

i wear her skin every day
because i figure she's the one people really want to see

(sometimes i wonder
if i'm in love with her
but then i remember
the pain she dealt to me)

she's beautiful, fearless, ablaze.
and when she dances
she leaves a trail of fire so dazzling
that it moves the sky
and the preachers wonder
if the rain was brought not by their clasped hands
but rather by the thunderbird

because it's so much easier to write about her
  Apr 2015 Mia Barrat
Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Mia Barrat Apr 2015
blunted on the riptide of fury:
i am not your resolution
i am not your answer
i am your destruction
and your absolute contrary;

but i will seep into your system like a cure
because i am connivance
yet not quite compliance
and i'm not inwardly pure
because i am a cancer

and a swan-like dancer
dancing my way into you;

taking a twice-trodden path
i am
your lasting and indelible wrath
i am red vision tinted with blue

i am you
*i am you
  Mar 2015 Mia Barrat
ryn
my whispers,
they float over the currents
braving the undulating waves in our overture...
around their necks, hung time-worn pendants

whispers...
struggling to convey my sentence
like wreaths adrift perhaps with hope
like a requiem filled perhaps with remorseful penance
but more like weakened footholds on a slippery *****...

this dream...
only spoke grandly of sprawling blackness
where nothing did gleam
only thoughts heavy but...
oddly weightless

except for...
a repertoire of transgressions...
raucous and obnoxious
mischievous taunts that pull me back
caging me,
enslaving me,
smothering me senseless

that was my consciousness
where second chances exist...
in faint sporadic eruptions
through the heavy curtains of uncertainty's mist

finally awakened by hastened breaths
heavy and laboured
as like previous temporary deaths

I could hear my heart
thumping...
beating...
fighting...
to set its beats apart

breathe deep...
allow the new day's air sink in
rise fully from sleep
wake up
and...
let today begin
Based on a dream.
  Mar 2015 Mia Barrat
Tom Leveille
ground zero
i become aware of boundaries
i am a dog chasing cars
i sing your voicemail to sleep
there are no surgeon general warnings
to tell me that
the objects in the mirror
are more depressed than they appear
so how do i tell you
that there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
or that i look for you every day
in emails & unanswered calls
in the sunrises
i didn't choose to be awake to watch
that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them
   *stage 1
you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip
   stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant
   stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me
after
people always ask
what was loving her like?
after a really long silence
i just say
"it must be nice"
but i never say
it's watching paint dry
i never say
it's a window seat in hell
i don't tell anyone
about the dreams
where i am reading you
bedtime stories
each one is a different way you die
& every time i can never save you
dreams where what i think
are angels in my bedroom
are just homeless versions
of myself you never loved
i have dreams
where i pay someone to shoot me
just to see if you would cry
just to see
if you would cradle my body
i don't tell people
that loving you is like
playing piano
for someone who can't hear
that it's hitting repeat
on my favorite song
& forgetting the words
every time it starts over
that it's finding out
there's no milk after you already
poured yourself a bowl of cereal
it's getting locked in the dark
& being told to
look on the bright side
that loving you is like
being reminded of what it felt like
the first time
you accidentally let go
of a balloon as a child
it's drowning without the water
it's the feeling you get
when you start to dance
& the song ends
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