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 Aug 2013 Michael Valentine
hkr
oh.
 Aug 2013 Michael Valentine
hkr
oh.
i kissed a boy
i had no feelings for
because his drugs
made me forget
about the boy who
took all my feelings
with him.
 Aug 2013 Michael Valentine
Me
About four years ago I fell
into your face and stayed
embraced myself and read through you
what in myself I could not -

Two years ago I broke for the first time
and since, to rhyme makes me feel sick at heart;
and art as such no longer wears me out
or brings me down but merely
is as permanent as breath -

Last year I felt you slip away beneath my hands
and tried to bind two ends together, of which I knew
they don't belong -

Today, I swear, my mind fell out
onto the stony ground as I went home
away from you -

And here, this minute, keyboard staring back
and screen and windows are ridiculously black to me
and sounds not even get to me today -

but hey, those rhymes are back
                                                                         **** it
at last.
 Aug 2013 Michael Valentine
hkr
maybe if he smelled like you
i wouldn't cry
when he ***** me.
Men with rambling fever
Are born not bred
Their diagnoses are terminal
No cure but to go
And they sell their souls to the devil
For a train to hitch a ride on
And they'll die along the highway
While their women stay home
Remaking beds
That have never been slept in

I slept in this morning
Even though I didn't need to
I stretched my limbs
Out into the ocean
Trying to stay afloat alone in my bed
And through my spyglass
I still couldn't find the edge of it
No body of land to stand solidly on
I concluded that beds must be round
Orbiting microcosms floating through apartments
I got up and didn't tuck the sheets in
I got up and didn't make it

I didn't make it through college
Because as soon as I got settled
Into my air mattress
I un-made it
Everything called my name
I tried to ignore the voices
I tried to avoid them
But the mattress deflated quickly
The sails inflated cleaner than a cloudy day
The maps on my wall needed navigating
I had too much exploring to do

I've read about explorers
Men who made their fortunes
Hunting gold and looting temples
Never returning home
Because the beds they left, they had already met
Men who mapped the oceans
And gave their names to continents
Practically for free

I will freely admit that I'm like them
Unable to stop myself
From risking it all
For a chance at nothing at all
Unable to stay in one place
For long enough
To make my bed and lie in it
I will freely admit that rambling fever
is not ladylike
I will freely admit I'm an
Unsettled woman
I will freely admit
I shed lives and beds with purpose
I shed lives and beds like skin
So this happened after work yesterday. I don't know what to make of it really. I don't know if it's done or if it's edited right or not.
 Aug 2013 Michael Valentine
Me
Why is it called chaos game
when all we do seems to reframe
the thoughts we've had before?

If half of x constitutes y
and if, therefore, the sky is blue
then let me show you
something else:

a little girl that sits and dwells
on a green field
plays with a game of marbles.

After each cast
she looks and pins
a little leaf of grass
into the ground.

She plays her game
until the sun goes down
and, tired now, she rises
looks again -
begins to frown at what unfolds
before her eyes;

the leaves of grass
have formed a shape
that, in the gloomy light,
resembles much a pyramid
with lion head, a human body,
and a riding knight who clutches
a fleur-de-lis-

Reaching down the giant girl
picks from my hand the gift
that I for her have brought
into this world, for her to drift
however far she dares
to go.


And chances are that,
in this chaos,
in this chaotic game,
this lily is the only thing that we both see
and thus the only thing that is worth looking at;

          Thus, my equation ends,
          having used up all xes
          and all whys-
          exhausted from such high amount
          of unpredicted turning points-

And no one tries
to sit her down to talk.
And so the girl continues;
and she keeps on to walk
in purple fields,
with lilies in her hair,
forever drifting,
planting her faithful seeds.
*I swear, I'm not on drugs!
 Aug 2013 Michael Valentine
hkr
i just can't get over
that night by the lake
do i even have to say
which one i mean?


it was so cold, so, so cold
and we didn't say a word
but i could feel every part of you
against every last part of me

months later
i carved us into
the wood

*heaven was here.
You bought me spaghetti. That was nice of you,
we carried it to a bakery and bought cupcakes for dessert.

The rain hit us
and the plate of spaghetti warmed my knees
and you bought me a book of classic love poems
that said nothing about how you would break my heart later
and I cannot write this poem anymore.

We sat on two different benches,
one in front of my college and another by a long stoplight
holding your beautiful gifts in my arms.

It was the first time
you loved me where everyone could be jealous of us.
My stomach is empty. My heart is too full for me
to eat anything
tonight,

tonight is about biting someone's hand
because they are ******* me hard and because they did something wrong
seven months ago. Then,
licking the blood from his knuckles whispering, I am sorry
but you are just too much for me to take.

I open his skin for all the times I
needed to open mine. For every sore morning-after.
God gave me the gift of sweet revenge and the curse of loving
so much my body is a storage unit without a lock.

I am sorry
but my teeth chatter whenever I get overwhelmed. His
blood is so much warmer than mine.
 Aug 2013 Michael Valentine
Me
A million suns burn deep into my skin
the love I feel;

and if this love, then, be a sin
how in the world would I
could I
get rid of it and with a grin
live on?

As long as this world turns
itself around and burns these holes
into my beating heart
there is no need to fear
there is no need to part;

All cheap collections
of even cheaper poetry remain
untouched
for in the face of this new day
all I will ever need
and ever have to say is this:

My face resembles yours so much
your beat and mine so much in tune
that, even if all stars collide
and Milky Way and Mars and Moon explode -

I will still hear the quiet sound that comes
from our souls not split apart
but clinging tightly
to each other

in a forsaken universe.
*But fools are always the subtle heroes of a story, aren't they?
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