mrc 7d
my thoughts are as dirty as my bedroom floor
and for a second i think about daring to touch
that bottle of apple flavored whiskey hidden in plain sights

but the serenity is prayer is etched into my mind
and i can't shake the image of your car rolled over
three times with you hanging out the side door

i've had to find different ways to cope with my pain
and writing poetry is one of them
when i write i see colors and hear symphonies
when i write words tumble out through my hands

and my hands have their own plan in place
so i am but a vessel for all of the things i cannot say
and my words, i hope that they echo and clang
much like church bells

if hopes and dreams come true were a common thing
then we'd all be fools in love with ourselves and each other
i wish on eyelashes and dandelions and birthday candles

though i wish on the stars most of all because i think
that they're the closest i'll ever come to my hopes and dreams
the stars are devastating in their beauty
and triumphant in their grace
that's what i want my hopes and dreams to be
and when i look at the stars i can see them clearly

c a n
      y o u
mrc Mar 22
you told me that i belonged in the louvre
me, with my curtain of dark blonde hair that
i was (trying) to grow out to where it was
before i ceremoniously cut it all off
and that statement was followed with
not one
but two heart emojis
after that i trusted you (though i don’t know why)
the way you wormed your way into my head
deserves some sort of award
for months, before i even liked you, i would
dream about you almost every night
and i know that sounds crazy, but it happened
so i said that i liked you (indirectly)
but you told me you loved someone else (directly)
only, you said i belonged in the
i guess i never knew that i was meant to be
by myself there, a mona lisa smile on my face
waiting for you to come take me off the wall
and make me feel worthy again
because i had based all of my self-worth in
how many looks you gave me but you barely
told me the time of day
but i’ll wait
and wait
and wait
(tell when you’re ready for me)
(tell me you love me)
mrc Mar 22
i'm not impervious to the fact that
if the universe allows
i will grow old and die one day
i know that my skin will draw back from itself
the way picasso drew on canvas
and vines and creases will work their way
into my once fair and smooth skin
but when i go i want long flowing white hair
that brushes my back gentle as a feather
and lingers behind me like a second goodbye
hair that i can twirl into knots absentmindedly
an braid while bored in church
i want ink stains on my hand from the spilled
ink of writing poetry and stories
notebooks filled with the words that came
out of the sharp movements of my hands
and my hands
i want hands soft but worn
like my mother's favorite winter coat
i want hands that have held and let go
i want hands that know what the hell they're doing
i want toenails painted the most obnoxious
shade of red and mascara packed on like a
suitcase going on a trip to heaven
i want to be that old lady with the cats
because, let's face it, we all know i'm already
that old lady with the cats
they'll be named names from literature and plays
and i'll hope their names match their counterparts
but if they don't i'll love them anyways and
hold them with these hands that will have held
onto so many things before
when i go i want to have lived
and i want to have lived really really good
mrc Mar 16
every year the rivers and lakes freeze over
and sometimes i think maybe my heart does too
mrc Mar 13
the words bloomed from my mouth
and the petals fell as i spoke what i'd been
trying to say for the last six months
beautiful and soft
they fell to the floor in swirls
but left behind only dust
mrc Mar 11
girl walking barefoot through a forest on fire,
the flames licking at her heels, just trying to get
a taste, her body covered in soot so thick you
could use it as paint
girl in the middle of a field of flowers, bees buzzing
around and greeting her as a friend, the peonies
blooming as she walks past and leaning towards her
as to get a better look at her eyes
girl sprinting across a lake, the water whispering as
she runs past but freezing the moment her feet leave
the waves
this girl is winter and frost; she leaves pieces of herself
wherever she goes, whether that be a broken heart
or a warm soul
girl covered in leaves of every color, laughing while
hanging out of a tree, knowing that she'll fall just like
the leaves that adorn her, but isn't afraid because
she trusts that you'll catch her
mrc Mar 10
i sat in the shotgun seat of your eyes
and they drove me to the edge of glory
the radio was up and playing a silly love song
my feet were on the dash
i was reading a collection of poetry
there was a soft breeze coming in through
the open windows as we rode along
trees passed in blurs but you--
you stayed in brilliant focus
like waiting for a red light to turn green
you were the harmony and the melody
the center of this galaxy
- just another mile
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