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 Sep 2015 Nicole Hammond
VVanGone
I've forgotten how to live
like a man on death row
accustomed to four walls
and the monotony of routine
waiting for the inevitable

yet still I hold out for the miracle
some dna evidence that this is all a mistake
that there is something waiting for me
and that this death will give way
to pastures full of sheep
waiting for the shepherd to return
i don't get so sad anymore, you know.
and sometimes i wish i could go back and do things better,
do things right,
but something in me knows it was supposed to end when it did.

you've changed, anyway.

i don't want to say that you're not the person i once knew,
because i'm sure that deep down, somewhere in there, you are,
but i'm a tired person,
and i lack the energy required
to dig down so deep through skin and bone
trying to find the worn out shards of a memory;
the last pieces of the first person to make me feel so terribly alive.

//

i hope you're happy.
i have always hoped that you would be happy.

but i don't get so sad anymore,
and i don't want to linger on the past.

(still i write poems about you, simply for the sake of writing).

//

every now and again,
i'll think about you,
you and everything and everyone else who shaped me.

and it's hard to believe it's been two years.

and it's hard to believe that i have grown,
but i have,
and the truth is that i don't need you anymore.

//

i don't get so sad anymore, you know.
things have gotten better.
you're gone and you don't care and i sometimes wonder if you ever did, but i'm telling you anyway that things have gotten better because i want to prove to myself that it was right to let you go,
that i needed to let you go to finally be free.

you made me feel alive in a way that tugged at my heart with a surprising aggression,
but i deserve better than that.

(a.m.)
for a.r., two years later.
No one ever tried to understand
no one ever tried
no one ever held my hand
no one by my side

no one ever talked to my heart
no one ever did
no one ever played a part
everyone always hid

no one ever taught me good
no one ever would
no one felt so misunderstood
no one ever should
i have tried to post this many times
 Aug 2015 Nicole Hammond
LoveLy
There's a point of incredibly deep sadness when it all stops.
The world, the feelings, the crying at 3 o'clock in the morning it disappears.

I felt it last night and feared I had done something to try to make life stop but I hadn't so like many sad nights I escaped to dreams and wondered if I'd wake in the morning...

Not even the heart aches or longs for anything...like the brain finally one and now it sit quietly  in you chest. You hope it would cry like the -zillion times before to remind you it was there. But you get nothing just silence.

There is that point of deep silence where everything you wish would just go away....finally does....and it's not what you wanted.

I've reached that point and I want to go back...even when it hurt because now...I don't know what I even am.
Thoughts while standing at a football game.
 Aug 2015 Nicole Hammond
irinia
my love is an aborted child, I do not shed the same tears, only the same skin saddled with puzzles inside the intersection of presence and absence. the outcome of irrational congruence being yourself all day long is not enough you my pain don’t really matter to me silences fall between my fingers or was it too loud when I asked to be touched?  I am not able of speaking about love today with a mouth full of noises all hiding places are equal to themselves only you my pain defy definitions although they call me primitive.( theory says I am supposed to have grown up to live by the standards of a self-controlled open system)
but you my pain are well aware, I am still primitive, ultraviolent when I laugh, when I cry, when I refuse to let go of the ****** horizons, of foreign faiths, the end of all dying days, the mixture of their cravings and solitude
they are caring their bows in the honour of their truths my pain looks so pale among so many others. This is my pain in honour of your pain.  This is one way of loving the sellers of illusions yes, I have to own the arrest warrant for my heart someday

yes, this pain is a proud beggar
a scent makes me
sick with memory
the sea
surrounds me
aural bliss
amidst what's amiss
pounding keys
i'm down on
weakened knees
tones twist
intertwined
fates mix
yours a mine
I will be fine
in due time
the sound
exemplifies
tonight
will be fine

beings around me
surrounding
astounding
fall short of
feeling like
what I once knew

I see beautiful faces
I feel shared laughter
presently palpable longing
intensely do I long

I wish to converse
cultivate
swap brain waves
levitate
mimicking the water

it crashes upon
the flashes of
smiles, teeth
of pearls,
slow connection
with slow hands
to pick the brain of
the flowers pretty
enough to pick

I want to be soothed
with this ocean view
by the voice of one who
moves with the moonlight

one who wears lunar grace
softly around the wrist

regardless
I'm wrapped around
fingertips

the idea of your silhouette
towering
enveloping
your hair raining
flowing
down
a sensation
skin on skin

sand between
toes between
souls under
starlight
brighter than
flares
warning, waning
throughout the night

yet it can't come to be
because like the very
sand I sit on
my insignificance is
exemplified
and
multiplied

a million grains of
what would be
deemed desirable
men
crash, drip and slip
through your
dainty hands

i'm cast about
from fingertips

I am the very grain of sand
recycled by being
sapped through experience of
unobtainable beauty

waves crash over me
clumped together with the rest
I am of one entity

waves continue
waves will carry me away

waves however misguided
waves will carry me back home
new levels of lonely

new layers of lovely
 Aug 2015 Nicole Hammond
irinia
for Stefana, Aurora, Alexandrina, Elisabeta, Lina and all the women in whose tired hands the sun used to set

I can only write this in my own language
maybe people don’t have a name of their own
or a time comes
this apparent abyss, incommensurable
in the **** of time
they didn’t live with duty free promises
I wonder how they dealt with the blood
with their naked arms
furious at stones
            woman-pillow
the earth knew how to be quiet between eyelids
the wind was superstitious
no rush into a smile
they couldn’t predict the lipstick
and the tantric love
curses cross bridges
and their hair would hide
                woman-wheel
back then the sunset was still happening
and maybe an eyebrow would raise
the duty to yourself was not yet invented
only beautiful hats, some scarfs
swallowed pains, unrecognized feelings
                woman-pillar
                 woman-child
their smoked skirts and rebellious step
they used to descend into their hands and into sweating
they never went out of the sun
not to disturb the wise colours or the needle work
when the bones of their men screeched
morning would come
and they wouldn’t have woken them up
not even the ignorant god of enduring
                woman-silence
I’m sitting in the mirage of dresses, perfumes, high heels
and their names are searching for me:
the night of the hunter is not over
I would kiss their hands
for a portion of wonder
of patience
love looks for the oneself
in the other

they were much more
much less than
a name
fading
those nights still matter
who would have thought?
there was blooming flower
amongst the rot

who would have thought
you'd make your way
leading me along
the sweet decay

you were so serene
I don't know, I mean,
the whole scene seemed
ripped from that one good dream

I felt your body
I knew it's contours
I traced your silhouette
colored inwards & outwards

I miss that feeling
it was something else
I was okay with my place
amongst your shelf

from within your shelter
I so sensed your center
awed at flower-wrought archway
I craved to enter

intention never ever resembles
any mention of any pieces assembled
the fine lines I've acknowledged
I'm scanning within the middle

I've since longed to be with you
within you without you
 Aug 2015 Nicole Hammond
Sjr1000
I
remembered you,
you
remembered
me,
I believed in you,
You believed in me,
We were both sea creatures
traveling
uncommon seas.

We had taken to that
unconscious ocean
to see in the sea,
What we could see.

It's been a strange journey
of that there is no doubt.

Where everyone walks with
their insides in,
We travel these seas
with our
insides out,
We don't know any other
way to be
when you're swimming through
these
uncommon seas.

It's often a desert
out there,
But inside here
all kinds of musty
characters
drudged up from
anxious memory
inhabitants of this sea -
Sponge Bob Square Pants
has
nothing on you or me,
We are all travelers
in this uncommon sea.

Our bathing suits left far behind,
the temperature sometimes
too hot
too cold
depending on our state of mind,
There's strife
confrontation
character assination
often
uncommon seas
are far from placid.

The joy of traveling
though
you and me,
Sea creatures
feeling
the longing,
Finally belonging,
Where somewhere
and
sometimes
out of the blue,
A Beluga whale
speaks
your
name
so
perfectly
and
swims alongside
you and me
in
uncommon seas.
The symbol for the unconscious in dreams has been known to be the ocean.
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