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Paige Hatcher Feb 2012
Who is it that I write for?
There's no pressure to impress
No needs that need met,
There's only myself.
My sanity laid bare,
My instability shining
The cross I bear held high
For all to see.
But I do not write for you.
I do not write to catch your eye
Or cross your gaze.
I'd rather some not read
My impoverished words at all.
This is personal.
My most private thoughts
I'm too afraid to speak,
But come alive as words in ink.
This is for me.
This is my mirror,
However distorted in may be.
Paige Hatcher Feb 2012
There's lightning bolts on the air conditioner,
Magnetic words on the refrigerator,
Crazy cats on the hard wood floor
This isn't your average house next door.
There's a barbed wire fence in our backyard.
Unlocking the door is awfully hard.
We've got a back porch, but no back door.
And non-existent traction on that **** hard wood floor.
The house around the corner just couldn't compare.
At least over here I have some fresh air.
A place we can stand to smoke when it rains,
And oh, did I mention, these cats are insane!
Paige Hatcher Feb 2012
I thought I knew you
That crooked smile I love most.
Doctor, who are you?
Paige Hatcher Jan 2012
I’ve got triggers.
Triggers in places I never knew.
A smell, a touch, a taste
Can all send me reeling;
Lost in a memory.
Treading the dark waters
To keep my mind from going under,
A fight I nearly always lose.
Not many would understand.
Cigarette smoke and alcohol,
That vague perfume you’d find
In all those seedy bars
We used to frequent.
I find myself drawn to that
Faint fragrance & my pulse quickens.
A mental sketch of us crosses my vision.
You, with your hand sliding up my thigh,
Me, hoping the patronage of the bar didn’t see.
And then it fades.
My pulse slows, slows, slows,
... Stops.
Skips a beat.

Like it used to when your
Hand would wind its way,
Wrap itself around my neck.
My vision would blur,
Images would sway.
Relaxing your grip,
While my body burns
And the fire in my lungs is quenched.
My lips pressed to your skin;
The bitter, sweet, salty taste
Of sweat and lust on my tongue.
My pulse quickens again,
Faster, faster & faster,
Then sinks further into memory.
Drowning, gasping, grasping for reality.
You spoke in whispers so carelessly once
And the song in my mind
Swallows me down to the depths,
To the haze of smoke,
Where all I hear is the engine
As you drive away again.
Paige Hatcher Jan 2012
It’s beautiful the way they dance
Swaying with cheeks brushing together
A gentle caress here and there.
It’s calming, really.
Then they rally against the other,
Batting away, like drunken batterers.
Then the biting, the clawing
The yowls.
Eventually you get tired of
Watching them spat.
But what I wouldn’t give to see a video
Or still shots of what those little monsters
Do when no one is watching.
When you finally brave the living room,
They’re passed out, cuddled around each other
Purring in their sleep,
As if dreaming of pleasures
We didn’t get to witness.
My cats … are lesbians.
Paige Hatcher Jan 2012
These razor blades in my head won’t let me sleep,
Won’t let me rest.
Each noise drives them deeper,
Further into the abyss of my mind
As they chip away my senses.
Lights like lasers cutting through
My eyes and I can’t see.
Each smell overwhelms me and
Sends my stomach into reels and fits.
How long until these meds kick in?
How long until the sun goes down?
How long until the laughter and the barking stops?
Oh, right.
I live with *** holes.
And I just have to get up and do this again tomorrow.
Grab another pill, another bottle of Aquafina.
Choke down some bland version of mashed potatoes.
Sleep. Breathe. Dream.
Paige Hatcher Jan 2012
I’m looking for a slower kind of burn
A fire to keep me warm for longer
Something that will last throughout the chill
I need a fire to warm the cold,
The cold that’s snuck into my heart.
Not a fire that burns itself out quickly,
Not a lust that leaves me sated
A slow burn to last the night,
A slow fire to ward off the things of fright.
Give me that slow burn to get through
To get through the ice that’s holding me.
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