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May 2010

I held a Lily in my palm,
Extended it out to you and
Dared you to love me.

And you did.

We built a brick wall around our souls
And our hearts; slightly suffocating
But flowers grew out of the cracks nonetheless
And we felt beautiful.
Beautiful enough to
spill love across our skin
in red acrylic paint
and show our hearts off to the world.
We were always the artsy type,
But I suppose our love of beauty
Was never quite enough to
Keep the promises we wrapped around our pinkies
From falling apart.

It seems as if the torrential storm of
Unspoken words and
Holding on too tight
May have been the cause of all this.
Our safe and secure wall was only
Sand in the end and

I can’t help but think of the flowers;
they never had a chance to bloom.

See, the things that seem so bright and
promising in the light of summer
still succumb to winter; freezing our
Roots and making them brittle enough to
break off into shooting stars that
crash somewhere in the Bermuda triangle


Adieu love
I wish we could wash our hands of this but
my soul is stained with your red lipstick,
pierced with the twilight of your eyes
and a wish that the frayed ends of
this story could be woven back together into
the friendship bracelet we connected our souls
with so many months ago.
But I imagine you cut it off when you cut
these heartstrings
and I'll writhe upon the ground with the broken pieces;
according to you I've always been a snake
so it seems fitting.
My tongue is sharp
but the vision of your halo and wings
still jade my irises.

Just please believe me when I say
that this was unintentional.
The crescent moon that shone against your cheek
was just sharp enough to
severe our ties
and set too low beneath your pupils
to grow this garden.

Time with its second hands are clasped tight
and jagged...
in the end
our pieces were too frayed to fit.

I still wrote poetry of you,
but it was never quite as wonderful
as when you spoke it
and now I write poetry of you
and it’s not nearly as painful as
your silence. So
I would say this is an apology;
A hope that perhaps on a day that
you’re remembering how our blood
flowed together with laughter
you’d stumble upon this cry of desperation
and forgive me
or at least let me explain.

But I don’t even know you anymore
Written by
Stephanie Hayden
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