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Walking through winter with an orange in my pocket
Impaled with a gasp
By the whitest of mornings
I have fully left midnight
Velveteen and drunken
Tangled all in the branches behind
Gone away and I am glad
This is not cowardice
Creeping like death in the cold
It is a wind-stung
Cautiousness
Natural when so brand new
I see you first
wandering down this hall
as your feet hit,
left, right, left
my head goes
thud, thud, thud,
and as you stop and smile
so does my heart
 Sep 2013 rainydaysunday
Samantha
I started to think I was going to write you a letter,
Just then I figured a poem would be better.
It the little things you do that make me feel great,
I have no choice but to appreciate.
I appreciate the things you do to help me for heaven’s sake.
I enjoy spending time with you, making me happy every time I feel blue.
You may not realize that all the kindness you share lets me know that you do care.
I think of you as a gift from god, because without you I would be distraught.
You’re a great person on the inside and out, I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to go without.
Without all your care and help I feel I couldn’t live, I love you for absolutely everything you give.
Not just happiness, friendship, and money; even the simple things when you call me hunny.
I don’t know where else to go with this but I know you help me strive, every little thing you do is what’s keeping me alive.
You helped me so much so far and I’m thankful for everything just never change who you are.
I even think of you constantly think about how amazing you are, even when I’m driving around town and singing songs aloud in my car.
There are no words that describe how I feel about you but this while poem is incredibly true.
 Sep 2013 rainydaysunday
cait
flesh on bone
skin on blood
tangled webs of crisscross veins
woven by the nimble fingers of time

tears in smooth skin, sewn up
by cells that know not their own complexity,
and a spectrum of colours
thousands upon thousands to be perceived

this vessel you inhabit
drifting through years of ocean
and yet through the storm,
it cannot break.

a melody
composed of a thousand instruments
a world
formed by mountain and ocean

consciousness that binds your entire world together,

and you're telling me that we're not all beautiful?
You envelop me like the smell before rain.
Like the sweet clean air,
that drifts in pockets through the breeze.
And like the low steady rumble of thunder,
I want to be whole for you.

So I’ve been throwing my broken bits to the birds
hoping that they’ll be washed away in the first thaw.
I’ve been screaming my fears into the ocean
like some vacant lot,
and waiting for answers like bottles
to drift in with the tides.

There were nights
I would tear razorblades across my skin
and watch the blood pour from my mouth,
but tonight I am setting my scars to the wind,
like sails,
and I pray that they will carry me home to you.

You are wherever I have always been,
where I am now,
and where I dream of being tomorrow.
So there is no shame then,
when I lay myself to rest
in your palms.

There are moments I reach out to you,
to put my hands on your skin,
to feel your warm soft touch,
pulsing through me like morphine.

So right here and now,
let me come clean before you.
Let me rinse myself of my conclusions,
and rid you of my past.
You know there were times I wanted to die.
But my days are no longer numbered,
and you know now my wounds,
they have been healed.

Do you remember the night you brought me home?
Well the story is written out here on my arms,
every scar the first letter of your name,
and together they now spell the word “alive.”
She slides over
the hot upholstery
of her mother's car,
this schoolgirl of fifteen
who loves humming & swaying
with the radio.
Her entry into womanhood
will be like all the other girls'—
a cigarette and a joke,
as she strides up with the rest
to a brick factory
where she'll sew rag rugs
from textile strips of kelly green,
bright red, aqua.

When she enters,
and the millgate closes,
final as a slap,
there'll be silence.
She'll see fifteen high windows
cemented over to cut out light.
Inside, a constant, deafening noise
and warm air smelling of oil,
the shifts continuing on ...
All day she'll guide cloth along a line
of whirring needles, her arms & shoulders
rocking back & forth
with the machines—
200 porch size rugs behind her
before she can stop
to reach up, like her mother,
and pick the lint
out of her hair.
 Sep 2013 rainydaysunday
Annvie
I wish you would
return my sly glances and shy antics
with a few of your own romantic advances
Am I in your mind as you are in mine?
Or should I slide aside to the sidelines?
 Sep 2013 rainydaysunday
Kari
In another life you were a philosopher king,
and I, your eager subject.
I loved you then, too.
I still love you, I will love you,
in this life, the last, and more to come.
I am your fatal flaw, blemish,
one weakness and curse.
It's why you still love me, did love me,
and why you will love me,then, too,
in this life, the last, and more to come.
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