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alexandra May 2017
Sharpies bleed through notebook paper with ease as their ink is too strong for the lines to absorb
It’ll leak and seep down and down, not caring about how many pages it leaves ruined with the shadows of previous pages
I’ve written you many letters
Letters with my own ink bleeding into your pages
You are a novel with sandy, thin pages like a butterfly’s wings
A story I desperately want to be a part of
But your twelve point times new roman font rejects my messy cursive with distaste
Margin writing doesn’t affect the book itself, it only comforts the reader in that it reassures them
Reassures that slowly they are gathering the pieces to put together the puzzle
Your book is sold from the old bookstore
Your cover fair and back almost brand new
Spine intact with no folding or drying of the glue
You are you
I wrote a few notes, at least I tried
I accidentally used a sharpie so I’m sorry with the bleeding inside
May your new owner take better care of you than I
Make sure she uses a pencil
Before she writes inside
alexandra May 2017
this is for the girl who equates a shove to the wall and stumbling on the sidewalk as both minor interruptions to her day
because it's your fault, isn't it?
it's your fault that you smoked one last cigarette on the balcony that to take the edge off
to numb yourself to his hands
how did it feel in that moment when his hands lost touch
your legs gave out
you were swimming in the sky three floors above the cement
was it peaceful for you to experience a high not accompanied by bruises
when you woke up in the hospital, the first thing you saw
was his face
devilish eyes now formed into puppy dog's eyes gaze down at you
he says he loves you
you forgive him and convince yourself that he really meant it
just like you really meant that cigarette to be the last one your lips ever touched
He peeks down under your paper hospital gown and sees your bruises he'll tell you you're **** even in the fluorescent love and you count down the minutes until he has his way with you again
he likes his *** filled with blood and anger
you are more of a fine wine with gentle frisky after tastes
he is the cheapest whiskey at the liquor store down the street
you know this because your kisses are never sweet
your lover's mouth is just a battlefield
all it is is a pouch with remnants of all the  shot glasses piled near the sink
he sees your wounds as trophies and grimaces,
daydreaming of when the canvass will turn white again and he can paint his masterpiece over and over again
what he doesn't see is the roots in your broken pelvis
you are an oak darling with no room to grow
any whining and your kid doesn't eat for a night
you are doll with skin tanned to a crisp and silicone planted in your chest like fake flowers planted in real soil
he tells you to hold your head up and do what he says
don't make noise
because your son is sleeping two feet of drywall away
that doesn't stop him and nor can you
you've become numb to the feeling of hands all over you
your eyes roll back into your head
not out of pleasure, certainly this is not about you
they roll because they are so used to see beads of sweat mixed with fake tan
his gold chained dog tag hangs in the space between your bodies

he's wearing his cologne
that awful brand you never liked because he smelled like papyrus
he smelled pure and good

but even the strongest perfumes can't outweigh the smell of blood that is caked under his fingernails because he was too tired to shower
but not tired enough to beat you into the corner of the living room
your son is still sleeping in the room next to you
you see the ***** syringes lying on the bathroom floor
and the pills on the dresser
you see his muscles get larger
and your heart smaller
he'll make you feel special, though
because not every girl gets a broken nose for Easter
alexandra Apr 2017
I hope you are happy.
from the bottom of my cold heart that you tried to *****.
Let's take it back to the days filled with conversations
everything and nothing
sleepovers and truth or dare
curling hair and asking where
where was the future taking us?
surely, we didn't think it was here
you broke me in a way you'll never see
because the sores in my mouth that I carved expertly
are scarred over
but I can still taste their blood
I can still feel the word ring in my ears for all to hear
I was
I am
I cut my mouth open with fangs that sprouted from my gums
the bathroom door met my fists in a most cordial meeting
it was just a word
five letters arranged in a particular way
but it came from your mouth
the mouth that used to grin at my jokes and laugh every time I spoke
the teeth braces spent years trying to fix and no matter how many
gallons of soda you drank
they still managed to mature into pearls
pearls are beautiful but now I can see the sharpness to their shine
it cut me
and others are deceived by their glimmer
you tried to cut me down and congratulations you did
but even a dandilion can survive a few hits
alexandra Oct 2016
It will never really go away, and I am coming to accept that.
It will be there like the copper aftertaste of cheap chocolate that oils the roof of my mouth
Like the scoff of my shoes on the hotel carpets that’d annoy my father
The ticking of the clock ten minutes off during practice
The icy temperatures of the history classroom as I attempt to pay attention
Like the rattle of the acetaminophen tablets in my pill bottles
The sweaty nights accompanied by tears and fretting for the morning
The feeling in my stomach when a test is placed in front of me
Like the way he looks at me from down the hall with wandering eyes to match his heart
The way my compass sometimes catches on the surface of the paper and ruins the circle entirely
The moment of panic before I remember my locker combination
Like the cold feeling of going to sleep with wet hair and stubbly legs
The dry tightness of my skin after washing my hands
The cracking of my face  under my nose due to rough tissues
Like the threatening surfaces of frozen water in the parking lot
The gagging taste of cough syrup as it spills down my throat
The embarrassment of not knowing the answer in class and sputtering out “uh”s and “um”s
But accepting that doesn’t rule out the good
There will be days filled with shocking ecstasy
Like the moment a snow day is announced
The grade boost after a well prepared for test
A good night’s sleep
Warm days
Cold nights
New sweatshirts waiting to have memories sewn into their fibers
Putting lotion on after shaving
Buying bed sheets
Drinking tea
Finding a new band
Going to concerts
Maybe it's not so bad if I accept that my days won’t be perfect
After all
Balance is key in the face of diversity
alexandra Oct 2016
the feeling starts in my toes
any my body knows what is about to happen so it lands me on solid ground
i shut down, the only sound i hear is the throbbing of my heart
that's the start, the fuel for the fire that sparks in my chambers
grains of sand tip into my legs and fill me with the heaviness of desire
the liar before me spits lighter fluid and lights me up
the sand is burned into glass, suddenly I am fragile
a thing i never wanted to be
they tell me not to throw rocks if i live in a house of glass, yet i hurl boulders at every potential predator who threatens to stain my glass with unholy hands
but my dear, it'd be a pleasure to be stained my you
the pain i feel looking at you is salt on my tongue
weights on my lungs
acid on my skin
a need within
oh god do I miss you, even when you are standing in front of my fortress with ready fingertips
but again and again, i will say there is venom, not candy, on your lips
alexandra Sep 2016
Fight it.
The feeling itches up your spine and makes you want to touch his hand.
Fight it.
Your knees go weak and shake under your flowing dress that dusts the floor at his feet.
This is the closest you will ever be to him.
Fight it.
His velvet lips are ****** to the touch of another set.
Fight it.
He touches your head where a thin scratch lines your scalp and you swear there is lightning in his fingertips as you feel his electricity pulsating through your fiery veins.
Fight it.
His words are soft and match his tamed heart resting in his chest while yours beats furiously.
Fight it.
You tell yourself that his hands aren’t the makers of your happiness and that he does not define your life from the second you wake up to the minute you fall asleep.
Or rather, the countless minutes you spend staring at that one unevenly colored section on your ceiling in the dim moonlight.
Fight it.
Your feelings are merely a replicate of every living person on this earth.
Love is a ruse that everyone falls for.
Fight it.
As he ices you out of his life with cruel silence, he doesn’t realize.
With a cold heart and a freezing desire for love, icing people out is your specialty.

— The End —