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 Apr 2015 Roni Shelley
Ann Beaver
A single slight curl,
A memory seed-
Like sand in a pearl

the needle goes through
The thought of you
Now gathering a luster
Then and now I wonder
If I have the muster
If I have the sand
If I have a hand
Everything is gone
I want to open your skull and lick your mind.
intelligent lust
 Mar 2015 Roni Shelley
Ann Beaver
Gray dust
And I
Have left you behind.

You:
The only thing I've ever wanted to know
You: the blood and the blade.
You: the only gold to have stayed.

I sail into the moon
Was it ever too soon
To take your hand
 Feb 2015 Roni Shelley
LET
on saturday I bought myself a dress
and you bought yourself more time
in my head
 Nov 2014 Roni Shelley
Ann Beaver
I walk through
the door marked "you"
A cloud of poison
I have chosen
because I crave nothing
but suffering
please tell me
that my sweet scene lingers
the way your words do
the way your fingers
always have.
Dear 13 year old me,
You are no longer sitting in your bathroom imagining your life as an 18 year old.
Instead,  you are 18 sitting in your dorm room.
Did you imagine it like this?
This is a reminder that in 5 years you dyed your hair 5 different  colors,
lost friends you thought would be with you always,
and started University 8 hours from your hometown.
Within those short 5 years you managed to hurt your family repeatedly,
and then attempt to fix what you'd broken.
you discovered your passions, learned a few things about love, and
often times forgot to speak your mind.
When you read this next you may be 20, or 31.
You will think differently at that time, God I hope you do.
Widen your horizons, your perspective.
Please travel, and love even if you don't know how;
imagine things again. Don't be scared but take precautions.
Try and love your family. Please try,
for me.
Dye your hair, pierce things without letting your mom see.
And just please, please try to be happy.
I’m simply saddened by the thought i could’ve written thousands of love poems if you would’ve let me look at you longer
I keep dreaming I'm somewhere else.
I suppose we all do that.
Lost in the idea that somewhere else is better than here.
I try to neatly gather my thoughts into a pool of understanding,
but am left an empty concrete pit.
i have yet to write about the sad look on your face
and the milky emerald swirl i catch in your eye
quite simply,
the gold from your fingertips scares
me
your untouchable phrases and the touches mesmerize me
i feel like i am reading my favorite book and rediscovering it's clairvoyance all over again
the sounds that escape your mouth create an essence of grayish light that bring out the flecks of honey in your eyes
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