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rue Dec 2019
i want
lavender beaches
strawberry bubblegum
willow-wood bed frames..
i want
sweet summertime
on crumbling tectonic plates
with my burlap baby..
i want
grapefruit pompoms
painted on my cheeks
telling stories in the fluorescence..
i want

and that still won’t be enough.
rue Dec 2019
i’m not fragile
i won’t break easily

                                                but your touch
                               isn’t exactly weak either.
rue Dec 2019
i’ve got racing stripes
              war paint
                       painted on my body.

they don’t wipe away
they don’t bleach out
they don’t spell out my
                                      poetry begs to be written on them..
                             music begs to make them beautiful..

but all i want to do is to bury them. bury them further and further under my skin until an x-ray machine couldn’t even detect them. i don’t want to see them ever again. just let me get rid of these scars.
rue Dec 2019
you always knew
that i was scared of small spaces.
you act like you don’t remember
but you do
i know you remember.
you spit out the word
         “ claustrophobic ”
like it’s the bitter end of cranberry juice
leaving it stained on the bathroom tile.
now all i can see
in this dark house
is everything you said i shouldn’t be afraid of.
— like small spaces, like you —

can i forgive you ?
should i forgive you ?
am i still afraid of you ?
rue Dec 2019
i will
dig myself out
of this grave
you made for me.
i will dig up
my very own bones
my very own shreds
of skin
and come back
from the dead.
so be careful
where you bury me.

— The End —