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Sara Trivelpiece May 2013
These rings on my fingers
do not represent a heart I hold,
or a person to come home to.
They are not holding the place
of a promise,
or declaring my luck to the world.

One is from my great Grandmother,
whom I never had the chance to meet.
The amethyst is still warm from the Brazilian sun,
which is also how I imagine her embrace would feel.
The second is from my Grammy.
It was her most treasured piece,
and the diamond sparkles like she did in life.
The last is from my mother.
She wore it all through college
and it saw many things.
Now it's my turn to add to the memories,
and pass it on to my daughter someday.

I guess I am married to my heritage;
these rings mark my past.
But they shouldn't stop you from saying hello!
In fact, the ring finger has a vacancy.
Be bold!
Then maybe one day I'll wear one for you, too.
Sara Trivelpiece Apr 2013
You put me on a line
& hung me out to dry.
Darling that's when I
decided to be free.

You cut me down to size
& opened up my eyes.
You made me realize
what I just couldn't see.

What good is it to live
with nothing else to give?
Forget but don't forgive
cause you belong with me.

I could walk along,
100 miles come & gone,
I'll still say you were wrong.
This is all I can be.
Sara Trivelpiece Apr 2013
A sudden shiver
reminds me of the time
when you held my hand
in the dark.
"Everything will be alright"
is what your touch told me.

I believed you,
and remember the way your breath was hot on my skin
as you kissed your way down my neck.
Leaving feeling in your wake
and arching my back towards you.
Sending goosebumps down my arms
to where our fingers were intertwined.

Finally you fell asleep,
in the crook of my arm you rested
your soft shock of hair.
I just wanted to remain frozen
and never meet the dawn again.
Tingling lips remind me of where yours lingered,
soft yet full of passion.

Who knew it'd be the last time?
I was not surprised.
No night that perfect,
can ever be repeated.
the gods would get jealous
and send a horrible plague.
I don't believe there are gods,
for what beings could let me endure this torture,
of craving your skin on mine,
and give me naught but a single glance
or stray smile
to quell this growing hunger.

Torture.
Absolute torture.
To see your affections directed at another.
but that is life.
Alas, that is life.
Sara Trivelpiece Apr 2013
Like whispers said on dying tongues
Never heard.
Like exotic birds trapped in cages
Fluttering hopelessly.
Like leaves in autumn
Falling slowly.
These words are desperate
True
All for you.
I dare not speak them
For fear of what you’d say.
I bite my tongue to stop them from escaping.
And they taste of blood.
Sara Trivelpiece Apr 2013
You are a garden in my head.
Bright and colorful,
full of life.
Memories blossom,
and I become lost.
Lies grow like weeds,
infecting the beauty.
Your words are like water,
truth becomes lost in the undergrowth.
I take great care of these weeds;
I am their protector.
This garden seals my fate.
The gates are closed and I am stuck,
but I don't mind.
Long-cold memories sit perched
on our rock.
Waiting for your warm embrace,
which never comes.
This garden is a prison,
trapping me with thoughts of you.
There is no escape,
for the walls are high
and I have no strength to climb them.
Everything has long since died,
except the weeds
that I tend to so carefully.
They even choke out the sunlight.
I know this is not where I should be,
yet I cannot let go.
I long for my hands to once again have purpose.
But now, I realize, not from you.
The key, I find, was around my neck the whole time.
I have finally set my heart free from this cage,
and the garden is no more.
The gates swing open,
they creak as if to say, "Where were you?",
and welcome me back into the world.
Sara Trivelpiece Apr 2013
I am shallow.
I have that physical checklist,
of eyes, hair, body.
Impress me.
I'd say it's just my programming,
but that's not the whole story.

I am mesopelagic.
Sometimes all I need is a smile,
a witty remark, a spark.
The true person lurking
just below the shallow water.
Light still reaches here,
but it's not as important
what the eyes see.

I am abyssal.
There is only darkness here.
It doesn't matter what you look like,
I have fallen far for you.
I do not need any light to know why,
I just know I would stay down here forever.

I crave a love so deep
the ocean would be jealous.
Sara Trivelpiece Apr 2013
Love* is a funny thing.
It cannot be measured,
yet it is.
It cannot be seen,
but it can be observed.
It is felt,
but not by any of the 5 senses.
It is all of them and none of them.
It is night and day; past, present, future
all rolled into one.
It is everything, but nothing.
It exists outside ourselves
yet it is a human construct.
*Or is it?

— The End —