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Curl up
Breath
Fight the sobs
Thank God
Sleep

This nightly ritual that destroys and keeps.
It's never quite right, he said, the way people look,
the way the music sounds, the way the words are
written.
It's never quite right, he said, all the things we are
taught, all the loves we chase, all the deaths we
die, all the lives we live,
they are never quite right,
they are hardly close to right,
these lives we live
one after the other,
piled there as history,
the waste of the species,
the crushing of the light and the way,
it's not quite right,
it's hardly right at all
he said.

don't I know it? I
answered.

I walked away from the mirror.
it was morning, it was afternoon, it was
night

nothing changed
it was locked in place.
something flashed, something broke, something
remained.

I walked down the stairway and
into it.
 Apr 2010 Sarah Wilson
tessa bear
relief;
tying her
        together,
her heart,
wrapped in white,
and
        in
blue,
maybe a little pink.
deciphering the truth
through all these strings,
half-knotted, half-tearing
and half still thick with light.
and
        glowing
happiness,
        desire
radiating through her
letting the world know
where her life will go in ten years
or maybe fifteen.
these two,
these very few
can touch
        and
feel
and let themselves care
oh, they do, they do.
lights decorating their eyes
their clothes loose and ill-fitting.
she doesn’t mind;
he doesn’t mind.
lungs swimming within her
and letting out sighs,
sighs of
        hidden
relief
buttery love
and creamy
        forgiveness
chloroform their
necks
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.
 Mar 2010 Sarah Wilson
Marie Rose
"Where are your gloves?"
A man with watery blue eyes,
And steaming black coffee asks me.
I almost cannot hear him over the brutal wind,
The city taken by storm.

He leans closer and whispers,
"They are giving some away,
Under the bridge."
As if I know exactly which bridge he is speaking of.

Winking,
He continues past me on the street.
Homeless,
But fortunate in his kindness.
Copyright Marie Hess 2006
 Mar 2010 Sarah Wilson
anne
i walk a line
some where between listening to myself
and listening to God...
if i truly believed i'd burn in hell
i suppose i wouldn't smoke that chronic i bought
and if i truly believed i'd burn in hell
i'd probably do my homework,
stop saying "****"and make sure to not flirt with men that weren't mine
picture this weekend scene;
saturday night, basement
drink in hand
smoke inhaled as clean and clear as everyday air
i would tell that nice boy
with the lip ring and name that starts with a "b"that i was taken by a special man
and ... and..excuses....
let them go let them roll as smooth as bacardi straight from the handle
bought at the local CVS by a bought-off ***
i guess i'm a girl that believes in hell on a bad day
when all bad things
poverty, homelessness, grandma's cancer and stubbing your toe
comes in the form of your dorm roommate
drunk at two am hollering and arranging the mini fridge,
when all the bad things feel as though they affect you directly
and if i truly believed i'd burn in hell
i'd be the girl that appreciated that remembers there's a merciful God
twenty-four seven always
but realitywho forgets
that life is a mystery
i write and it flows
and i know that these words are exaggerated because my conscious knows
i never miss a lecture, and is faithful to the one beautiful boythat actually gives a **** the day after
i'm the girlthat smokes a bowl
and worries about her soul
picture this weekend scene:
alone with a man
gorgeous and caring as could ever be
frozen lake front
wrapped in his arms,
perfect any teen girl couldn't want anything more
but unhappiness rests in me
it rests in his arms, sure neglected for a day or two
but this girls knows
clearity in mind strength through living empirically
and if i truly believe'd i'd go to heaven
i'd stop letting my worries write these ****** *** poems
2/25/10
 Feb 2010 Sarah Wilson
Icarus
holes
 Feb 2010 Sarah Wilson
Icarus
you are hard to reach 
into the hole you crawl into.
i do not look forward
to these ****** moments
when you dwell in your fits and rages
soaking in your silence
to find your balance.   
tormenting yourself alone
is exhausting
for those who watch.
you are a cold ******* 
when you just don't ******* care.
i wish i could feel the same.
not give a ****,
what the **** do i care.
you came without a manual
i have to learn to ride your storms
put up with your *******.
it's messy sometimes
throws me off-kilter, 
me, the organized me.
i have to be crazy doing this
but i end up ******* about it
waiting anxiously for you to sober up
when i am the one drunk.
go figure.
i cannot change you.
i cannot change me.
it is just exhausting sometimes
these moments of seeing you 
in holes you dig yourself into
leaving the rest of the world
with the finger.
gotta learn to leave you alone
till you give a ****.
till something gives.
love *****.
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