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I'm afraid to write about you.
In the event that you're gone,
you will have been made immortal
within the ink of these pages.

I'm afraid to write about you,
and the way you can caress my
body with your ocean eyes,
sending endless waves through me.

I'm afraid to write about the way
you breathe when you sleep, like
a metronome lullaby, keeping
perfect time with my own breath.

I'm afraid if I were to write about you,
that I'd never be able to rid myself
of your touch, even if I hadn't felt it
but in the dreams that'd haunt me.

Anyone who reads my work will
know you, nameless nonetheless.
I'm afraid to write about you,
but look what I've done.
I wanted to be a city,
decorated in winking lights
and lively seas of people.

I wanted to be a home,
warmed by the sunlight,
alive as the garden out back.

Today, I am neither of these.
I am nothing but a vacant
chassis of progression,

where every day a piece
of me builds and then crumbles.
I am content with this.
I love the sight of
flower petals on creased sheets;
they remind me of
how you'd undress and expose
my bare skin to the spring sun.
I like the way your

lips feel, pressed to my collar.

I like the way your

fingertips dance on my skin,

like it's what they're meant to do.
On this Earth, there are
millions of people that
walk these moonlit streets.
And nothing compares to the
favor the moon has for you.
You're so magical, and the moon is envious.
Don't fall for any
fantasy you have of me.
I am real and I
am dressed in imperfection.
I hope you won't feel let down.
Somehow I already know
how it ends,
even before it begins.
Call it some type of

But you were unexpected;
you weren't part of the plan.

I chased you from the
comfort of the only path I knew,
and now all that I know
is how lost I'd be
without you.
Maria Knox Feb 11
Why do the good feel at fault?

We are not the problem. They are.
We tend to every open wound tirelessly, in return once our backs are turned They reach for handfuls of coarse salt to undo all the hurt we healed.
But it’s ok. We don’t learn. Still we will tend to the oozing abyss as if made by our fault.
Maybe it is.
Maybe it is our fault,
For not seeing the salt.
There are inner battles that
Are waging within my soul.
Insecurity strikes with
Swiftness of the snake.

Awaken, rejuvenate.
Life is far too short to waste
Precious breath on tired souls.
Awaken your peace.

I was so used to reading
Others emotions like it
Was biblical scripture.
You make me humble.

I stopped feeling the need to
Read into everything when
You showed me an open book.
It's such a relief.
You are ever changing;
You are brand new.
Eyes like a glacial melting
Over the ocean blue.

I want to experience this rebirth
Within you in full bloom.
Steady as the roots of Earth,
Dominant as the pull of the moon.

From the perspective of one
Who finds darkness in everything;
You are every ray of sun
Inside of a cold, winter's dream.

Darling, you are golden and green,
Just as the rolling hills of Aberdeen.
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