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ashley Jun 2017
she dresses down during the day,
a pair of swearpants and an oversized flannel,
her soft, curly locks bouncing in a high ponytail.
she's seen as the class hippie, an activist and a seemingly air headed girl.
but what people don't know, is that
this girl is the top of her class.
she's a ditsy, fun girl
by day,
and a baby in lace for her lover
by night.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2017
The black lace tree,
like some seductive lover,
caresses the gray sky
running its fingers through the softness.

The sky first holds its breath
in surprise, then
heaves a passionate sigh
as the tree trembles with joy.
b e mccomb Jul 2016
I'm wrapped in
Black lace.

I can see the world around fuzzy lines and
I can breathe almost
Normally and I can hear
Every whisper like a scream.

But when I try to
Talk the words get
Stuck somewhere between
My throat and my lips.

My tongue is scratching
The fabric.

I'm finally used to
It all
So used to it that when I
Wake up in the morning
I don't even fight
The cloth wrapped around me.

I just roll over against
The wall and look far and wide
To all the things I can't see around
The corners of my eyes.

I can't capture
The things I can't see.

I used to want a Polaroid camera
To pocket every little grain of
World around me and now
All I want to see is the
Subtle darkness of my own
Eyelids.

That darkness used to be
Navy blue but now
It's pure black and when I stare at it
Long enough my mind
Superimposes a white filigree
Outline onto it.

Have you ever listened to
Sad music just to give you
The right to feel sad
Even if it was for the wrong reasons?

Four years ago this week
I found myself staring out
Plate glass windows at
Parked cars
The cold air trickling
Up my hoodie sleeves.

Now I'm staring at
Invisible black lace and
A lot of life lived between
The two vistas
Improvement?
Debatable
Maturity?
Non-negotiable.

My great-grandmother's shawl
Is still hanging in the
Back of my closet but I swear
It's wrapped around my face sometimes
And my old hoodie is
Lying on the floor at
The foot of my bed but I swear
I feel it creeping down my arms sometimes.

I never knew my great-grandmother
But I doubt she was a terribly pleasant person
Judging from the rest
Of my family.

Yet I doubt that any of my long-lost
Relatives ever held as tight a
Chokehold on someone as her
Black lace has on me.

I'm slowly dying inside
And when death catches up
With my physiology
I hope they send my body to the
Funeral home and clear out the
Weeds around the pond
Then have a bonfire
Of my notebooks and clothes in the
Back field some unreasonably
Lovely summer evening.

And I hope they burn that
******* black lace with it.
Copyright 1/18/16 by B. E. McComb
Autumn Jul 2016
You spot the skirt of a violet dress
fervently draped of black lace
You feel a tug on your chest
You must see her face

The dance floor is a river of crashes
You force your legs to swim in
As her bodice comes into view
Her blown glass figure promises sin

You find violent black curls at her pearl shoulder
As you tread through sway, you strain for her
The music rises as you bid her to turn
While billowing skirts and fluttering tails hide her

You are about to drown and lose her
Before you see a trench formed of people
You reach and gasp as you pull through
She's real. You see the purple

Anticipation. You touch her shoulder
Her grace. She turns and catches your breath
Cranberry red lips reach for rosy cheeks
Midnight lace shadows her eyes like death

She offers her hand to you, waiting
You are entranced in her seductive lips
As you fly her to the river
You thrash into waves with her hips

You try to look through the black to see
She strains her neck from you
“No one sees my soul” she says
Disappointed, you only caught the hue

You feel her melted on your lips
Her skin a valley of nocturnal silk
Your curios hands run down her arms
Liquid. Your fingers feel warm milk

You bring your hand up to see
You look at her wrists emitting scarlet
Blood oozes up her arm, drips down her dress
The skirt flows with wine red wet

The room is empty, hazed by shadow
She drops, you hold her arms from giving
She is a crimson vortex, drowning herself
“Let me. You forget and keep on living.”

Voice of reason and acceptance
But static of pleading and reaching
She doesn’t want to die, you think.
You ease her out, the blood draining.

And now, there you two sit, painted in red
You bandage her in momentary peace
You decide to lift the heavy lace
The cosmos stare back at you in release
short story/poetry
Fox Midnight Mar 2016
Our world has barely anything to see,
If your not here with me.
Oh, how happy we would be,
If we could go to the sea.

We could see the gulls flying high,
Why did we need to say goodbye.
For it would be a lie,
If I said I didn't cry.

How the wind blew that day,
And blew my tears all away.
Up on the hill we stood,
Stood knee deep in mud.

And I would say to you if I could,
"Dear, don't go. Let our love bud".
And the flower of love would spread happiness all around,
And it would make a lovely sound.

But no, you had to go away,
Saying you'll come back some day.
But for you I would wait for eternity,
Because in my heart I knew, you was the only one for me.

Stood, still, I am on the purple hill,
And wait here longer I will.
As I love you more than anything,
And the soft songs you use to sing.

Even if you left me for dead,
I wouldn't be able to get you out of my head.
Even if you strikes me across the face,
I would still protect the ribbon of lace.

The one you gave to me,
When we first went to the sea.
For I want only you, my wild dove,
Oh, can't you see? Your the only one I love...
the poem of love from Him to Me to You.
xcvii Jan 2016
My red velvet chair still carries the scars
From when you'd stab her with your 20-cent cigars
Dark cherry cola and dark cherry wood
You showed me the stars the way no one else could

My red lipstick stains on your collar & cheek
Enough tiny smokestacks to last us a week
The brand of your poison's endearing to breathe
Your bottles of scotch ain't a bother to me

You gave me all velvet and ribbon and lace
The dark purple mauves and the smile on my face
I'm really not gold but you made me feel more
I am no longer a concrete floor.
Thank you for making me feel something... Anything...
Anabel Nov 2015
a ribbon of fire
a curl of lace
and your eyes swimming
in the fishbowl
of my heart
Grace Victoria Nov 2015
the insecurity
and awareness
of being called out

being singled out
once
at the start to my day
and the feeling of
self consciousness
throughout the rest of it

that day
it wasn't a bold move
or a statement

i wanted to look nice
but a little lice
or a little skin
and suddenly
I was at fault

since when has my back
become a distraction
how many people have noticed
before that one did

i am not here for judgement
i am here to learn
in comfort
and the four inches
of skin
on my back
that show through this lace
is not enough of a reason
for you
to take away comfort
from my day
my thoughts on being dress-coded
The weeds belch forth from
every opportunity .
The marbled marmalade has lost
all it's glazed perpetutuity
Ductile iron lace , once dreams ,
covered in mist and rust
Petticoated ghosts of little girls
Swing from chain linked imaginations
A wearied moon plexiates
The trees tier the moon away
And I am missing you
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