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andrea Nov 2018
There is a coldness, a bitterness that grows with fervor
glancing back to younger days, days wild with unexpecting
with lips pulled back, bracing teeth for tomorrow, holding *****.
Grit, I have none. I fear a wrinkled future, not the body, dreams:
Like a plant that goes to waste for weekends left unwatered,
Like a mad purple bruise throbs at night, lest you forget (fool!)
I've been feeling murky lately, and I haven't been here in a while
andrea Jun 2016
I pledge allegiance to this body
(it has been mine since my palms felt the inside of my mother)
of short stature
of thick hair
of symbolic curves
of the united state between a mother + father
and to the republic for which it stands —on strong feet—
(however cruel or judgmental or disrespectful its citizens may be )
one vessel under God
( for He is the One who moves my breath)
(there is no other like me)
with liberty
(it was mine when knees first scraped pavement)
and justice for all
(this body is mine, and by it I will do no wrong)
Getting back into the groove of things this morning;  I'm a little rusty , but well here it is.  If there is anything that doesn't make sense or that could use improving/editing pls comment!! I want to get better
andrea Feb 2016
between the book stacks
(in the reading corner of the coffee shop)
i sipped a mug of chamomile and honey tea
(maybe too fast)
you heard the muttered ****
(pardon my french)
a napkin suddenly appeared
(it was between Dahl and Dickinson)
the smile was unintentional
(i meant to keep my frown, really)
how could i resist those dimples
(and your charming way around puns)
funny how things work out
(or don't)
first write of this year, i think?
andrea Nov 2015
What feeling compares to the warmth inside these bones
when I awake at Dawn to a still house,
and comfortable bustle awaits
There is none!
no other mornings compare to such
what with floating voices and metaphoric hugs
a sunday to its monday; disparate
and i'd make the hours stretch if i could
like a Dough prepared for
round laughter
to be enjoyed with glasses of
tall bliss
every Eye i meet glimmers
with amity to spare
and the Earth around is brimming
with wonder I cannot describe to you
in words
an ode
to sundays worth living for
andrea Nov 2015
often i've wondered
if pretty children
will wake up
under the sighs
of the weeping willow
and lay in marvel
under Her ancient beauty

or if they simply call it
by the name (tree)
and see it
by the sight
of green
or a tragic white
it's been too long
andrea Aug 2015
You know that feeling
mind is reeling
you are everywhere but
faces, voices, eyes alluding
to the "one over there"
the one intruding
and you check your palms
sweaty lines
tell the signs
this is not your home
but you enter anyway
we all do

enter houses that feel like itchy wool sweaters
and it's uncomfortable and you're not even sure you like it
but you tell others you've never been better
i dunno i hadn't written in a while so heres a quick jot
andrea Aug 2015
Of 7.3 million pages of stories and stories and stories
i know none
i know only my own
one page in the book of life
and i can only hope my page does not become so
damp with tears that i can no longer recognize
my own narrative
august 5th
every 7 seconds a new story is written...
every 13, a story ends
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