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wren cole May 2016
I try to reason with my
Sick-drip, slow-sink heart,
To tell it that
There is no reason to fall apart
At the simplest of sentiments,
Memories brought on by words.
But my sickly heart won't listen,
All it knows is how to yearn.
I am a trained expert
In how it feels
To hurt.
  May 2016 wren cole
unwritten
step one:
do not look at their mouth,
for you will expect to see rivers flowing from it,
poetry slipping through the space between their lips
in the same way that the wind slips through the space underneath a door,
but instead you will only see spit and saliva
and a tongue too big for its home.

step two:
do not look at their hands,
for you will expect them to craft cities from marble right before your very eyes,
but instead it will be just the thumbs,
the twiddling of thumbs,
the aimlessness, the senselessness,
the lack of experience with building empires.

step three:
do not look at their eyes,
for they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul,
and when you see that the curtains have been drawn,
you will feel so very alone.

step four:
i did not love you.
you have to repeat it.
i did not love you.
i did not love you.
i did not love you;
i loved what i thought you would be.
i thought you would be eden,
but you were only the apple.

step five:
i suppose i am to blame here
for digging holes too big to fill,
for crafting shoes too big to fit in.
and for that i am sorry.
i am sorry that i expected more from you
than i even expect from myself.

step six:
human.
human.
let the word roll off and around your tongue,
let it cover every inch of the inside of your mouth.
say it. over and over again.
say it. like it is foreign and you need to know what it means.
say it.
and when you have said it enough times and it feels
dull, old,
disappointing,
you will know that we are nothing more than flesh and bone,
and that as much as we wish there were gods among us,
flesh always rots in the end.
this is the beast of truth that we cannot outrun.
hands cannot craft cities from marble
if only given clay.

step seven:**
do not let this frighten you.
clay, after all,
was meant for molding.

(a.m.)
written may 11th & 12th. i've found recently that there are a lot of people i used to idolize and look up to who i now see were really just ordinary people all along. it's disappointing, but there is also some reassurance in coming back to reality.
wren cole May 2016
I've fallen in love
3 times in my life.
The first time,
He was a long-time friend with ever-changing hair and river eyes
And I wasn't afraid of the dark around him.
I knew
I loved him
And I wasn't
Afraid.
(Months later,
He taught me fear in love
When he told me
He hadn't been in the whole time.)
The second time,
She was a bright new adventure who had a way with words and a patience I'd never encountered before.
I knew I loved her
When her eyelashes caught the sunlight
And I wanted to lay by the pool side
And sleep away the summer with her.
I
Was
So
Afraid.
(Months later,
She proved me right.
Her patience broke.
Now she calls me Cancer.)
The third time,
They caught me by surprise,
Because it'd always taken me so long to fall before.
They made it easy,
They surrounded me with safety
In the form of a warm pair of arms.
I didn't know,
Too afraid to realize,
Or to say.
(Not too long later,
They told me they wanted someone
Who could love them as fast.
I was so afraid to repeat
That I caused a repeat of the past.)
I've fallen in love
3 times in my life
And I've never
Learned
How
To
Fall
Out.
Pretend it's poetry. I just needed to spill some thoughts.
  May 2016 wren cole
Seán Mac Falls
( Sonnet)*

How can my lips survive,
The wait of beamed kisses,
From your green, fey eyes,
Pinned, blind by the sun?
O like scarlet dipping into
Seas, your lips are setting
All the skies aflame in dusk
From them, my poor body
Suffering to explore yours,
Heavenly eyes, unearthly,
Bodies ****** lips to dream,
Merest, only dream. Pray
Tell me surest, sweetest lie,
How can my lips survive?
wren cole May 2016
My skin has yellow undertones
Your eyes have golden flecks
We were a recipe for disaster from the moment that we met
You encased yourself in ice and steel
You broke my stained glass windows
I built myself a million walls to hide millions of secrets you clawed at the bricks to know
We share a pair of butterfly's wings
We each stole each other's half
You look away when you see me in passing
I feel shattered when I hear you laugh
My skin has yellow undertones
Your eyes have golden flecks
We were a recipe for disaster from the moment that we met
My lit nerd *** had fun with symbolism in this one
wren cole May 2016
I cannot wax poetic
About the feelings on this flesh
I have no pretty way of wording
The destruction I desire
There's no beautiful way to say
I want to cave in
Until I am barely here
Until I am bone
wren cole May 2016
I am trapped inside myself
Inside this flesh and bone
This vessel
Used to be numbered 5
When it was sick
Now 18
I want to leave this cage
Find a new one
Feel beautifully hollow again
Sick or not
I don't care
Sick is better than this
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