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Christine Ely Mar 11
without being irrevocably changed.

How dare you try to resurrect the dead,
it's gone and we've mourned and it isn't the same,
It seems a cruel trick to bring it half-back
just to force us through grief as it dies slowly again.
I remove myself in a way I never thought I would,
imagine I mourned only once and can really move on,
We're all different from grieving a full year ago.
Priorities change, but admin seems slow.
You cannot restore what I missed twelve months past.
It's a whole lot of nostalgia and a pain in the ***--
It's transformed and it's warped
from what it could have been.
The hopes that we had that were snapped and stretched thin.
Let the people rest, we're tired of change.
We're weary and ready to sit by the grave.
Mar 6 · 102
small and flat
i am covered in spots of pain
Raised patches
like the waves in my brain
picking away
at what makes me Me
and like my mind I don't yet want it
I wish my skin were flat as a child's
I wish my brain were thin.
Feb 8 · 49
how i wanted for you
and now you've arrived,
I yearned and I yearned and I struggled to thrive;
Now that you're here I am still where I've been.
But no longer alone, and for something to live--

I find myself still awash in the feeling of loss.
Of things trivial, inconsequential, nebulous, and wrong--
Almost as if I wish to remember the ache.
I went from aching to know you
to aching to see you sooner.

Come see me sooner.

You're twelve miles away and it feels awful far.
A weekend commute and
crying alone in my car.
I weep at leaving you,
of losing the feeling of being alive,
Until next weekend when I regain you again--
I'm a moth to your light.
I'm afraid to admit that I live so much of my life in you.
Oct 2020 · 55
a human kind of entropy,
Christine Ely Oct 2020
you and I go wrong-
you **** my soul of order,
leave me with hollow song-
You leave me with the lyrics
of days and nights grown long
of missing you and feeling too
That we were contaminated;

but there’s nothing left for me alone.
Aug 2020 · 163
Is it poor form that
Christine Ely Aug 2020
Your inappropriate
(though sweet)
is worth but four dollars
in my pocket
and refuse torn up in the recycling bin?
We went out just twice in early December, but you decided it was ok to drop off a Christmas gift at my home address.
Christine Ely Jul 2020
I know what depression smells like.
It’s eucalyptus and tea mixed with watercolor
between the pages of a notebook,
pigment dissolved in saliva or perfume
without the energy to leave the room for tap water.

And a free Mother’s Day air freshener
mingled among the new-car scent of a 2017 Subaru Outback.

And I know what depression tastes like,
it’s Little Debbie Zebra Cakes melted in May heat,
and bile,
and the bitter, chalky taste of pills resurfacing,
and Gatorade-brand protein bars instead of dinner.

And I know what depression sounds like, it’s “172” by ives
and Kidepo’s “Reds”.
Luna Shadows “Hallelujah California” and Evelyn’s “Angels” and “Black Magic” by Jaymes Young.
That was October.
It took me til May to want to die.

By that time it was MØ’s “Red Wine” and “Sun in Our Eyes”
and best of all, Broods’ “Peach”-
yet best of all was the last wave of melodies,
Those I could cry to even now.
Brockhampton’s “Bleach”.
Things almost got better. It was rose-
tinted before I hated life.
if you like indie music, check out the titles. They’re not all sad, I promise- I’ve just built such a negative association with them.
Christine Ely Jul 2020
I’m learning to sleep eight hours, not ten,
My old escapes are tempting but
I will not go back.
Christine Ely Jul 2020
She’s nestled in the mountains while my anxious mind’s at home
She’s warmed her skin and filled with Dominican Pepsi cola
But I’m still embroiled in a relationship cut short by depression-
She’s traversed the Atlantic
I’m a hopeless romantic
and what happened in June still happens in me-
Her body thrills going up and over the hills
But the ennumbed personhood is not in Utah,
it’s placeless.
Finally-- I’ve begun to keep my mind in my body
and I’m flying out to Vail
I’ll keep the pride locked down
These thoughts will be woven into the bones of my sternum
I’ll keep them with me.
Christine Ely Jul 2020
and then we repent”
We chase what we want until
wanting is spent-
We indulge, and imbibe,
and consume it and him,
we take her, we take some,
we light up and inhale
til the world’s in a spin.
Or, at least, that’s what youth
is when you try not to fear-
My nerves live with me intimately
and I’m practically immortal,
but not in the good way.
Fear lives in my head rent-free. I feel like I’m missing out on my youth.
Jun 2020 · 42
Nostalgia and bleach
Christine Ely Jun 2020
Red glazed eyes and
the cleaner they use smells like home for a week
I’ve been banned for a year
spent my time preparing to return
Spent my time getting over him
spent my time counting the months since we’ve spoken
Spent my time near the city we took place
that first week was an inimitable space
One with deja vu that catches me
Nearly two years later
This hotel is chilly
like classroom tiles in the morning
And my head is cotton
your kindness is jarring
I’ve been living without.
I’ve been living without.
a stream of consciousness
May 2020 · 108
the youths
Christine Ely May 2020
She’s covering hickies
They’re walking in the halls
He cups her face, it’s sweetness
and this preoccupation cannot go wrong-
I wanted emotion
Make me feel alight like in the summertime
Touched by the golden light of the campfire

Is youth not for flirty things
And **** clothes...
...trysts and flings...
This type of youth was but a fantasy
not for them but for me.
May 2020 · 39
acorus calamus
Christine Ely May 2020
Writers write that
lovers find each other inevitably
It may not last but
Again, again, it reeks of

They know, quick,
Exactly where they’re
meant to be
I never knew
knowing was impossible
Remind me that
It’s fantasy.
Mar 2020 · 47
Written projection
Christine Ely Mar 2020
Stories are feelings that cannot be
they’re written in much the same way-
the only thing seeming to block the way
would be circumstance, or reconcilable mistake-
Not unrequited love or objectless lust,
not lack of opportunity,
lack of luck—

To find someone suited to me is a far-off dream.
Mar 2020 · 21
Sweet Ophelia
Christine Ely Mar 2020

She’s but a concept in a novel
eyes skim across the page
heart working up to breakneck speed—

...A fantasy when
changes slide down the throat
when men are hemlock and
the bishop speaks...

Her ruby lips enticing
they never will exist
I know I’m bound to settle with hemlock in my limbs—

...A wish while poison’s in the
and rules are broke and all’s
in spirit
we pray and pray and pray...

How doth thou pray when they deny
a love meant to be just that?
When thy dream is of a woman fair
And milky skin stops thy breath?

...Clean your hands of your
own blood
shield your eyes from the
isolate and stay inside
where dreams use up new time...

Mar 2020 · 24
A year ago today
Christine Ely Mar 2020
my head felt stuffed with cotton.
Just short of four-hundred days
And now I’m acting as your wing-woman. I went from living at your house
to finding you a honey—
I went from weeping after that call
To hardly thinking of you one way or another,
It’s only because of her that you’re
On my mind again.
It’s only because of warm air
That there’s any association.
It’s only after mutual friends
That I hear of what you’re up to.
We haven’t spoke in five months flat
And it’s new that I wouldn’t want to.
Christine Ely Jan 2020
the floor, when I’m panicked,
especially the soul sunk deep into shadows cast across the threshold,
and secrets are splashed into the ears of anyone without much restraint.
an open book.
embarrassments are splayed across the pages,
stories open to anyone who will listen,
and I have no shame.
Except for one thing.
I desperately want something new. And I know exactly what— who —that is.
And I’m curious, but I have no right to be.
A confession
Christine Ely Jan 2020
And the bond they had,
it colored mine for days.
The way they stood,
not so careful about space,
The glass they'd shattered, and each
was just her own,
but also the way
each made the countryside feel
just like a home
to another.
watch Derry Girls on netflix
Jan 2020 · 64
It’s a slippery slope
Christine Ely Jan 2020
my mind still is buried very
softly, in a powdered haze of
sweetness, coated in a sheet of dust-
Memories still remain, I’m not
decaying, yet the feeling’s always
staying, that perhaps “forward”
Was too far to go.
It wouldn't be a lie to say life is going smoothly. Slipping smoothly downward.
Jan 2020 · 216
you might be too hasty
Christine Ely Jan 2020
I bite down ******* butterscotch
and wonder
if that irony taste is salty-sugar
or if I cut flesh in my haste.
Jan 2020 · 238
the art of
Christine Ely Jan 2020
Candle wax
and solemn acts
our peacefulness perturbs them.
Christine Ely Jan 2020
Divine intervention
took us from each other.
It’s how young love fades.
I reached, tentatively, to salve,
But it crumbled at my touch.

He treated me so kindly
I approached him with such shame
He never showed he loved me
And it made me want start again
With someone else.  

The dreams infested with my subconscious,
Whispering into my traitor’s ears
because I chose her over him, right?
He needs convincing
that I’m not holding out to have her
but I need even more persuasion.

He broke it off so quiet,
a bandaid ripped, no force,
so here I am exhausted
without his voice as a sense of reprieve.

Divine intervention
reminded me
that while you’re conflicted over two, the answer
is clearly
a reworking of a previous piece called “Surround yourself with beauty”
Jan 2020 · 54
People of numbers
Christine Ely Jan 2020
I thought of
his arm
hooked around my waist
Remind me to be grateful
that he’s gone.
Sometimes I still need reminding.

We are people of numbers,
and First is a big one.
I’ve always said I’m not a numbers person...
It follows that I should forget my First.

Rewrite my associations with that number.
And I have.
Jan 2020 · 328
it don’t ease
Christine Ely Jan 2020
He looked so much like
that which I was trying to
but something whispered
softly to my morals
hidden behind a peaceful face-
“You will have
more than one dream”.
“Don’t force it
it won’t ease any quiet suffering.”
Jan 2020 · 61
Christine Ely Jan 2020
Time will feel hard today
punishing and
never-ending as
I woke because it was my only option.

If I could rest and take a pause
command my mind to cease its churning
and self-consumption
I would.
If I could call my consciousnesses to just

take a break

How I dearly wish I could.  

I want to stop for a while but
I’m not ready to make death a commitment.
Jan 2020 · 38
sour wine
Christine Ely Jan 2020
You cannot just eat up
profound moments like
subtly sweet candy and a gentle rush.
It’s pleasant what it does to you,
but when it arrives
it arrives tainted.
Contaminated sugar
to poison one’s mood,
gaining weight and it’s desperate
and it isn’t the move.

And I want to bare all
but everything’s diluted to me.
The words in her pages are
sad but carefree-
and I don’t know why it
cannot be that way for me.
I want her world
to cease its suggestion
its false ideas about mine.
Yet I soak in her story
like a glass of fine wine.
Dec 2019 · 140
breaking it off
Christine Ely Dec 2019
He seemed to come at me
with a fork and a knife
so I cried over the phone
and we haven’t talked since.
Dec 2019 · 1.6k
I wanted you so bad
Christine Ely Dec 2019
that I shut my eyes to have you.
Dec 2019 · 72
Christine Ely Dec 2019
I look for someone who will laugh with me,
and pass the time in which I flail, idly
a head laid gently on soft lap
round hands cupped smoothly 'round my heart;
bright lips that smile, full of thought, intrigue
and hands on waists, and skin smooth as summer
I want the change with all I do possess
a change of hope, not punished recompense,
it's like a rainbow of experience
yet "live in color" is not what I be.
Instead the fog descends and so my faith
in that things will change until it's joy again.
I wonder whether Now deludes myself
it wants a love but Now is not my friend.
Dec 2019 · 89
Christine Ely Dec 2019
Why am I not content with what I do
at this moment?
Claret, just take a minute, the
harsh blush of the world will fade.
But what does she do in the meantime
how do you move this along..
All shall be good in the morning
How do I cope, when the night's so long?
Dec 2019 · 180
we're seasonally affected
Christine Ely Dec 2019
Winter makes me always cold,
can’t see God in nature unfolding
The sun would be my companion
instead my faith goes phantoming
I want internal strength and grit
instead with growth and fear I’m fitted.
My character dull, worn like a knife
and I’ve no ideas in its righting.
Dec 2019 · 76
Stage directions
Christine Ely Dec 2019
I was following the part
that's written out for me
with close-clipped words
and time waiting
And though it should be safe
I do not feel secure
What is it that I yet live for?
Dec 2019 · 59
in a past life
Christine Ely Dec 2019
When I was young
I bounded into spaces filled
with dark as black as mid-night
Arms held out like white canes
but without the care;
clumsily feeling out my way.
Dec 2019 · 67
Wasting my time
Christine Ely Dec 2019
is a beautiful thing
In the way that peace rhymes
with my suffering;
       and the way hours roll
              crawling minutes on
       and the way dozens fly
       They are suddenly gone-

Time drips blurrily now,
from its respective place,
the dripping meant to be wrong
and Time was an easing space.
       Now the gray clings on me
              like moss springing up slow
       Solemn? Wholesome? Corrupt?
       clutching tightly, it's troublesome pulled-

Lack of change always hurts,
but it's fresh tedious now.
Though my head aches and throbs
it's familiar anyhow.
       muscles, tight, are the same
              and it's hard to relax;
       nerves manifest themselves,
       and in no way are they welcome company.
Dec 2019 · 64
Christine Ely Dec 2019
Today there seems to be naught above 'ok'
I'm fine enough
til you tell I'm not just joking.
The days seem long,
but at least it's not hunger
for love, and purpose,
and something to do.

Today I live
complacent, for the most part
it's not fear, plain,
in the tunnels of my inmost heart.
And empty comes
in inaction, vague distraction,
not sobbing
and running
and desperately searching.

So what to do
when time's inconsistent
and rheumy blues
are as bad as it gets?
There's none to solve
but how will it better
conflict involves
every fiber of me no matter what I may do.
Dec 2019 · 143
primrose path
Christine Ely Dec 2019
I wanted so for something, tried to speak
I've words but yet their nuance needs refine.

There's something within grasp to give me life:
the food of flesh, or something more divine.

Lend me your ear, or give your hand to me
Is pleasure company or ecstasy...

Will we stay bound in mindless subtlety?
Is sin desire, or is that justified?
Dec 2019 · 130
Poor Ophelia
Christine Ely Dec 2019
She has more to give away
than he does.
And yet the blame rains down on her,
a piercing sleet of indirection and deception.
Neither knew the outcome.
It's difficult to say how they got here.
"-phil" : the Greek root meaning love. Perhaps
'O, love,' is all she is to him.
What a shame.
Dec 2019 · 102
Christine Ely Dec 2019
I went about life without thinking, today.
It's been a while since every footstep hasn't felt
heavy as lead.
Dec 2019 · 189
gape is an ugly word
Christine Ely Dec 2019
burn like lights
and taste of awe
       intimacy palpable in
              every word
and gesture.

No, mouths are a middle grey
on terrain of slate and stone
never attracting attention
       until you need it
           and when it's needed,

it's diluted hope.
Nov 2019 · 285
Christine Ely Nov 2019
I can feel them dispersing
and leaving me in the middle.
My hands are shaking.
Nov 2019 · 87
Christine Ely Nov 2019
I read of reds and something in me
lapped up the symbol of audacity,
a sight for sore eyes, some passion enflamed
It whispered that red is something I could be.

I wear red like courage, like strength from the devil
He's mocked and I'm shocked that I've little the temper
Athena, Aphrodite, reputation precedes me
I'm hungry for info on the traits that elude me.

It may be a choice, to be red as blood
and to act as a fire does, fiery and destructive
Red's prized in its rubies,
or was before today took that value away from us.
"Then another sign appeared in the sky; it was a huge red dragon, with seven heads and ten horns, and on its heads were seven diadems." -Revelation 12:3

Don't know what that says about us, but it says something.
Nov 2019 · 73
Everyone around me falls
Christine Ely Nov 2019
but they're having fun with it
bottles hold a sort of thrall
and they're tossing back, no sips
It's funny seeing how they hang
and grip and stumble, slurring
All I do is look around,
flirt a bit, and nurse the hurting.
Nov 2019 · 376
Hey b*tch
Christine Ely Nov 2019
awe is mine at seeing
Your fearless way of being
You act, and write, creating
A loud testament to authenticity.
And it’s stories,
ones upon reading evoke some feeling
And I admire your character even more.
You are a character, a pagan with a penchant for early 2000s music,
who is content on her own.
You make the days pass in sunshine
(though all insist that you’re darkly inclined)
and you make us howl with laughter
in public while people stare.
Nov 2019 · 160
Christine Ely Nov 2019
Words glow in the dark
and burn on my tongue
They run under my fingertips
and whisper above my head
sweep past at the edge of my vision
they eat time like you wouldn’t believe-
and they roil around inside my body
and they burst forth, bared bright on the screen,
drift past when the clouds are out
In the white noise they drone now
like heavily perfumed notes in my head
That I won’t get out; but I don’t need that.
Christine Ely Nov 2019
A touch, a sound of little laughter-
and conflict starts to simmer.
The way one stands apart from them
and somehow, she’s the sinner.
She’s home by nine for little time
exists to venture outward.
A thrashing sleep awaits her and she’d thought sleep would bring comfort.

They pass the time in little ways
that reek of **** and spirits.
And if she was to ever ask
‘you wouldn’t want to hear it’.
So how she instead loses time
in bed and with no company,
it hits home hard when implied that
she won’t know how to cut loose.

It’s true, she’s sad, but not in how
you choose to look down on her-
So next time, when they judge so quick
Indignation will burn hotter.
Nov 2019 · 94
Christine Ely Nov 2019
You suggested you stay over at my house.
Habit is magnetic, and lack is the same.
You had never stayed over before.

I’m always asking of you.
And you only ask of me when you have nothing better to do.
Here I am, listening to what you recommend.
Reading what you like.
Sitting by you in class when you want it.
And it’s leaving a mark on my soul.

You speak with me,
But only when my turmoil is so great that it’s like a drama, salacious and salty with unshared stories,
One must know what happens next.

And you’re beautiful, and that catches me,
Caught in the snares of awe and empathy.
And misery welcomes company,
and we’ve each enough misery to warrant one another’s company for a million years.

You like to play with me,
dangling a glimpse of affection on a string.
And I wish I didn’t need it.
But I want it because it feels like a balm to my despondency.
Make me feel something.
But even my sleeping mind does not delude me;
When I know We will not happen.

I seek not to change the way We are, somehow.
Don’t ask me why.
I could not answer.
Nov 2019 · 197
Europe, 1656
Christine Ely Nov 2019
A little boy
appeared before my door
in a bird mask with a hooked beak
and soulless eyes.
The heavy black cape
brought me back to a time
where I’m dead by now.
The rash that bubbles up
under my skin when I am stressed
looks like mild sunburn compared to
the puckered and rippling purple sores
covering a body.
In another life, was I staring up into a face
That promises death?
And I gave the boy some candies,
grateful that I was not alive during the time
when I would have given the plague doctor
my soul.
Oct 2019 · 119
iron breastplate
Christine Ely Oct 2019
Two months in,
she realized that this guy was not
tossing her any more than she could handle.
And, though she had been living in a fog
for months, capacity was in her nature,
A built-in armour of trust and hard, hard work.
work still works when you realize you’ve done it before, and can do it again
Oct 2019 · 85
Christine Ely Oct 2019
It continues its damage,
poised to carve out its own agenda
in the flesh of those whom our Big Book deems incorrect.
Our central mission
again, betrayed by tunnel vision
aims at the heart of any outside the heterodoxy,
headed straight for those who aren’t.

Wouldn’t you think, with such an understanding of Christ, you would know that we’re meant to live?
There is more than that ‘one vision‘;
There is the common good,
and you’re not
their final chance
for salvation.
1 John 4:7-8
Christine Ely Oct 2019
I feel betrayed by the quiet moments;
they used to be my saving grace
the time I’d use to steel myself
for what comes next.
Today the quiet moments
are turning on a dime-
they’re fuel to continue driving
or they’re fuel to the flames.
Doesn’t help that the thought
of quiet conversation
makes me discretely nauseous
(they meant it as a promise
of relief!)

I’m floating in the quiet moments,
awash in time’s vast swell
aching bones a prize of attempt
a wordless, reasonless ache
that I wear tucked away inside my breast pocket,
in the marrow of my very being,
and tucked deep in the recesses of my mind.
Creativity, sure-
but useless pain is the easiest to write about.
...and the most difficult to present without it sounding incredibly overdramatic.
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