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756 · Sep 16
Christine Ely Sep 16
Feathers won't remain when the bird is gone
Nor adornment worn when the nights get long
and the moon is pale, and the lights are loud
and the crowds are strong and the city proud

Yet lyrics remain when the notes are gone
and your legacy after rites are rung
and your spirit soars, far off out of view
but we saw it here when your words were new.
Christine Ely Oct 19
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.
216 · Sep 29
Shame worn like jewelry
Christine Ely Sep 29
It was a good color she afforded me,
and a warmth spreading
like a cool champagne-
And I was flushed and pretty
with no makeup on.
And you were on my mind
as soon as she was gone
(was he, was he, was. he?).

It was a strange picture
I’d imagined thee,
and a strange emptiness
in what I would see-
And you were hot and sweaty
and the lights were off
Maybe I’m on your mind even
when I am gone
(may I, may I ask?).

It was a sensation
unlike what I would see;
we’re breathing hard and fast
our holdbacks limiting-
a kind of sweet tension,
and how your hands are places
I had hoped they would be
(and details, they evade me.)

I felt no shame.
To God I pray-
will the light of day
make me feel worse about what I’d do?
176 · Nov 30
Christine Ely Nov 30
I can feel them dispersing
and leaving me in the middle.
My hands are shaking.
168 · Sep 18
A raspberry cracks
Christine Ely Sep 18
fresh between your teeth
clean and clear like a little bit of
or blood
or both
Crisp are the larvae that have found their way there.
Christine Ely Sep 22
than you do.

It’s brazen and well-understood
I feel like me but manic;
Our doing things that just before
had made me want to panic.

It’s fun, it’s harmless, we pass the time;
I wonder if there’s merit still
when “God says” it’s a crime.

And afterward, when conflict roils
and doubt fills to the brim
Conscience is left in clutches which
entail both sobs and grins.

A painful sort of burgeoning
a growth that you can’t see
There’s nothing I can do to solve
I lose both ways, yet I lose free.
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.
109 · Nov 13
Christine Ely Nov 13
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.
We cannot cease continuing on.
The waves of banal day-to-day
will just keep rolling on,
The strength that wants advancement
would need us extra strong,
The strength we have is used in haste
a-rushing ‘round the bend
Each day goes on, destroying what’s
irreparable to mend.

And damage to the likes of that
appear without regard,
It’s not events that we can help;
We tumble down the yard
In what I had remembered-
with the autumn of the day-
Was leaves and you and you and me
and feeling some kind of way.

Cease to engage, or breathe, or see:
a melting bland existence.
A road with boundless challenge finds
a sport in welcome distance.
I push away the past because
I missed the way it kissed us
And swaddled us in sunshine days;
I miss the past, but I miss you more.
reworking a poem from eight years ago
76 · Sep 26
Christine Ely Sep 26
And She was like the color
of a dress I'd always liked.
A rumbling roiling rusty red
I'm not supposed to wear.
Too similar to myself, She is,
you need to seek another
it's not enough to love someone
as dearly as a brother.

I think She's somehow mystical
and I love Her when She's strange
yet I must resent the way that She
won't fit in day-to-day.
There are so many perusals
and samples I could take
She's not the object of my lust
and yet I want a taste.
It's the person that I'm pining for,
the girl beneath Her skin
but the way She is is seen outwards
She's glowing to the brim.
inspired by "The Miseducation of Cameron Post" by emily m danforth
73 · Nov 1
Europe, 1656
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.
68 · Sep 20
Vincent, but a girl
Christine Ely Sep 20
time it seems significant
and action seems divine,
but we are cogs in a large machine
yet it won't mimic a grand design-
the only thing that matters
is me, and you, and them
and the day that I obtained you
and the hopeful things you've said.
I can't guarantee I'll remember them
in a day, a month, a year
What I will know for long after it's passed
is your company, and hers, and his
I don't know what I'm here for
and my time is but subsistence;
but hope that just for one or two
                              my presence meant a difference.
st. vincent is the patron of charity- a subject that I think continues to be the only thing that truly matters when everything gets jumbled. it's what ties us together.
Christine Ely Sep 22
And we coped in different ways.
She made herself sadder, because it was something she knew.
I ran away from emotion, and hoped desperately for “out of sight, out of mind”.
I spent my time writing, and struggling to find a hopeful line for the end of a poem.
She read sad stories, and they gave her a kind of peace.
We were both familiarly acquainted with a ball of dread in your chest.
And the feeling of being used up if around people for too long.
And habits that were hard to break but somehow made it better.
And we spoke about it and took comfort in the conversation.
I wondered if we were made for more than that.
to a good friend of mine, who knows the way it is.
54 · 5d
I went about life without thinking, today.
It's been a while since every footfall hasn't felt
heavy as lead.
48 · Nov 16
Hey b*tch
Christine Ely Nov 16
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.
Christine Ely Nov 27
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.
42 · Sep 19
Someone new
Christine Ely Sep 19
I dreamt a girl with ruby lips who smiled
As soon as ruby lips met mine;
contrast this opposite my own fair time
with him
I’d rather she be here. But pieces of
decision come hidden under frail silk
and I remain in bed instead of up
and choosing (sh*t)
as life demands.
Today I feel I want it all-
tomorrow I’ll need nothing.
And surrendering at this point
feels much harder than fighting.
I’ll continue with his lips on my skin
but still
I want girls, girls, and someone new to love.
40 · 3d
primrose path
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?
38 · Nov 30
Christine Ely Nov 30
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.
37 · Sep 21
I choose to feel-
Christine Ely Sep 21
Won't it sting to know that fears, when passed,
may come back with emboldening resolve?
Times passed in deadened state and weakened heart,
but also deadened were the nerves of fright.
I didn't argue strongly for return
of trepidation, dread, dismay;
I only wanted back the gentle breeze
of quaint beatitude, opposed to dull.
The pills return to me ability to laugh,
wholeheartedly, instead of holding back;
But with the laughter enters cowering disease
the likes of which I'd seen when days were worse.
And yet to choose between the dim and joyless days,
or feeling fraught with fear, I choose to feel.
It’s despondency.
It’s true, I wanted a break
and God sent me a chance
I reached, tentatively,
and it crumbled at my touch.
He broke it off so quiet,
a bandaid ripped, no force,
but here I am exhausted
without his voice as a sense of reprieve.
He treated me so kindly
I approached him with such shame
He never showed he loved me
And it made me want to run.
I dreamt a nightmare feeling
that he accused me of betrayal-
because I chose her over him, right?
And I told him, no, that is
NEVER going to HAPPEN.
But still my motto stands clearly
When conflicted over two, it’s likely
And today I will focus on my health
and throw romance to the gutter.
Christine Ely Sep 18
I could feel the fever breaking.
Surroundings they now matched the tone
Of the novel I was making.
If rays of sun spoke for depress
the cold would mean rock-bottom.
Neurosis crawled out of the nest
of habit I had taught them.
Soon I’d be itched raw,
slow to bleed,
and slow to ask for help;
an island of self-maintenance
would soon be known and felt.
How promptly my fragile peacefulness
had fallen, cracked, and broken!
The black moods had bubbled up;
and with them, rumination a token.
17 · 2h
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.

— The End —