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he is a warm sun on a lifetime of cloudy days,
I cover up to keep the cold out but he undresses my thoughts
he says he loves me
and i cant breathe,
i wonder if he knows that,
this act of kindness could near **** **** me,

he kisses me slowly like he's okay with waiting,
and he is tap tap tapping on my door
like we could be more
and we could be more

but he doesn't know i am breaking
the pieces of my heart lay broken
like broken pottery with too many missing pcs to put back together,

I tell him you love the idea of me,
a warm body to warm the sheets next to,
a hand to hold,
someone to look for in a crowd,
a person to belong to
that lust looks like love
until you get sick or hit with hardships,

he says it though,
over and over,
I am tempted to believe him,
why don't i believe him?
as he looks into my eyes
and tells me the wonders of this body  
that's changing
and becoming more like my home
he says he loves me,
holding me tight,
maybe he thinks its true,
maybe he means to manipulate,
maybe in the heat of a kiss given right,
he believes it,

i dont deny the body its wants ,
but i will judge this heart,

i map out intention ,
as I link love with his name,
practice perfection,
when he loves me just the same,

he says : i believe that its true.

i think that his beliefs are founded in his body and i cant allow myself that.

i say : if i fell in love with you, you aren't in the place to catch me if i fall.
and thats the nature of this body to fall hard.
dear ashley,

you are beautiful, my fire fly,
i know you do not believe it now,
i know that this will be the year you are ordered to wear pants,
to feel the food you stuff into you,
and your parents will increasingly start to critique
all that you consume,
i know as things changed it was first about control,
then about coping, i know that now,
but how could you have known that it would become all consuming,
the need to feed,
like prey who bleeds,
you know the feeling of a sharks eating frenzy
im not writing you so that the burden you carry gains weight,

just to remind you that I love you,
all the parts of you that are growing and the things that are withering i pray that you hold on just a bit longer,
you see ,so much has happened since we last saw each other,
public school
private school
private school
cyber school
hold on babe,
keep dancing in the rain,
bathe in sunlight like a beautiful blooming flower you are,
hold tight to your innocence,
know that you are enough,
that you can battle dragons and save prince charming,
know that you are strong,
that even as you battle your fears of
of rejection,
and displacement,
know that
I know that you will have to make hard choices and the road to discovering who you are isn't going to be like the walks in the park that you and I both loved so much,
but babe you are capable and strong enough to handle the brick walls and speed bumps.
I love you,
Ashley Marie.
is it weird that you make me wanna do yoga to james vincent mcmorrow early in the morning,
sipping green tea and writing letters and paying off debts,
your my clean slate,
my favorite mate,
and i dont worry about the things that im not when you so clearly love all that i am,
i try to tell my mother about how well we fit ,
hip to hip,
chin to chest,
hand to hand,
but i cant gather up the broken pieces of our reflections fast enough,
its never enough,
always wanting more
he makes me feel like beyonce,
volumptous and wanted,
like he'd wanna be the blanket to hold all my curves.
and he takes control when im too nervous to even breathe,
and my backs to him but i dont feel the need to look behind me to see if he'll catch up because he... he's already there
he holds me tender,
and sometimes he grasps like his afraid id leave him, almost like i could slip through his arms.
i poke fun at the gentle men tendicies he attributes to his mum,

sometimes though i wonder if i can trust him
i wonder if he s real
and maybe im just used to the more rough around the edges, fake it till you can take it,  and when you got it drop it -love con artists that steal away moments of your life like bites
off your aorta
But you're smooth babe and rounded fitting into all my weird niches
i wish i could portray my sadness ,
with my body,
place my thighs right up against my stomach and i would rest my chin upon my knees
cross my arms around the package of broken girl like me
crinkled like a paper draft of a fevered love letter rejected
if  I could portray my sadness,
would it look more like a heart attack then asphyxiation,
or the marriage of both,
convulsing body parts and flawed flesh exposed, while my face contorts,

i wish i could explain myself, use a melon baller to my emotions, to create concrete of the emotions unseen,
if i could explain the process or display the make up,
would it make it any less real? would you feel it too?
head hurts. heart hurts.
sometimes i wish i could draw it out, map out the mind field of my mind,
and maybe we could see the trigger...
and i cant help but think that
if  my love was taken over by crayola,
all you would see would be dark colors,
heartbreak crimson divorced of the black stain of sin,
drops of b positive,
with rotten purple grapes with juices dripping,
staining, marking.
and there would be the dark blue of bruises and the harsh green of vegetation in winter.
MrRight or maybe now or later
Dear Mr.Right,

I think I understand now.

And I get it .

We sit waiting.
Seconds.minutes.hours. days.
For the someone in our life to complete us,

to wrap our wounds and mend our hearts.
To laugh at the jokes  we tell even when they aren’t funny. no especially when they aren’t funny.

To challenge us and to make us forget, but allow us the space to remember.

To know when we want to be held,

but don’t know how to ask,

a mate,

a lover,

a friend.

And we wait.

Believing and hoping they will come and rescues us from the tower,

to fight off the demons and the dragons of the mundane day to day life.

And to win our hand, for rescuing us.

And we sit and wait as we expect them to tear down the walls of our imprisonment whether mental or concrete,

as we become less,

we become dormant,

when we have been given the same tools and opportunities to tie up the bed sheets or cascade our hair down, to escape,

to be free, wasting away in the waiting

I want to warn you

I am not sitting on my bed waiting,

do not look for me in the kitchen making the pies to appease your hunger,

I am out collecting treasures,

and having adventures,

and making memories

with hook and finding my way with pirates,

and traipsing with sinners while believing in saints,

you wont find me with apple scented skin but maybe lemons,

or grass,

or the sea salt ocean

or dandelions,

because I am lying in the meadow looking up at the stars breathing in cold air,

and thinking of you

but you will not find me waiting for the world to be put back on its axis or ask atlas to put down his burden,

im not running away, but Im not waiting in a tower held high above life.

Ill be among the disciples and the hipsters, brushing off the mud of my jeans and rolling down hills with children,

kissing boo boos  and fighting my own demons.

And one day we’ll meet and I ll ask you where were you when I was waiting and maybe you will say looking for you. or maybe you’ll say I was waiting for you. And we’ll be happy to find each other.

I will not let life pass me by while i am waiting, but Ill put pieces of me in all my letters left to tell you of my adventures,

If you thought Id be less pirate more princess I’m sorry to say maybe it’s better this way. I am not dormantly waiting,I want too much for that, I  want to know me before I find you. I want to be single and appreciate the entire bed and not having to share, to look in the mirror and to know my own worth and beauty, and maybe these things will come later in life before or while you are around. I know not your name or the hour in which we’ll meet but tonight I’m thinking of you. Catch me of you can.
and my love for you was a song
but you carried out your version
like an eviction notice
somthing that would irrovokably alter your life purpose of coasting
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