Arthur McKnight was a powerful man and New York was his playground.  Not that he ventured out anymore at night now that he had met Evangeline.  The long days of mind-numbing numbers he crunched managing Wall Street hedge funds had taken their toll on him over the years, but becoming intimate with Evangeline had saved him, had changed him in ways so fundamental that for him she was all that mattered.

     Arthur no longer noticed these subtle differences.  He daydreamed by the dim LCD light of stock tickers, craving the touch that only his woman could bestow upon him.  He had surrendered completely to her bliss.

     These days when he woke to her already gone from his Upper West Side apartment all that was left of her presence was a lipstick kiss on the mirror and a bottle of Sally Hansen Tangerine Orange nailpolish.  The quiet was deafening, but that bottle of Sally Hansen left on the bathroom counter held the promise of Evangeline's return.

     It was just after 7 p.m. when Arthur made it home and he could already sense her.  She was coming.  He strode with purpose to his master suite, spying the black thigh-highs and silky red dress he had laid out for her arrival.  The waiting was unbearable, and Arthur finally broke, needing Evangeline so badly he could smell her perfume, could taste her in his throat.  It was time; no more waiting.

     "You look lovely tonight, Evangeline," Arthur croaked aloud as he pulled the first of the thigh highs onto his shaven legs...

(Dedicated to my mother, Juna Marie Nagley- happy mother's day momma!!!)

O' Màthair, Màthair, from whence I birthed.
Best friend, mine Angel, mine guide; Disguised
As a lady at birth; it's from thine womb from
Whence I arrived, this is a thanking thee, to
A flawless seraph, mine Màthair, mine Màthair-
To thee; whom do I compareth?

Anglamotharia, thou hath always met mine need's,
When mine knee was scraped, and when I got sick;
Thou wouldst alway's protecteth me. Eyne blue as
The sea's, hair blonde as the street's thou hath
stemmed from, Anglamotharia-Jehovah's chosen
One, mine host of host's, guardian from the ghost's
Who always tried to hurt thy own son.
Anglamotharia, from whence I am from-
Latha màthair math; angelic one.

(Second part is a mothers day dedication to my mother in law Evangeline sardua- Earl Jane sardua my Queens mother....)

Adlaw Malipayon inahan, dearest mother-in-law, the Apple to Jane's vision, hardworking, gentle-calm. I thankest thee for showing Jane the right way's; the way's of God, the way's of love, O' heaven knoweth thy name.

Adlaw Malipayon inahan, woman who knoweth none time, for thine family is thy priority; thou cookest and cleanest, thy labor hath heavied over time, mayest the Lord bless thee and keep thee, and the Lord make His face shine upon thee. And be gracious to thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee,
And give thee peace. Mayest thine abode be a blessing from Mount malindang-west unto East. Mayest Yeshua guideth thy feet to where dangerous travels cometh and goeth. Mayest the word of God always from thy mouth appear and floweth. Mayest this mother's day, be a remembrance to thee, Evangeline; thy love hath not been forgotten, this is mine gift and thanking to thee.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©mothers day dedication to two special mother's ( Evangeline Sardua, janes mother, and dedication to my mother juna Marie Nagley, ) happy mother's day to both of you and may God shine his face upon you!!! With love Brandon!!

To a cat in a cul-de-sac,
she's a stone rose,
malaise with no remorse and a penchant for suicidal grammar.

Backsassing and backroom massaging
her way from Tanner, Illinois to Irving, Texas --
her interstate veins and her data plan brain
catered to the orifices of the weary,
and soothed the spidertongued and sleepy.
In the last postcard, she signed Evangeline,
the number of name changes: 23
in the Sunflower State alone.

A dive bar in Ulysses, Kansas
beamed as a brilliant model of
"Starved wives and stray dogs," Evangeline explained.
"I found the dark side of beet farmers
and the redemption in callused hands."

A letter came from Pryor, Oklahoma:

"Recognize the perfume?"

The only line.
Printer paper close, inhale --
my mind drifts to my former
high cheekbone'd bride, Skye.
Evangeline bedded her spindly body.
Spite, spite, spite.

Confused, I answered her call on the
first morning of December.
Tent living with a retired acrobat on
the growing shoreline of Lake Texoma,
she downed a mixed bag of his sleeping meds,
and sleeping by his side, she fantasized about me.

"I think you drank too much in my dreams.
I woke up dissatisfied."

Once she arrived in Irving, I mailed her
my edit of her suicide note.
A call to say it looked good,
and she'd let me know if she ever had
to use it.

I never heard from her again.

Evangeline,
your words run honey
down my mouth,
dripping in the sweetness
your honeycomb hair
has left behind.

Evangeline,
your Angel tones
glow halo's notes.

Evangeline,
your smile is wild,
dangerous,
carefree.

Evangeline,
dandelion soul
sailing through the wind,
a girl I haven't met
but know
from
within.

Keep your honey tongue on your lips.

Evangeline.

In looking for that someone
To make my life just right,
Hope it won't be like Evangeline
Who will past me in the night,

One that will be just right for me
In size, weight, and height,
I've looked far and waited long
Could they have passed me in the night?

“Hineni, Hineni; I’m ready, my lord.”  
(For Evangeline Ruth Hope)

<>

”Hineni is Hebrew for “here I am,” and is the response
Abraham gives when God calls on him
to sacrifice his son Isaac. It is also the name of a
prayer of preparation and humility, addressed to God”

<>

what you do not know
is that this word,
was spoken with a fist beating
a pin into the praying man’s chest

recited daily,
shades of hopeful, reverent resonance,
a shaded resolution, disguised as a quavering variable,
a statement, a questioning, an unsteady surety,
all of the above

this word, rooted in my genetic consciousness,
been ready repeated since my first whispering

was I ten years aged?

first time, full on bowing
on the synagogue floor, not fully understanding or
ready to confess my selfish need for forgiveness,
my forehead resting on my stubbed fingers resting on carpet,
worn thin by my predecessors ancestors,
who now comprehend more, but then, never enough

these same fingers, that write this collective,
                                  Hineni,
a word repeated oft, flavoring of the who
of who I am, a training in soul fracking from
early childhood, its import, powerful beyond
today’s identity revisionist empowering

let me plainly speak, in the original language
taught to me with that other tag along, English,
a lingua franca, a dialect that can never capture
a soul presenting himself in substantiated readiness

for the whatever exists in between
hallelujah and hineni, where the rubber soul
hits the road, stumbling on hands and knees
on a forest path of roots and soil, where sunlight breaks tween
branches, are road signs to look up, look down, look within

I know your name,
Evangeline Ruth Hope
analyzed its components,
cleverly constructed Greek and Hebrew rooted,
bearer of good tidings, following Ruth in, to hope,
you a Moabite in Mormon Utah, preparing
yourself for exposure, practicing humility
unceasingly seeking

good

that is how it should be

cannot translate well enough
what was this gift given to me
learning as a youth, a wanderer, tribal member
where beseeching is second nature,

and accepting personal responsibility fully cardinal,
fiddling prayers while standing unsteady on
the roofs of extreme shakiness

hineni is then but this:
a prideful admission of strength

ready ready ready, here I am,
completely unready for the unknown future foretold,

hineni I know

here I am,
ready or not,
find me so I can be found,
cease, help me cease, my foundering,
confident in my willingness to
find a way

netanel
9/12/19

Deep in the village of Darkling
Where the Squires and their Ladies rule,
No-one comes out in the eventime
Unless they’re a brazen fool,
The Hunt is rallied for after dark
And they wear the hood and the cowl,
Roam far and wide through the countryside
While the ravening hounds just howl.

They say that they’re hunting foxes,
But I know, that just isn’t true,
That blood they seek at the end of the week,
They may be looking for you,
They take their cues from the Magistrate
Who leads the Hunt through the grounds,
His word is law, and he sets the score,
They call him the Master of Hounds.

Sir Roland Bear has an awful stare
As he glares at you from the bench,
The lawyers do what they’re told to do
And offer little defence,
If you poach a hare from a Squire’s land
Or take a fish from his stream,
And you see him add your name to a list,
You know it’s your final scene!

For once outside in the courtyard there
The peasants will stare in dread,
They cross themselves as they pass you by
For nobody speaks to the dead!
You can’t go hide in your cottage,
If it still has a window or door,
Though you’re locked right in, the hounds of sin
Will come up through a hole in your floor.

The light of my life, Evangeline,
Was married to Percival Shroud,
He beat her once with a riding crop
To keep her bullied and cowed,
She worked all day in the Dairy,
In a barn on Percival’s Farm,
And I said one day that he’d have to pay,
I’d not see her come to harm.

She stared at me with her worried eyes
And she let me believe she cared,
We’d hide together beneath the hay
At the height of our love affair,
But one day soon, her burly groom
Had seen us going to ground,
And hauled us before the Magistrate
While our legs and our hands were bound.

‘There isn’t a place in Darkling here
For the likes of a pair like you!’
Sir Roland Bear, his pen in the air
Considered what he would do.
‘You’ve wandered outside the marriage bounds
Brought shame on the vows you swore,
While you have sullied her decency,
And turned a wife to a *****!’

He put his pen to the fabled list
And he wrote two names in there,
Then ****** us into the courtyard so
The folk could shame and stare.
They cut our bonds and we heard the hounds
As they howled and yapped for blood,
So we went trembling, hand in hand
To hide ourselves in the wood.

The Squires were grim and remorseless when
The Hunt pursued its fare,
Their Ladies thought it a festival
When they rubbed warm blood in their hair,
I’d said I’d not let her come to harm
But Evangeline had cried,
I broke a branch and I sharpened it
To defend my shattered pride.

They came at us like the hounds of hell
In their cloaks, and hoods and cowls,
Along with a pack of hunting dogs,
We could hear their approaching howls,
Evangeline was safe in a tree
While I stood guard below,
My fear was clear in my trembling hands
But I stood so it wouldn’t show.

A rider burst on out through the trees
And he roared, ‘Now pay for your crime!’
I waited until he rode up close
Then I ****** my stake in his eye,
He screamed just once, and fell from his horse
And his cowl, it floated wide,
I saw I’d killed the Master of Hounds
As the dogs tore at his hide.

The Squires looked down with little remorse
At the corpse that lay in the mud,
While the ladies leapt from their jittery mounts
To dip their hands in his blood,
We made our way unseen through the woods
Escaped from the killing grounds,
And Darkling now is free from the spell
Of the evil Master of Hounds!

David Lewis Paget

when Evangeline tells you that you’re dead to her,
you feel as if you are chained to a sinking ship,
permanently trapped at the bottom of the ocean,
and drowning has never seemed so sweet.
as she leaves,
you realise that this is the closest blessing you will ever receive
from a god that you don’t believe in anymore.
because if she didn’t walk away,
you would drag her down to hell with you
before you’d even consider letting her go

Oh my Cassiopeia
My queen; queen of Aethiopeia
Yours is an unrivaled beauty
No one can complain about your vanity

You love me
I love you more
Cepheus your king, how I wish I would be
To be with you forever and sit beside your throne

No, I'm not Cepheus; he probably is yet to come
I wish I'm your Cepheus, but I'm not even an Adam
But I can be your Cepheus if you let me, yes I can
Though I can't see your constellation from where I am

You can boss me around
Toss and turn me upside down
You can throw tantrums, those I won't mind
Forget being king, I'll be fine as your servant

You're a constellation, still I'll make a wish
Can I wish forever? No? Then let me love you at least
Let our love blossom, 'til my last breath vanish
Maybe I'll also become a constellation next to you, like what happened to Ray and Evangeline

They said that she had fairy skin

And cinnamon dusted hair,

A sleepy countenance, a ragged demeanour;

They said “she’s never quite..there."

Her fingers, when I saw her
Were tangled into a wreath.

Their fragile veins seemed about to snap

But she sat so calmly in her seat.

What a waste of a fine young lady, I say,

As she muses at the sky;

An excess of poetic form

Has made her mad and shy.

And yet I harbour a fascination

For one so truly lost,

Who cannot tell real from dreams,

Who nightmares do accost.

And oh, what a beautiful sight

To see one stay so naive.

At least, I say, I’m not the kind

To pin my heart up on my sleeve.

And once again the monotony

Of another day rushes past,

And the sea inside ****** the back of my eyes, I see

An exquisite pointillism of stars.

Maybe she’s the one with the luck of the Irish,

And I’m just a manifestation of routine.

She’s awake and full of fireworks,

And I’m just half asleep.

Il n'est pas un secret que nous sommes rejets totaux pour un bon bouquet de la mariée .Grands.petits .nous les aimons tous et les motifs floraux de Marti est là pour briser la jolie .Elle partage sa recette robes demoiselles d honneur pour le faisceau ultime de fleurs et grâce à Lexi Vornberg Photographie vous pouvez voir les clichés ici .Pssst : les gagnants .les rappels et quelques réductions d'amusement sont juste un rouleau de suite.Week-end heureux!\u003cp\u003e

BOUQUET RECIPEAgonisStockAnemonesRanunculusItalian RuscusLisianthusUhle CurlsEucalyptusGarden Roses

Astuce: Toute fleur est belle en soi .Mettre un superbe anémone blanche sur la texture sombre de la Agonis bordeaux rend plus perceptible.Les verts donnent à ce bouquet l'aspect dramatique que faire de la pop .Beaucoup de fois la verdure a une mauvaise réputation .Insérer photo mentale de la feuille de cuir de l'épicerie avec des roses rouges et le souffle du bébé .Il est tout à l'application des fleurs et la façon dont ils sont placés ensemble .Un bon truc est de commencer avec chaque fleur individuelle et en les faisant tourner dans le placement jusqu'à ce que le bouquet est plein .De

les motifs floraux de Marti .Beaucoup de fleurs entrent dans la fabrication d'un bouquet de mariée.Chaque fleur est choisi pour une raison précise .Pour représenter une couleur .une texture .un style .Une fleur peut être pris et fait pour ressembler moderne .romantique .classique ou rustique .Tout est dans le regard que la jeune mariée tente de réaliser pour son mariage .Je suis un grand défenseur de la vente des jeunes mariées sur le style et pas une fleur particulière .Mère Nature ne donne jamais le même produit chaque semaine et chaque mariée n'est pas le même non plus!Toutes les fleurs en dehors frappent sur leur propre .mais quand vous voyez le produit tiré ensemble la dernière pièce est tout aussi magnifique .Je voulais apporter un regard derrière la fabrication d'un bouquet .

Apporter des talents particuliers de toute la nation fait ce possible avec un ruban de teint à la main et effiloché soie de Froufrou Chic .lettrage organique de Signora a Mare .et capturé par Lexi Vornberg Photographie Photographie

: . Lexi Vornberg Photographie | Calligraphie: madame E Mare | robes demoiselles d honneur Fleurs : les motifs floraux de Marti | ruban : FrouFrou Chic

cadeaux COURS500 1500

$ carte-cadeau d' Ann Taylor WeddingsA jupe en tulle de

http://modedomicile.com

Alexandra Grecco $ en certificat cadeau de Arcs -N- Cravates MariposaEnter Pin It To Win It concours
remises cette semaine .

Fattie PieAlexandra Grecco

Pour nos épouses Californie .Réductions de Evangeline Photographie .

Pour nos robe de soirée grande taille épouses Midwest .Participez pour gagner une séance d'engagement de soirée de Cristina G Photographie .

Pour nos épouses Nouvelle-Angleterre.Une offre spéciale de Hyatt Regency Cambridge .

et les gagnants .

Big Félicitations à la Bretagne .Krista .et Shannon pour gagner $ 250 de mariage de papier Divas .

Félicitations .félicitations à Katie qui a remporté une séance d'engagement de Julian Ribinik Photographie .

Enfin .félicitations aux gagnants multiples de l' échantillon d'impression sans lunatiques imprime !Les motifs floraux de Marti est un membre de notre Little Black Book .Découvrez comment les membres sont choisis en visitant notre page de FAQ .Floral Designs Marti voir le

A** pple pie, freshly baked from the oven. I don't wait for it to cool, I want it hot, with a big greedy scoop of vanilla ice creams melting next to it.

B oys. Cute, querky, gross, crazy, but amazing. You can't stand them, but for some reason you need them in your life.

C ookies. Warm, fresh-out-the-oven, gooey choclate chip cookies.

D  is for dancing. Dancing in the rain with my eyes shut, screaming at the top of my lungs and not caring what anyone thinks. Just dancing.

E lephants. Strong, old, smart and beautiful creatures. Harmless yet protective.

F stands for foxes. More specifically fennec foxes. Adorable, small, cunning, cute and most of all, want by me!

G iving. Not just material items, but hope. Giving hugs, and smiles to those who need one. Also, For-giving.... letting go of the past and moving forward

H eartbreak. The feeling of no being able to breathe, not being able to speak, or make sense of everything without your "other half." Moving forward slowly, cautiously, because there are more around the corner.

I Me. The broken, yet strong; beautiful, yet self concious; smart, yet lazy teenager.

J is for Jenna, my first best friend. We aren't best friends anymore, but we still talk, and enjoy catching  up in eachothers lives.

K issing. I love kissing. I mean come on.... everyone does ;)

L ove. A strong, complex emotion which many guys lie about, and which I do too. I think I've only ever once loved my partner... all the rest I enjoyed...

M om. My mother, the woman who decided "I'm going to take the qwerky, adorable girl home to America with me and make her part of my life."

N is the first letter in my name. Natalka Hannah Evangeline Kmiotek.

O veracheivers. The people who make fun of me, because they can do things better then me, and everyone else. ******* all.

P erfection. Skinny girls with perfect *******, and big *****. No scars, and white teeth. the opposite of me.

Q uiet, as in I have to stay quiet or they'll hear me. Who? My demons of course. If I'm too loud, they will come for me and drag me back to hell.

R stands for two things. The first is **** A horrible word describing a nightmare you wish you could forget. It's being robbed of your first touch by selfish men, and being back into a corner against your will, forced to stay silent.

S is for strength. The strength to overcome, the strength to live, the strength to move on.

T hank you. To everyone who has ever been there and listened to me...

U nderstand why I cut myself. Why I hurt myself. It's easier to deal with physical pain, then the emotional kind. The emotional pain rots and festers inside me, destroying everything. It shuts my lungs down, forcing me to gasp for air.

V acations. Small escapes from your daily life, into something glamourous and relaxing. The warm sand between your toes, as the hot sun beats down on you. The cool ocean kiss the tips of your toes, cooling your thirst.

W hen will pain end? When will people stop being mean to eachother? When can I expect my child to be able to go to school and not be afraid of the other students? When will I be able to walk outside, and finally be able to say "I am safe," not having to lie.

X plain to me why people put others down? Why are there perfect models and barbies, telling us how we must look, how it's acceptable in society.

Y es please. Thank you. Simple manner, dying out, almost extinct. What happen to being nice? Or do we now, just take what we want? Expect everything, like the world owes us.

Z ach. He was my first love and my first heart break. With him, when he left, the floor caved under me. We were one of those couples that would break up, and get back together then next week. I guess you sould say we were crazy for eachother, but when he left, I guess I was the only one crazy. I was crazy enough to think he was ever mine.

Evangeline (is that what you want me to call you?),

While I hope you don't have to use it, attached is my edit of your suicide note. I just tweaked the grammar on a couple sentences and uncapitalized a random "E." Might consider being more specific. It's hard to tell who is to blame, if you're looking to blame someone. The verbs are very passive. Makes your end seem like a commercial break. Just a suggestion.

Love or a near synonym,
Josh

In a world of uncertainty
here lies a prayer.
An earnest one at night
with her hands clasped together before her lips,
a wishful thinking by day;
a talk to evangeline,
a whisper to the gust.
You are my dandelion,
You are every petal of it.

*******, Evangeline
I hated you in the seventh grade
When you were pushed on me at school
And broke my rib,
As I badmouthed you on the monkeyswings.

But quickly I learned
Not from mom or sister
That to be a man is different than
Hollywood and Disneyland
Nothing Loves, Actually; Forever calls—

Very quickly

It seems

That I go from adorable to expendable

Serendipitously,
With a bit of mandated mail
And affairs with Eros’ bureaus of State

Back then I played with chitinous bugs
Baiting them fluffy placentas
of budding trees
And stalked them back to their cave
Before I knew my felonies

But I was a baby,
A child—I never could have known what it means.

But of course I do,
I’ve seen
the running of the bulls
The utterance of men
They are angry and gouge *******
with cold vicegrips around their ******
And are kicked
Mercilessly
Spurned to wrathful affectation
To be murdered in the evening
With rapturous spectation

“But they are bulls!”

Of course they are
"These feelings are only natural!"

No man can equate
With the pleasurable temptations of the state

Not bird or bug or steer or doe

The only Hierarchy permissible
Is of the animals
And of that we hate

I don’t see you woeing
About that steak on your plate.
Or the Glue in the soles of your shoes.

Stroll a bit
Sniff the trees
Whiff the *******
When it’s in the feed

He runs in circles shouting, chanting
“Oye, Oye, Aye Piche Cabrone!”
As the solo mothers cut his lengua
for the starving Ninos
In an apartment complex
off Oxenhoof Lane

Where

Papi got iced
By I.C.E or the like
And the kiddies will never know what it means.

You’ll never know what it means
To be a bull
Muster your might for this—demand with laughter you die
I am an ant in the ever-washed hive
Of sterile kin who have no lives
They give for their queen or infectious despot with wings

Despite all the kindness they've given me,
I am not ready to be meat for the feet.

In every blade of grass I've faith
That no bird or sin will ****** me from my place
And into the sky or the unsatiated mouth of the various
Disunified highs

For now I share the toil and vitriolic
Callous
Jowls of those who hate themselves
More than me
And try to smile and bring food for the queen

But deep inside
I am an ant
And that is all you will ever see.

“This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe….?”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline


Among
the murmuring pines and the hemlocks,

We stay in a log cabin built by men displaced by the Great Depression;
Who would have said that it was not great at all.
Losing their pride, then earning it back again.

Here we stay,
Provided a place by those men of the New Deal
Those builders who poured out their labor, their time,
Their thoughts, their words among themselves;

And they, I think, must stay here, too.

When my birth canal becomes important, I want to create
nature. Unforgotten nature.

Her name will be of the moon or of the heavens –
my Luna, my Evangeline,
I even thought of giving her my stuffed pet’s title, my childhood
best friend. She was a cat with a bell around her neck
but I cut that off, I already knew of lone *******.

When more threads between my legs are loosened, as I only
would slit for beard or baby,
it is not a wound but nature unforgotten, fresh fruit.

I want to have a daughter
who someone will **** the morning breath out of and remember
that her freckles are midnight stars, that he or she
has a piece of heaven within them. Oxygen and eggs –
my daughter, a woman in the twelfth grade.

Children Waiting for the School Bus

Children still wait for the yellow school bus
Along old country roads as early spring
Makes green the happy springtime of their lives
They carry backpacks now, and wear shoes every day

Because

The State of Texas sternly forbids bare feet
In the sacred halls of learning, even in the heat
Children ignore the passing cars, and joy
In their new world of giggles and first crushes

Cedar-wood pencils and Evangeline –
We too still wait for that yellow school bus

i had a dream you were just holding my hand
because you didn't want to ******* cigarette breath
and we were out on the porch swing
i couldn't squeeze your fingers tight enough
your head rested on my shoulder
and we sang in our hearts to evangeline
it was six minutes we went silent
in the warm darkness
there weren't stars or any form of light
but your breathing was on my neck
and i wanted to cry

Concave
i savor each divet and dive
contrive symbols and words on smooth skin
dusted with faint golden hairs
like archaic scriptures
written before time was a thing
we kept track of
so i dont keep track of
my mind
as these shakes send me into riffs of euphoric bliss
and each grazing touch
brings me closer to the soul
on this journey of self discovery
a trip from which Ill never return
I burn two incense
at the same time
one for Kelly
one for Evangeline
the release flows into one another
as they sweetly invade my permeable mind
tearing it down
til it becomes
ash
soft and sweet
with only recognition of what its burning for
my hands travel more
and i dive deeper within
the soul begins
to escape my pores
wide open doors
this temple is mine
to explore
bones and flesh
the beauty arrests
my attention
and i have never felt a more beautiful being
with each lingering caress
sparks tickle and jest
and there is nothing more that I need
than this endless exchange

The boardwalk air tasted as sweet the ice cream on your tongue
You held my hand as we navigated through the fun house
Green shirts and green eyes glowing under fluorescent lights
It was then, under careful consideration, I was made yours.

Our children’s names are Evangeline and Jason
You let me pick night one
I was convinced, in my mind that you can’t handle, that those words were truth

My father’s rage was felt throughout the household
When you're young and you think you're in love you don't care
All I cared about
All that was on my mind was certainty and trust

Now, it’s not like I’m being delusional
A boy crazy crush that I never had a chance with
You were good with words
fed to me on a spoon with saccharine syrup
Fake sweetness filling me with lies
One spoonful of “I love you”
Another spoonful of “I won’t leave you if things get bad”

Things got bad

My skin parted like petals
emptying false hope onto the girl’s bathroom floor
My first thought
contained by blue paper scrubs
was to tell you that I loved you
It’s easy to think that when you're deflowered
petals rotting on a second hand couch in your parent’s basement

I waited
I wrote
I colored stupid pictures
using pencils I wasn’t supposed to have in my hospital room
I prayed every night
All was in vain
I suppose boys get put off
when girls make themselves bleed
instead of them making us do so

It all happened so fast

One week I was your latest obsession
Hands on my body as if attached with glue
You showed me off like a prize orchid
My petals were picked
Quickly, painfully
Until I lay bare before you
A flower is no longer beautiful
When colors and soft skin are stripped and tainted

I let you in
You got frightened
I stayed in the fun house
You ran back to normalcy

Space was needed
I could wait
I gave it to you while I paced the cold tile floor
Counting down the minutes until I could be in your arms again

The bus platform was our place
I saw you
Your stupid hat
your flannel
your tired green eyes
and though there were hundreds of other people there
none of them registered in my eyes but you

I had a plan
we could make things work, right?
After all I gave the mandated space
I also gave you the stupid coloring pages I made out of a concoction of boredom and saccharine love, on the nights my sleeping pills couldn't sedate me. So, every night.

I got a little bit of what I wanted though
The aforementioned embrace, yet not out of love but out of pity and guilt
Broken quickly, as if my love was a contagion you didn't want to catch

Stupid pictures in hand you left
You want no part of me
Yet you have every piece
Every petal

Io sono deflorata
Percio sono spine

If her lips are the universe,
He wouldn't mind leaving Earth
And wander what's out there.

If her lips are the music and lyrics
He wouldn't mind playing every love song that he loves
And understand, cherish every word that's been sung.

-Evangeline Lockhart