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I want to grow a pair of wings
-Sharp, beautiful, majestic ones-
To hold you in and press you tight
inside them, Like the tender silken
roses you sent, That dozed deep in
the pages Of our favourite book,
So I can keep you
For ever.
~
You are
The whispering of the sea
Crashing anger at violent shores-
Lapping lovingly at lonely rocks.

You are
The affectionate bite,
And pressed tooth on lip. A brutish
But gentle expression of passion.

You are
The soft murmur of uncertainty,
Rustling against soft skin-
A (lost) exhale of heaving breath.

*Your skin and flesh and bones
Are I think not made of
All the same stuff as mine.

   You are water; you're iron;
   You are whistling wind.
   You're the purest sin
   In which I've ever sunk.
I gave him my favourite book
And laughed it off as expanding his "cultural horizons."
I showed him my favourite movie
And shrugged it off as "chillin' and killin' time."
I sent him all my favourite music
But could not write it off as anything
Other than pure devotion.
I want to scoop out
His eyes that read my most beloved works,
His unworthy ears that heard the tunes of my heart,
His awful, ugly smile that enjoyed my dearest film.
And so now here I sit,
With his organs lying before me,
Looking lovelier than on him;
And still, I am not at peace.
The rumbling in my heart, and the twitching in my fingers
Has not stopped.

I dive for his heart;
I will sew it on my sleeve.
I want to write you a poem.
I want to carve it into
Your skin and your flesh
With my pen knife.
-I knew the word pen
Was not in there for nothing.-
I want you to feel the sting of my words
As I drive and drag them
Into your split skin.
I want you to feel the burn of my body,
carving calligraphy
into yours.
I want you to feel my emotions
Running out in blood,
Leaking out of you
In dark, watery cascades.
I want the poison of your kisses
That has spread through my body
To find you again.
I want to write your promises
On the stones I will press
Onto you. So you too
Can feel their o'erburdening weight
The way I did
-and carried, all this time.
Burn me still, when you do,
With ink on the pads of my fingers
And with my meter scrawled hastily
On the centre of my ticklish palm,
And let me find my sour/sweet chaos
In the order you placed me into,
For I know now and will ever know;
In the madness, there is love.
Would you love me with blue-stained hands,
in the bleary hours of sand-crusted haste?
Would you love me in oversized sweatshirts and sweaty hairbands,
when I have ink on my fingers and creams on my face?

Would you love me barefoot in splotchy grass,
after my ankles have turned brown and green?
Would you love me when I'm crass and when I'm slacking off in class,
or doodling in the corner of a notebook in a dream?

Would you love me anyway
and, if it's not too much trouble,
would you love me every way?

Would you love me as much in a push-up bra
with red-stained lips and curled (combed) hair,
when I love with all the love I have
in the hope of getting some loving back?

Love me fierce and love me gentle;
Love me till all my love is gone.
hold me close till I am warm.

To trying and failing and trying again
because hope springs eternal
in our foolish hearts.
Okay, deep breaths. I can handle this. People do it all the
Time. And I'm a people. Alright, I've got to now enter-
God, oh god. Why, why did I even come here? Okay,,
Maybe no one will notice me if I'm away from centre.
I'll go sit in that corner. Maybe I should go talk to
People; maybe I should get up. No, it's too late.
I'm going to die here. I'm going to throw up.
Oh **** it someone's coming this way.
Maybe I'll just pretend I don't see him.
Wait, oh no. He's saying something.
Oh god, what did he say?
Okay, I'll just nod along.
Smile. Nod. I hope that
There isn't something
In my teeth.
Oh god,,
breathe.
Breathe
-Why
won't my legs stop twitching?
Oh **** it. It's in my fingers now, too.
Maybe I can just peel them away. Maybe
I can peel away my whole finger.
I could peel all the skin right off my body.
I just want to run away. My legs
ache
To run till there aren't any people around anymore.
I wish the world would
give way beneath me and swallow me whole.
If I press my feet down hard enough, maybe..
Maybe the ground will shift and
sink under my feet,
and I can go inside and never have to talk to these people again.
Oh crap when did he stop talking!?
He's just looking at me now; did he ask a question?
I should say something. He thinks I'm an idiot,
I'm sure of it.
I'll just say "yeah." Or no, wait, I'll say "cool."
<<Yool.>>
Oh great. Just **** me.
I don't have a distinct poetic agenda
And I can never recollect accurately in tranquility.
All I am is a voice, but
I want to be a loud one
-Not seeking inspiration
Under every rock laying unturned
With a cosmic universe throbbing
Patiently under it.
I want to lie awake at night,
Vowing not to sleep until I reach my next goal-
I want to have goals
And not be a dreamless drunk;
I want to fly
And not flutter;
I want my wings to melt,
Over and over again,
Day after day,
Until I can build wings strong enough
To hold the heat of the sun
Inside them, and then propel further.
I am not Icarus. I am not
An aimless butterfly.
I am with direction.
I see the sun drip from the ends of your hair.
I leap to catch it but your towel soaks it first,
beating me to it.
~
The crystals and diamonds
Drop and dangle, delicately
From the ends of your disheveled hair.
They Carry the sun inside them,
Holding the fragile star
close
In the split-ended hands of
The tangles in your locks.

My rain before leaf in the sunshine
•weeps, my
Love. Fierce love.
~
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