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yellah girl Jan 2018
red robins play in
snow covered trees of
emerald, ruby ribbons
singing a song, whistling
their gemstone tune
  Jan 2018 yellah girl
ryn
I pine for,
     crescent moons
     and star-peppered skies.

I notice and hear,
     swaying silhouettes
     and whistling night breezes.

I anticipate,
     the expiring hours
     and dew-scented earth.

I only exist in,
     extended silences
     and shattered lenses.
yellah girl Nov 2017
i don't want to, but if i did
you would be there, in blue
jean overalls, no shirt, just skin
with your hair pulled back in a
Kentucky Wildcat baseball cap.

on the porch you would reign
with a cigarette between your teeth
& a piece of wood in your palm
whittling & whistling the night
away, the stars twinkling away.

i don't want to, but if i did
you would be there, in the morning
while i make a *** of coffee, black
like the coal dust lingering on
top of our sunrise kisses.

deep in the Appalachian range,
where the starlight becomes our
city lights, our home in a holler
calls to my heart, and i want nothing
more than to be held
in your arms.
Unrequited longing is unusual. Sometimes, you don't realize you want something until you no longer have it.
yellah girl Nov 2017
i'm scared & i don't
know if it's because you
are so bright & real,
so unlike the toys i'm
used to holding in my
palms.

you are a shining sea
in the midst of the
charcoal thunder growling
over my head, confusing
my direction.

you are a silver dagger
embedded deep in my heart,
something i thought i had lost
a long time ago, deep in the
sugar white sand.

when i wake up, i see you
& when i sleep, i dream of
you, always lingering on
the edge of my tongue, so
sweet, so sharp, so strange.

when i look into your eyes of
ember, i see the entire universe
laid out neatly like a map, ready
to jump in, scared to let go.
Unusual to feel things when you've been taught to keep everything locked inside for three years.
yellah girl Nov 2017
he painted me from
dusk blue stardust &
pearl pink sea
foam.

his hands that held
the horse hair brush
were trembling timid
nervous, blush red.

his eyes were confident
bold like the emerald green
gemstone he so earnestly
desired to be.

van gogh swallowed yellow
paint in hopes of consuming the sun
so that his flesh and bone would
shine as bright as his heart.
yellah girl Nov 2017
the girl was beautiful even then
a blur of charcoal and sea foam
subtle curves with soft, yearning
eyes
her adoration was reflected in the
hooded
eyes of the
painter who laid her skeleton out
to dry.

he spoke to her often, his only friend,
filling her with ideas of sea shell pink
lips, and a rose red heart to match
his own
his idle fingers held the brush, dipped
in rose and sea shell dust,
but he did not fill in
the cream canvas skeleton.

the artist was a gargoyle in stretched
flesh, garishly painted in obscene brights
lime green, neon orange, fire engine red
but with the wipe of the artist cloth
the colors fell away and she would see
the monotone palette that the paint kept
hidden away.

with trembling hands, she took the oil
pastel from the gargoyle's hands, and
slowly, timidly, colored in her own
heart, filled in her own eyes, and colored
in her void until she became a tiger blossom
lily of her own accord.
Don't let someone dictate how colorful or not you are in your own life.
yellah girl Oct 2017
growing up, i lived on the
highways between FL & KY
either in the cab of my dad's truck
or the backseat of my mom's ford.

streetlights became stars, &
the stars became my universe
i saw my first meteor at 3am
on the road back from TN.

Halloweens were spent in the cab
with Bugle's on my fingertips,
cackling like a witch.

Christmas was an adventure,
stuffed into the backseat between
blankets & winter clothes.

breakfast was a McGriddle,
lunch was a bag of chips & soda
from the gas stations & truck stops,
and dinner was my favorite, always
at ******* Barrel, beside the fire place
surrounding by my family & others.

the highway is my home, &
i wouldn't have it any other way.
Looking back, I see now that I had a very nomadic childhood, either traveling across the state lines with my dad or my mom, moving every 3 years when the bug bites.
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