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  Feb 2019 Raven Scherbatsky
q
i do not believe in god
but i do believe in poetry
and for me
maybe poetry is prayer
and the universe
is an unwavering ear
in the shape of a god
it's hard to love you, and i dont know
if i can ever completely do
not when your scars reminds me
of how unkind the world was to you
not when your face reminds me
of the monster that was never
under the bed.

it's painful to love you, and i don't know
if i can ever withstand it all
because with you everything is
magnified and heavier, i don't think
i can carry you in my trembling arms

i wish i could do more things for you
love you endlessly, take care of you relentlessly
but i dont know how when nobody else did those
how could i love you better, dear self?
I gently tiptoed alongside your dreamful sleeping figure in the dark.. I long to gaze in the brightness of your eyes but it is now blanketed with a resting lullaby. I wish the beating of my heart echoes the drumming of yours for I am at my happiest when I’m basking in the sunlight or moonlight or even the harsh fluorescent light as long as it is shared with you. I love you, in its truest and its most naked sense. I miss you, it is frustrating how I could never get enough of you. I long for the days where I could doze off next to you. I live for the careless moments where the world keeps silently moving on our backs, without our regard, without our anxieties. I wish I could tell the rest of the universe to hold everything off so I could hold you closer just another minute, just another hour, just a little longer, I simply want us to be together.
Pleasure is to paint horizons on your smooth canvass
Privilege is to trace constellations across your milky way
Swallow me whole and let me live under your skin
Plant a million kisses along the shorelines of my body
Drizzle me with warm honey, your lovin’, my majesty
And forever these fingertips will sail across your arms
Driving me crazy, driving me lazy, you’re a poisonous cherry
Come rest in my cotton lullabies, come surrender your tired eyes
Let’s bridge this thin gap between dreaming and reality
Tomorrow will be another day, but right now I’m a slave
To this sweet, enchanting gaze
To the architecture of your face
To the weight of your bones
To this embrace, I call my home.
You want me to write poetry for you?
Because that's what I'll most likely do.
I wish we have at least kissed at once
You gave me a bellyache that can't be undone
I whisper your name as I fall asleep
With hopes that with it, my phone will lit and beep
21st century romance, we built friendship
in this web of lies, our hearts colder than ice
You said your body will be mine
But it's everyone else's, I was late to the races
oblivious to the darkness to come;
i started to have my braids undone

sank my fangs to a well-ripen peach
only to have my sunday dress drenched

you looked me in the eye and said
"i like you better when you're a mess,
you become who you really are,
not just who you want to be"

and my hand landed a slap on your fair face
"i didn't work hard to be a mess
and for someone to admire my weakness
im for someone who gaze at my greatness"
for my favorite queen
I look behind me, and the soft blur steadies slowly, squinted my eyes a few more times and I now see clearly. It’s a broken bridge, there's a hollow gap, a deep emptiness that separates us. We used to share intimate little spaces, strange but familiar darkness, the perfect amount of comfortable silence. I used to fill your cracks with these tiny flowers that grow in my mouth, and you use to fill mine with warm fuzzy stars out of your pocket. I wonder if I left cold spots when I left your bed, I wonder what do you use to fill them with? I left you with a lot of trinkets, I wonder if you still see my glassy eyes when you hold them close. I wonder if my name shoots arrows in your delicate chest when it's mentioned. It haunts me, consumes me, not knowing what you think of me. I'm screaming in whispers when I confront this humdrum fever. I look at you, and I can't tell anymore what brings you peace during times of high tides? Where do you surrender your tired hands? When do you seek an honest slumber? How do you mask your woes? Why do you play those songs? I can ask, you can tell, we can talk, but I would not really know the true answers and all that you and I both know, is that we are nothing but the previous pages, nothing but the bullet casings, just empty husks of all the things that once were there. We're just living each of our little lives day by day, in ways we no longer share. It's not sadly poetic, it’s simply the reality that I chose to create. I don't' know, I guess today is just one of those days that I remember you. I remember us.
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