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I can't tell if there's something wrong with her brain because of the way she blows bubbles. Lizabeth insists on spinning or hoping or doing some sort of movement while she breathes through that rigid circle. When I asked her why, she just casually said, "We should have to move too if we're going to be creating something that moves unwillingly." Then she spun around twice and blew the cutest bubble I've ever seen. It landed right on my nose, and popped like it'd touched the surface of the sun.
There was a week the rain just wouldn't stop, and everyday Lizabeth chewed key lime pie flavored gum, saying how beautiful it was. And everyday Lizabeth would jump in puddles and soak her clothes. And everyday Lizabeth would come inside for me to towel her dry. And everyday Lizabeth got a kiss from me on both her beautiful speckled eyelids. And everyday Lizabeth would kiss me on the tip of my nose. And every day, I would smile. I think it's the best week I've ever lived.
A Saturday wi
dreaming my dreams.I had a dream that I was strapped to the hospital bed
via heart monitor patches and a couple of short IVs.
I was staring at the ceiling of the room,
thinking of what time really was,
when I heard a double tap from the doorway.
I looked up and it was you standing there,
You strolled in and sat down and
the heart monitor missed a few beats
and we both chuckled nervously at it.
We exchanged hellos before you asked me
what was happening.
I told you about
the doctors confusion at my symptoms of cancer
without the cancer.
How they'd told me I had a weak heart,
and they really didn't know what to do about it.
You took my hand in yours
and I looked at you
I cried so hard that I woke myself up,
and I sat in bed crying,
because I knew that even if I did somehow
end up in the hospital with a grim looking future,
you wouldn't come, and
you definitely wouldn't care.
monochrome hearts.i met a boy
and he was wearing the
exact same color
that reminded me of love
he had cocaine skin
with eyes six feet deep
and he walked like
he was the world's
but his bones were
lead based and
i have a heavy heart
to carry and together
i made his knees weak
and my neck ache
together my tendons
shivered and his lips
parted and my
eyelids were constantly
and my over tired eyes
have the most beautiful
red trees sprouting
from the corners
so at least i have some
colour in my drained face
i thought of that boy and
his love coloured jacket
and swagger of a boss.
i thought of my failure to
please someone so
high and mighty, so
elegant and tall, so
distant and cold, so
'metaphorically speaking'you're tumbling with me through a sea of cloth
and our bodies are waves crashing into one another.
lips crushing together, our waists whisper their longings.
tracing your collarbones with kisses,
i giggle, you shiver, you smile.
you're atop a forest and i'm down in the valleys.
grasping the arch of my back, your fingers like torches,
i shiver, you giggle, we moan.
i'm tumbling with you through a field of skin
and our bodies are blades of grass slightly licking each other
when the wind blows over and through us.
Her Dreams.You know that moment when you send a text message, and you don't instantly regret it...
but after a while you realize you probably shouldn't have done that?
That's the moment I was in back then.
"You should come over." I texted my friend, thinking it was Friday, and I was home, and she was probably home, and I just got popcorn at the store that past Teusday. Movie night sounded like a good plan. Five minutes later I'd heard a knock at the door, of course it was her, my darling Lizabeth. She had her peachy orange hair down straight around her face, making her blue eyes seem unreal, her pale skin seem paler, and her tan freckles more prominant than she'd like them to be. I smiled. Her face always made me smile.
People often misunderstood how I loved Lizabeth. She was like the first blossom on the seed you planted, after having cared for it each and every day. Like the tick of a clock. The ring of a phone. The font of your favorite novel. The smell of new cars. She was just there to me, a
lumps.He said he could see sound particles
in multitudes of colors
bursting from her skin
when she sang to him.
In her mind, however,
it was simply flattery.
to get his waist against hers.
He couldn't blame her though.
After all, he did want to meet her skin.
But he also loved her singing,
and the image he saw
of her voice tiptoeing through the airwaves
in circles of shiny pastel.
As an artist, he knew it was a sign
that she was something special.
His passion was art,
and she was art,
she was his passion.
That was what he assumed, anyway.
There was a day
when she'd turned to him
whilst they lay nude
beneath a satin bedspread,
and she opened her mouth,
but her voice was flat and dull
and there wasn't a particle in the air
when she let her breath tell him
"We can't all spend our days building castles in the air."
The next day, she had left.
He knew it was because
as an artist of his (quite low) skill
he couldn't provide her with anything,
conrete, anything useful in rea
A Prologue: The AcrobatThe first time I saw contortionists perform was at a Cirque du Soleil showing via SeaWorld when I was seven years old. My second grade class was on a field trip. I was lucky enough to have my own parent chaperone, as well as the other people in my group be my best friends at the time. We'd been wandering around for a while, seeing things like the shark exhibit and the penguin house and Shamu splashing excited crowds. When me and the three girls I'd been with saw the sign for a Cirque du Soleil show starting twenty minutes later, we were instantly enchanted by the spectrum of colors and the elegant girls glimmering in skin tight suits, with elegant faces and twisted bodies. We told my mom we just had to go, and it was starting soon, and we had to go no matter what. She obviously caved--what tired parent wouldn't after being hounded by her daughter and three other little seven year old adventurous (and frankly quite whiny and noisy) girls. So we walked in and we all bought one of those s
i researched calla lilies for a piece of writing i did once, back in grade eight. they grow in somewhat tropical conditions, which made me think i could grow my own during the fall, since i live in florida. they're known as the champagne or marriage flower, because of their glass-shaped petals. they've been my favorite flowers ever since. though i do admit that white roses are a close second.
dandelions are technically weeds. they were my favorite 'flower' until i found that out. and so now, they're my favorite weeds, which is a bit odd, but oh well. the age-old legend that making a wish and blowing the dandelion's seeds off of it will make your wish come true is one that i've always admired. i feel as though i'm wishing on individual seeds. that's what they are. the dandelion's children. and we separate children from their mother in hopes of our wishes. but that's okay. they'll land and grow a whole new bath of kiddies for us to destroy. in my mind, dandelions are beautiful.
as good as the rest."I,"
Panned around the audience.
Tapped the podium,
sipped a bottle of water.
He was deathly nervous.
he knew the audience was probably thinking
his pause was for suspense,
or pre-planned emphasis,
and he wasn't worried about the stops.
"I." A short pause.
"Am sick of wishing on eyelashes and dandelions and shooting stars."
mapping the ache.She learned anatomy when he broke her heart. She liked how she could track the stinging, burning pain as it delved deeper into her. Starting in her throat, a heavy lump that wouldn't move anymore than a cm a day. it would travel through her veins, like back lanes, leaving behind big clouds of exhaust fumes that make her skin tarnish, and her blood thicken. the pain, gets a little stronger. moves a little further. with her bones structure mapped and blown up on the wall across from her bed, she woke up each morning, and closed her eyes. she sat quiet and still with breath held, trying to pinpoint the pain. she'd trace the wall and place a small gold star where is had reached that day. it was quite beautiful really. this skeletal system, scattered with little stars. her own constellation.
it was a realisation that everything can be traced back to her heart. it beats and bleeds and aches and yearns and everything it feels is shot through your synapses and
born to dieit has been a year
since you have made me cry
always being second
eats at your bones
and low standards
lead me nowhere
emalineshe was a quite sort of girl, he had observed. the kind of girl you wanted to say you knew because it meant you held a piece of the puzzle others could only wonder about. in knowing what was hidden to others, you became special. she was the sort of girl who ripped her favourite pages from books and tucked them carefully into her palm, then snugly into the worn pockets of her grandfathers cardigans, which she said were the only ones that fell just right on her small frame. she collected words in her perfect pout keeping secrets and promises and words that just roll of the tongue, but never rolled off hers just right- so she kept them hidden inside where she was perfect. her eyes spoke a million words a minute that he often found himself tripping over them if he looked too deeply; but just like looking into a flame he was completely consumed, he knew it- she didn't.
she was an oblivious sort of girl, he had observed. but she was his sort-of girl.
these oceanic arteries are killing me.i'm drawn to the ocean in a way that's anything but beautiful. i don't want a welcome embrace, i just want it to consume me. 'cause the ocean is so heavy and right now i'm so fucking fragile.
so i'll stand waist deep with the water curling tightly around me, lulling me further from the shore with the safe sung whispers of the wind as i let the waves crash into me. so that with each ebb and flow, piece by piece, the ocean can wash me away from you.
i can see myself crumbling away like the cliffs that surround the peaceful waters, and i wonder if your as fragile as i am right now. my breathing patterns have changed, as i don't want to be anything like you at all ever again.
it's not anything i'm proud of -- the way our worlds shifted and turned and collided to make the currents wash up on these shores with each of us standing at opposite ends of this expanse of water with no hope, no reason, no love, but it's the way things turned out. and now i should know better than to change everythi
i am an ocean nothing floats on.i am an ocean that nothing floats on.
her mother always told her that each part of her body was capable of becoming something hard and cold, something that a military man could arm himself with and leave a trail of destruction. There was an anchor in the pit of her stomach, resting on the bottom of a black and white ocean, carelessly tossed in by a reckless boy with matching eyes. it leads her to somewhere she has never been. It sinks her to ocean floor and leaves her waiting for the waves to stir her back to the surface.she learned about space, and the gaps that leave people feeling empty and lonely, and throughout the years of her youth, everything related back to the ocean residing inside her chest cavity which on the coldest and emptiest nights she could feel thrash and peak and cause her to choke and spit it up in violent convulsions. she learned that her stomach acids were responsible for the curve of her bones and the shapes of the shadows they made in sunlight. as her years tic
true lieshis eyes looked at me with disdain. i thought that once i had broken through his barriers his eyes would smile and his laughter would ring through every fibre of my body and that his cheeks would glow. instead all i felt was a greater coldness. except now it wasn't just a general feeling- it was directed very pointedly at me.
"you're not who i thought you were," he growled through clenched teeth. his words left me feeling that he wanted to say something angrier, something more malicious but he held back. even when his defences were down he was still calculated.
do you think that maybe you never knew me? that you built up an ideal image of someone unattainable yet appropriate for you? i pleaded with my eyes. but it was no use. he wouldn't even look at me. he knew, he finally knew, that he had built me up to that ideal because he felt it would be everything he deserved. now he saw, or rather didn't want to see, that he really didn't deserve it at all. ideal or not- he didn
always remember.before you met me, you couldn't sleep.
what did you do in those eight hours of quiet?
i imagine you lying all night in your bed, thoughts closing in on you like flames. but you're still, your brown-sugar skin illuminated by the memories. it sounds beautiful. i know it hurt you very much though. i've seen the scars.
and tonight i can't help but feel like i have a responsibility; an obligation to gather you in my arms and let my bones be your blanket, darling; let the unsteady rhythm of my breath be your only focus. and sleep.
when you wake i will be here. or there. wherever it is you want me to be. hopefully you're thinking what i'm thinking and we can wake up beside each other, tangled in each other.
maybe i'll rise first - these times are my favorite. my eyes drip open and because you are my first sight the day is full of promise. i take every bit of you in;
see you breathe you feel you.
i have you. i always forget this. but each realization of it is more glorious than the last.
i'd call it love, if it wasn't suffocating.every time it rains,
i think of you.
because that's all there is--
and a quick breath of air
before we all go under.
every time it rains,
i swear i'm drowning.
winter always reminds me of you.It never snowed last December, but it was always there on the horizon. Like a bad dream on the periphery of my vision, a relentless reminder that I don't ever have control over things the way I think I do. The way I want to. Recently, I realized that I feel everything a bit too sharply. The cold. The pain. The nothingness.
It's heart wrenching. It's stomach twisting.
The minute you were gone, the air in my lungs left too. It's amazing how long you can live without breathing. It's much longer than anyone tends to claim. Truthfully, it's not even the thing I miss anymore. I only miss you. I miss the feelings. I miss anything that isn't the slow crack and settle of this old building. Or the familiar beating of my heart. The sun rising and falling from the sky each and every day.
I don't remember what it's like to not wake up to a pattern, but I do remember that it was so much better than this.
I used to never know what to expect. Now I have no expectations at all. It didn't take me long t
your bones are rivers.timing never was my strong point.
and all it took was one more knock
to break open the damn and leave me
shaking and shivering as the oceans
flowed and flooded.
a fractured collarbone can kill you.
i already knew i was dying when the tide
came in and laid on my shoulders and
that tiny sliver of bone departed,
coarse, right through my vein.
i held my breath, and i could feel it
a tiny vessel in my veins, my stream
although i was unsure of its course
i knew that it would surely be the
bringer of my body's winter.
it scraped and all i could think was
the water was perfect for a swim.
i imagined that ort of death was you,
planning my demise
how i knew you always wanted to.
i held my head beneath the surface
and i felt light and airy and free
something you never knew of with
your charcoal bones and heavy heavy heart
i will defeat your ghost somehow
you don't know this but
i've been thinking more recently than before
and i figure you can't really haunt me if i'm
haunting you. you can't reall
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