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Cara Christie May 2017
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hmmmmmmmm

how do i put into words
how much i ******* love you?
Cara Christie Apr 2017
i think that it is fair to say
we all have one that got away

things didn't work out between us two
the timing was off, i think we both knew

wanting to deny everything that was wrong
cause i loved you so much and i thought we were strong

then you broke it off, and i didn't want to agree
how could i see you with anyone but me?

still hung up on you, on your name and your face,
that haunts me and devours all my headspace

but the worst thing of all is that i see signs
of love for a girl just like me in your lines

a girl that you treasure from the bottom of your heart,
a girl whose face looks to you just like art

a girl who came in at just the right time
a girl who didn't have problems like mine

a girl who should hang on to you very tight
and never let you leave without a fight

she should do everything she can to make you stay
cause god forbid you'd be another one that got away
ugh cliche but sadly true. sorry for assaulting your eyes with this terrible rhyming poem.
Cara Christie Apr 2017
dragging myself down black and white sidewalks,
under a cloudy, black and white sky,
wearing ragged, black and white clothes,
next to globs of faceless, black and white people,
clutching my soulless, black and white heart
and wishing for a whisper
of the colorful, beautiful,
definitely not black and white,
world that you gave me
just a quick write. it's kind bleh but whatever.
Cara Christie Apr 2017
sometimes,
at night,
when i lay on
the soft grass carpet
and turn my face
to the blinking, twinkling stars,

i forget,
for just a fleeting moment,
all about you

in a split second,
the flap of a wing,
the blink of an eye,

i live in a world
where my heart
has not been
smashed to pieces
by your swinging baseball bat

i live in a world
where i'm still
that young, naive girl
with romantic dreams of love

i live in a world
where you never even existed

i feast my eyes
on the wobbly constellations,
the bulls and lions and fish,

and every single painful scar
just
falls
away
Cara Christie Apr 2017
i'm sick of you telling me
that i am too old to do things

when was the last time
you danced in the pouring rain?

when was the last time
you jumped into a pile
of freshly raked leaves?

when was the last time
you built a sand castle,
or a sand mansion,
or even a sand hut?

when was the last time
you caught fireflies in jars
and watched them for hours
until their lights finally blinked out?

when was the last time
you just laid on the ground
and looked up at the clouds?

when was the last time
you gave off-key shower concerts
to an audience of no one,
using the bar of soap as a microphone?

when was the last time
you sat over a raging bonfire
and roasted every last marshmallow?

when was the last time
you made a plush fort
out of couch cushions, pillows, and blankets?

when was the last time
you told scary stories
over the fluorescent beam of a flashlight?

when was the last time
you stomped and splashed
in every puddle you could find?

when was the last time
you had pure, real fun
without a care in the world?
Cara Christie Apr 2017
it's the end of the world,
my friends.

the sky is falling,
the ground is shaking.

the entire earth is
spinning and rocketing,
twirling out of control
around its wobbly axis.

of course,
gravity's long gone,
and we're all just
floating around.

the sun's getting closer
by the hour,
burning holes in mountains
and evaporating oceans.

what's going to **** you?

a new disease,
a bout of heatstroke,
a boulder flying toward you at insane speeds?

another person?

the absence of another person?
your own boredom drilling its way through your head?

your loneliness?

your regrets?

what's going to **** you?

looking up into the stars,
only to see your own
sad, short lifetime
of accomplishments and inactions
spelt out in the gaseous twinkly orbs?

what's going to **** you?
Cara Christie Mar 2017
fullest bookshelves you will ever see
soft hazel eyes hiding behind stiff blue frames
loads of pillows and fuzzy warm blankets
reading poetry in secret nooks and crannies
curly all-over-the-place cascading brown locks
dancing in the early springtime drizzles
movies with huge tubs of butter-drenched popcorn
laying in the lush grass, fingers stretching for the clouds
pens tucked behind ears, in coat sleeves, and on window sills
raspy, off-key, unabashed shower singing
friday night new netflix show marathon
awkward attempts at kind-of-sort-of flirting
secret stash of every single type of chocolate
complete list of the world's cheesiest pickup lines
bottom lip biting in intense concentration
well-worn copies of shakespeare's best plays
mindlessly wandering streets for hours on end
love songs, romantic surprises, that one perfect sonnet

good god, good girl
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