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if the eyes are the windows to the soul,
then dress them up nicely.
keep all of the anger
threatening to pour from you
behind a locked mouth.
nobody asks the person living
in a well kept home if she is okay.

wear every apology like a thorn.
let them stare at the resentment
that blossoms from those roots,
and let a garden grow from each puncture.
they'll let you talk about your pain
if you disguise it in flowery metaphors.

love is the wide eyed child
that beckons you to this address.
forgiveness is the 12 year old girl
dusting off his promises to change.
you have outgrown these faces,
but you still put them on
because naivety has more to offer.
 Aug 2016 kaylene- mary
NV
i know only how to wear this body like an apology.
like i'm sorry i take up too much space.
like i'm sorry,
i don't feel small enough to fit into your hands.
i wear it like a sin.
like a prayer that never feels answered.
like confessions i keep trying to change.
i wear it like a broken commandment,
because i love thy neighbour,
but i hate myself.
 Aug 2016 kaylene- mary
Rapunzoll
i was the type not to get scared,
when i was seven, i climbed to the roof of the house,
and danced, not like a bird that could fly,
but like a chick barely just hatched,
ready to throw itself from the nest.

i used to dive into the deep end of the pool,
to sink until my lungs would burst and
i felt like there was no greater joy than living.

i hated few things except the dark
maybe because i thought of monsters,
but now i just think of death.
i despised routine and any type of
cage i could be put in,
i wanted to live as though each day
was my first and last.

when i was seventeen, i thought i found
my soul in a boy that loved everybody.
i held onto memories, like he held on
to grudges and his ex lovers.
and he never made any promises,
but i hoped i would never live to see
him become a broken one.

i fell in love with the thorns, but not the rose,
sometimes bad attention,
is worse than no attention,
i used to think i could withstand a hurricane,
but now the slightest gust can send me away,
i think painstakingly of the girl i could be,
and the girl i am, and it's been a while,
but i wish i was still as good
at sharing how i feel as i am at hiding it.
© copyright
 Jul 2016 kaylene- mary
Rapunzoll
tell me
why private thoughts
become so loud and violent
upon our faces that
they peel the layers of skin,
and our own form of sun,
burns us alive inside.
i waited patiently for your breath
like hot summer nights,
a whisper of a wind, a secret
tantalizing, lost in lulls of sleep
and i'm restless in bed,
sheets suffocate me with the
lies of your body, and
ghosts are more familiar
than your scent.
tell me, i screamed it with my
eyes as you slept.
i once held your palm and
felt your fingers slip,
did they reach for hers
instead?
© copyright

poem on adultery
still going through writers block. posting stuff i wrote a few months back and forgot about.
Bleed my name
Every single blood cell should crave my loving
Need me
[I need you to need me ]
 Jul 2016 kaylene- mary
JR Potts
The individual drops of sweat
each represent a small piece
of your former self.

How much longer
before you are the person
you promised to be?

Your muscles tremble,
under the weight of change,
have you forgotten?
I know it has been so long
since you were a child
but growth has always
demanded pain

and it is time you pay.
 Jul 2016 kaylene- mary
NV
BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW MANY TIMES IN LIFE,
I HAVE WOKEN UP,
AND SOMEBODY WASN'T THERE.
SO MUCH SO,
THAT EVENTUALLY I STOPPED WANTING TO WAKE UP AT ALL.
SO YES,
YES I'M STILL AFRAID TO FALL ASLEEP AT NIGHT,
AND I'M AFRAID TO LOVE,
ESPECIALLY TO LOVE.
 Jul 2016 kaylene- mary
Bec
There have been theories
about the end of the world.
A giant fireball from the sky,
natural disasters,
a mutant virus.
But the truth is far worse
for I have seen it.
It's going to happen when
you awake one morning,
the warm, comforting body
that is usually next to you,
gone.
In their place, a note.
"I don't love you anymore.
I'm sorry"

It'll happen when
she takes her last breath,
the hand you've been desperately
clutching to
loosening in your grip.
When his mother calls you
at 3 a.m., crying,
and tells you that she found her baby,
your best friend,
lying on the red bathroom floor.
It'll take you a minute because
you know that that floor
is white.
This is how the world ends,
neither with a bang or a whisper.
 Jun 2016 kaylene- mary
Bec
I've never felt more beautiful
than when I have been
tangled in the sheets of your bed.
The first rays of the morning
coming through the window.
The warmth of your skin
igniting a spark in me.
People tell me that this love is a sin,
that I am living in a Hell all my own.
I will gladly shun a Heaven
where you don't exist.
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