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 Sep 2013 Laura Stridiron
pluto
I never really understood poetry
with Mary and her secret love affair with a lamb
and with Humpty who fell off the wall
honestly I thought that poems and rhymes were a waste of my time.

then I saw you
and till this day I never really understood how you always tapped your foot, and how you always held your coffee mug a little slanted, and I was always scared that it was going to burn you. but it never did.

you truly fascinated me, in the most spiritual way and I just had to talk to you or I'd die.
and so I walked over.

I didn't even introduce myself when I sat down. All I asked was, "do you write poetry," and you answered with the simplest yes. you then asked me if I wrote poetry too, and I shook my head saying I never really understood it.

I never really expected my heart to jump out of my chest when I saw your pink lips stretch into a full grin, and it fascinated me in how your top teeth were perfect straight, but your bottoms were crooked. and how you kept on tilting your coffee mug, and how I just realized you had four freckles making some sort of constellation on the bridge of your nose.

you then told me about how people wrote poetry about stars and death and life. and nature and mostly love, and God and the truth that we all know but don't. you told me how poetry is about nothing and everything, but at that point you lost me.

I wondered how poetry could be everything and nothing when you became my poetry.

poetry like the way you tapped your right leg to the beat of Jessie's Girl
poetry like the way the dimple on your left cheek looks like one of the moons craters.
poetry like how your long brown eyelashes hide the cosmos of your green eyes.
poetry like how you throw your head back and laugh as if you just heard the funniest thing
poetry like how you smile with all your teeth and heart, crooked and all.
poetry like how you tilt your coffee mug to the right instinctively.

poetry like how you stopped tapping your foot.
poetry like how you got braces on your bottom teeth.
poetry like how you never smiled anymore.
poetry like how your cosmos look dead.
poetry like how your constellation of freckles disappeared.
poetry like a straight mug of coffee.
you walk the path made of ash and burnt grass
hows it feel against your bare feet?
as we're breaking down stones of the past
walking beside you here i can hardly breathe
your mouth shuts and the clock stops
you quit speaking at a quarter to three
it's ten past four, you still haven't said anymore
but my ears have heard everything
let me go, i beg you
leg me go, please let me breathe
let me go, i need you to
leg me go, you're killing me
I've settled in,
made myself cozy in his mediocre linen.
I am kept safe under the weight of his blankets.

I've been staying in this haven for years.

He has a habit of depriving me of experiencing the cruel world for myself.
It may be painful, but it is crucial to development.  
I'm warm in his queen sized bed.
Why would I want to leap out of it?
You are either living, or dying.
Right now, I am dying.
I am suffocating from a lie, actually.
I wonder how many golden girls you have lured under your covers.
They probably perceived it as being invited to a royal ball.

I wonder how many whimsical women have been honored to share sheets:
to swap saliva with their majesty. You've danced with all of the town, still every one felt privileged to
have been with you.

How do you expect me to feel like one in a million,
when you've convinced a kingdom of shes'
believe they were your queen?

I wonder
if you wonder
if you are my king.
Most days I am ****** about into the tides.
I often find myself dangerously distant from the shore,
borderline drowning.
Once in a ******* blue moon, I get pulled into a rip current of you.
I bathe in every inch of you,
soak up your radiance.
I get my sun tan,
and take a dip into your ocean
body
soul
heart

every chance I get.
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