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I Am

I am not “Maggie”
Or “five-foot six”
Or “one hundred and eighty pounds”
I am not “20”
I am not “Lima, Ohio in November”

I am Before I Fall
And Blue October
I am my four am thoughstream
And a cup of coffee

I am all of these,
Not Lima Ohio
But a wedding in August

It Tastes Like Summer

It’s the way your eyes kiss stars
And your lips taste like summer
And your voice plays melodies
Singing me to sleep a night

The ink on your skin
Breathing secrets beneath
My trembling fingertips
And your breath in my ear

It’s the way you shudder
When my lips graze
My favorite spot in the hollow
Of your neck

It’s the way you taste like summer

I don’t want another cigarette
I don’t want another drink
I don’t want to fly with Mary
Don’t even want to think
Because cigarette smoke is lonely
And liquid courage is too
And Mary makes me fly
But not as high as you

My stomach is full of wine and water and pills to kill
And my head is full of a ringing louder than a train
And my heart lies heavier than yours ever will
And words sound muted as they enter my drugged up brain

He loves the song Zombie by the Cranberries. Funny, seeing as how that’s most likely what he’ll be if he stays with Mamma much longer. Her words dig into his already fragile heart and gouge out the life he’s so tenuously clinging to. He smashes his head into walls so he won’t strike at her. Because through the winter of her blue eyes he is kept warm by the fact that he still loves his Mamma. I can’t blame him. I do too. And Mamma loves us. She’s just sick. So sick. And he has to pay for that. She’s contagious. But no one who catches her sickness is sick in the same way. We are her symptoms. She bleeds on us her own feelings. Call him an asshole. Make him hurt. Make him break to feel like you. That’s what she does. 

As with all people, I am a book. But not your best-selling, talked about constantly kind. I’m the rare find. People pick me up, read a few pages, then put me down because I don’t grab their attention right away. But if they could just keep reading, if they could just turn a couple more pages, they could find my story mirrors their own. I could end up being that book that they have ear-marked, highlighted, read a thousand times and still find something new every time and each time they read, they love me that much more.

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