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Your Heart Was My Home Until You Handed Me an Eviction Notice MAG
I removed the layers of blankets from my aching bones
to excavate the secrets that were held together by saliva
in papier-mâché envelopes, only to chew on disappointments
and lie on shards of fragile stained glass that tampered with my flaws,
instead of putting me back together with multicolored duct tape
so gray was only found inside of my body.
I wrung the tears from your sweatshirt and decided it was time
to give it back to you, in exchange for my serpent heart
[barely beating,
barely breathing];
instead of curling inside your stomach and making you
nearly as ill as I had become, just by drinking venomous nectar
and digesting fireflies so a small portion of me would feel alive,
I climbed over your picket fence and let you recline my eyes
in another awkward position to the point where I only chain-smoked
the main exhibits of your aesthetic proportions and declined
every deficiency of the person you truly are,
i. blunt
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the rest of the poem -->
i. blunt & manipulative; prohibiting your alluring
smile for the world to capture with trembling fingers and
impossible to revail with these splintered muscles.
ii. satisfying & destructive; pinning needles against my spine so you had advantage against my numbing pain to
toss me a small amount of your ego, which was nothing more
than a breakage of skin to make yourself seem 'powerful'
[maybe I wanted more than that.]
I've been soaking in inevitability from the tenderness of your skin,
while regret dripped off my hands like baby oil and you insisted on
pouring buckets of water to awaken my senses, only to realize that water didn't mix well with oil, and you didn't mix well with me.
So I've tripped over my own two feet and played childish games
day after day & month after month, and I was convinced that maybe
it was time to take a step outside your boundaries, because months were passing like seconds, and I didn't comply enough seconds to embrace my innocence forever.
& we knew that when the leaves broke from the tree branches
that it was time to let each other go, and discover the people we'll eventually measure up to be.
-truth betold, I wasn't falling at your knees anymore, nor was I capable of it, but the memories are on 'repeat' inside of my head, and my fingers are too cold & too weak to reach out & press 'stop'.
You'll always be dawning over my shoulder, that's a given that comes with caring about you so much, and eventually, whether it's a minute too late [tragic] or a day too soon [conclusive], you'll end up thinking about me, just as much as I think about you.
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