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i couldn't help but feel all the
butterflies
fluttering around my stomach
it made me feel
alive
she makes me feel
alive
if this is what being alive feels like
i can see why most people are so afraid
to die
they don't want to lose this feeling
i guess
i'm in love
so let me tell you something, you *****
it makes me feel like i actually have something to lose
and that's a great feeling
these butterflies
in my stomach
they won't ever go away
i'm glad they won't
i've gotten used to their company
 Aug 2012 Overwhelmed
Audre Lorde
Coming together
it is easier to work
after our bodies
meet
paper and pen
neither care nor profit
whether we write or not
but as your body moves
under my hands
charged and waiting
we cut the leash
you create me against your thighs
hilly with images
moving through our word countries
my body
writes into your flesh
the poem
you make of me.

Touching you I catch midnight
as moon fires set in my throat
I love you flesh into blossom
I made you
and take you made
into me.
Somedays it is true.
That you can fill your glass to full.
But woman.
That does not mean.
I do not love you.
I am working from severn to severn.
Just to give us the money, so I can go on loving you.
But this night.
Woman, you make me dizzy.
And there you go on one again.
A fine mixture of smoke and breath escapes my lungs
as this letter flows from my pen this evening.
"This evening:" What does that even mean?
A moment in darkness, shadowed is the life-giver
high above us,
well,
me.
Strawberry tobacco smothers my face from hookah pipe,
eyes fixed on the lines before me,
and I have nothing to say.
We have nothing to speak, I assume.
I am wordless but maybe in the moment,
this evening, you have a tongue of prose
and no pen to mouth emotion back,
no way of knowing that your time is time is now,
and it's my turn to listen.
Wait, no no, not emotion.
Just "being,"
ways of being, strewn out like a fortune teller's
knucklebones. A lie, the truth, the way that
your eyes wander to the door as you lie
on the pinstriped couch across living room
from me.
I see you glancing, I feel your yearning
for skies where wings can spread against
a star-sun-lit moon and clouds of pink and red,
a longing to dive toward god-given green earth,
near to here, but so so far.
Needing clouds to dream-slumber in, as beads of water
mask your body in my mind, mixed with
thoughts of pure love and pining for your growth,
as dew drops form around my long blond-brown-blue eyelashes.

It's all I see, I've seen,
that's all I write to you this evening.
 Aug 2012 Overwhelmed
Kay Meraz
Cry
 Aug 2012 Overwhelmed
Kay Meraz
Cry
i tell my mother

"one day they will come around, one day they'll understand your struggles"

but she cries still.

and i cry.

i tell my father

"this is your chance to be the dad, you never were"

but he forgets.

and they call me and they cry

and i cry.

i tell my brother,

"she is your mother no matter what"

but he forgets,

and she cries.

and i cry.

i tell my sister,

"dont be afraid of being a single mother"

but she stays,

and she cries.

and i cry.

i tell my little brother,

"theres more to life than a girl"

but he gets another, and another.

and he cries.

and i cry.

and when i need those three words to keep me from dying,

they forget.

and i cry.
The drugs are quick
like slipping sand
dripping onto my eyelids.

Through my veins and to my fingers,
and into ink. Black ink
from a ****** moon
tripped up on ******.

My mind is a wave machine,
the world the wave,
whatever I think the world moves in circles.

The music makes colors
to my twitching eyes and eager fingers.
Step here, question there, doors opening and closing.

Fuzzy mind, fuzzy slippers melded together
in insane madness of crazy.

The drugs are quick.
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