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SeparateYou are on the opposite side
of this window.
Press your palm against the pane,
The heat of our fingers will
fog the glass,
and in this mist we create,
we will finally meet.
GodGod is in her rocking chair,
wood creaking as she hums back and forth.
I want to climb onto her sun-warmed lap,
breathe in the smell of air dried dresses,
May breezes caught in her floral-print skirt.
Her hands are gentle as they stroke my hair,
her knitting going still when I rest my head
on her knees where her yarn was.
She holds me as I cry.
MeltI prayed for rain because
once you told me
that it was your favorite thing.
The sound of it,
the way it smelled on the concrete cracked,
how it felt on your skin
if you were to step outside and
let it soak into your tired shirt.
I told you that I liked the snow,
and for me it was because
nothing was more symbolic
for how cold I am when compared to you,
how rain fights with itself when it
races down the window,
but snow is distant, aloof,
And if I shared that thought with you,
I know you'd tell me that
I'm just the clear sky, a blessing,
because you love me in ways
that I want to love you...
A Poem By Any Other Name...Love is elusive, it seems,
but not for the two of you.
All the faces you make at each other,
like he was a mirror and you the image,
or maybe it's the other way around?
It doesn't really matter,
because you both see the same in each other.
I thought I had that gift,
but I found out so quickly
that the full length in what I thought
was the dressing room of my future
was really just a fun house
and the only one who thought
the image was clear
Romance was like poetry for me,
when I choose the title before I write the verse,
and am disappointed when it no longer fits.
This was supposed to be about perfect pi
Strung OutConsider me hanging on the line,
a dress without a body waiting for the sun,
vibrant when she's not heavy, waterlogged.
As a child, I enjoyed making orange smiles,
while wondering why we didn't have
a clothesline stretching from tree to tree
like I'd seen on the television.
I admired the way skirts became birds,
picked up by the wind they adored,
while sheets grabbed the wind like a sail,
and the clouds were always made of cotton,
and the denim sat like lead.
Now every time I put myself out to dry,
the sky gets heavy and breaks on me.
I am halfway towards being ready,
and then the rain rips me down again.
Maybe that's why
Burning HeartWe built a beautiful pyre,
and in my heart,
I'm holding your hand as it burns.
The sparks could become the stars,
jewels in Orion's belt.
I'd lace my fingers through yours
in a final act of faith
while we stare down the smoke
cradling the moon,
and each piece of kindling
that crumbles in on itself
leaves me a little less broken.
The light flickers,
so do the corners of your lips.
We needed this.
UnbridledLet's dance, you and I.
Hello rambling psyche,
grab my hands and
lead me in a jitterbug waltz
across my floor.
You've got two right feet
to match my lefts,
and our laughter hits
with the downbeat of the toms.
We sing flats and sharps,
perfect at being imperfect.
My hair's a mess and
you're not really there,
but I've got enough spirit
to be my own partner,
and anyone watching from the window
HeavyWhen you let me go
by the side of the road,
please remember the string
that you tied to my soul.
I'm the balloon you inflated
just to let go;
the night is too cold
and I'm sinking so slowly down.
Why'd you have to cut this
the thin wire trailing
from my heartbeat to yours?
Remember the science of
the desolate sky,
because the night is too cold
and I'm sinking so slowly down.
De-toxI told you once that
I liked my men like I liked my tea,
hot and nude,
and all you could do was
raise your eyebrows and
hope that I was thinking about you.
I had to force down the peppermint tea
and try not to think about that moment
as it both froze and scalded me--
throat, lips, and heart.
Like the you,
like the dry toast my sister made,
the mint was supposed to help me
settle and be well, but couldn't.
Four days of vomiting,
like my body rejected the idea
of being alone just as much as
my mind did.
Hundreds of hours of
and I still couldn't force you out of my system.
And when it was over,
The TimekeeperI am the hour-counter,
collecting time like water caught
on the bottom of a glass.
The wasted minutes you exchanged
for blue-sky dreaming,
the seconds on the porch with
your song-bird smile,
they're all here:
stuck to the sides of my hourglass.
AcheIt comes and goes
like an unwelcome houseguest,
leaving me with messes I don't need,
and it never shuts the door
to keep the cold out.
I tried shutting off the lights
and closing the blinds,
twisting the key in the padlock
and boarding the windows,
but as long as light can
seep through the cracks,
this shadow will follow
and dig its fingers into my shoulders.
I bruise easily, it knows,
and it revels in watching
me shift in discomfort
while it grips me.
Like a ghost,
it won't let go.
Nevermind the WinterTrack the robins through the cloud-cover,
and tell me where they're going.
Would you follow them?
Spring rests in their talons,
and I reach for it.
I rise like the crocus,
glowing like an afternoon
of laying in the daffodils.
Find my footprints in the April mud,
because I am hope
and I follow the robin.
It's Not So Bad When The Ceiling Stares BackIt's almost five and
when the sun takes her
olympic strides towards
the westernmost curve in the horizon,
I find myself lonely.
But I know my shadow will hold my hand
as long as it doesn't get dark again.
So I brighten my room with an electric click,
shut the shades to keep out the night,
and search for myself to the tune of
nobody sitting next to me when
I harmonize with an empty bed.
I can almost feel our mutual heartbreak
when I stare into the ceiling cracks.
HopeA bird broke its wing
on a window so clear
that it could've been made
out of pieces of sky.
Despite the sun in her eyes
and the fire in her shoulder
she sang because
she was that much closer
to the wind.
Yet You're Still RunningYour feet mimicked your heartbeat;
Drumming into the ground, panicked.
They reminded you that Earth was turning too fast.
You'd be thrown into emptiness
if you didn't keep up.
If you cared enough,
you'd see the blisters on my hands,
nail-beds cracked from gripping the dirt
as I tried to slow the world for you.
Last WishesThis candle-smoke rises like my soul.
Grey, it's hanging in the air
When all my light is gone.
Wave my spirit out the window
That you opened to the West,
And I promise I won't bother you no more.
Scatter all my ashes to the wind.
Promise that you won't confine me
To a pewter jar.
I never lived like I was trapped,
Don't lock me up in death.
Keep a candle burning for me
If you want me on your mind.
Sweetheart, don't you cry for me too long.
Find me when you smile again
'Cuz that's where my heaven rests.
You look good in shadow shades
But sunshine suits you best.
This candle-smoke rises like my soul.
Grey, it's hanging in th
The Dreamless HoursCool grey is the color of insomnia.
It reflects the pallor of tomorrow's sky,
The first breaths of morning
When the moon slumbers
And the sun dreams
But I cannot.
Dreamless, I am left
to ponder what I can find
In thoughts that blur
Like the countless hours.
I am left to watch the world with a weary eye.
Why is my prison this bed,
My punishment to tolerate
The slow burn of the midnight hours?
I, who was born to revel
In the magic of a reverie,
Am stranded in consciousness.
The August HeartYou glanced at me
Under a tangerine sky,
Wove your fingers through mine
Like the wicker of the chair we shared,
Smiled like a bandit
But dubbed me the robber
For stealing two more kisses than allotted.
We made our romance
Like a patchwork quilt
Spread over the freckled sand;
Pieced together patterns
That both matched and didn't.
There was harmony in that lazy array,
My floral print to your bold stripes.
I showed you how to run barefoot
Through the dune grass;
You taught me how to punch
Without my thumb inside my palm.
Your fingers closed around my fist,
Your sun-kissed lips against my cheek
As the wind whipped the clouds
MichaelI love the smaller details;
the way your eyes catch on a new thought,
or how your quirks add old-age charm
to the little-boy smile you hand me
with the flowers you brought.
How you move like the music
you conduct to yourself,
humming quietly to the afternoon air.
The mannerisms you come up with,
then try to take back by pursing your lips
and glancing apologetically at the carpet.
My favorite is the way you smell like early June,
a mix between the end of Spring
and Summer's birth;
how it lingers on my skin after you hold me.
How you're still a boy,
but fit into manhood like a tailored suit.
I live for the way you
SunriseI rise with the blank-slate clouds--
watch them gently blush with color.
They reflect the pastel stillness
of the graceful morning light.
The world still slumbers,
nestled in the downy blanket of
last night's dew and the twilight mist,
the only lingering reminder
of yesterday's grey hours.
The shadows of the earth
sigh as they stretch,
grateful to shake off
their endless hours of invisibility.
As the buds open their arms to the light,
I turn my face to the new horizon
and watch as the hours blend with the dawn.
A Cold RenewalMake me pure,
like today's unmarked snow.
Windows are glowing with warmth,
soft amber lighting that casts itself in
stained glass fragments across these
I want release to color me
in that same way,
relief washing me out and
re-painting me in golden tones
that only letting go could understand.
I unclench my tired hands and
trade bitter sighs for peace.
BailoutThis work of fan fiction contains characters, ideas, situations, and places found in the Hasbro Studios series "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic". No infringement of copyright is implied by this work of satire and parody, and this work is meant as a celebration of the people involved in the creation, development, and production of the series.
Written by The Descendant
Ponyville City Hall Fixture
Sweet Apple Acres Farm and Marina
Dear Mayor Mare,
It was wit' no small amount of disappointment that we received yer' newest letter o' sympathy, madam mayor. While yer' elocution wa
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