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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: timedots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: isabella
    Elite Ratio:    5.56 - 803/905/472
    Words: 563
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 739
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 3631



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotstimedots
    -------------------------------------------






    half-past three

    clapboard.
    peeling paint.
    skinned back skin.
    a thousand colors.
    leaning against an older wood, i am

    a constant onion.


    seven:seventeen

    there was this movie scene the other night. i didn't see what came before, or after, but it was relatable, the way she looked for him; she seemed so - hungry.

    the sex was gangly. awkward, even. jeans and briefs. dress and panties. bra. (all to a side of bed.) covers covered most everything, except for a bit of back and a face turned slighty. all i could hear was the breath of the boy and then the quiet rolling of the girl's opened eyes. (reminded me of mom's bored blowjob impression, out on the deck, last may.)

    but that's how it is sometimes. unsatisfying.


    six:oh-nine

    and love is zinnias; wild and spilling over.

    sometimes, i think i have been waiting my whole life.
    when i met him, married him, i thought he was you. but he wasn't.
    i tried to convince myself that maybe i was wrong. but i couldn't.
    so i sit, filled with morning colors, toying with petals
    and the belief that you are here, just on the other side of me.


    seven:fourty-four

    i never really was a bitch, unless absolutely provoked; which was usually right before we were on our way out somewhere. i never was up his ass or a honey-do gal. though sometimes, i would get something in my head, and pursue it to any length. mostly, i was able to compromise. i mowed grass. took out garbage. paid bills. did the landscaping, raking, and porch sitting. cleaned house. did laundry. fed the cats. stopped making dinner. i went to counseling, AA, and had pigeons. i sanded floors. painted. watched him install toilets. i encouraged. checked his spelling. let him shave me down. i even picked out nipple clamps and a strange looking toy when i found out he was watching porn on the web. he did the hard stuff. like sue his mother. try to revive a dead cat. put down the dog. change three flat tires all at once and fill my oh-so-out-of-gas tank. he made a house out of a burned out shell. but i never made it home.


    eleven:oh-one

    leaves are sun spots.
    burning black holes.
    (in my chest, it's three squared
    times a million miles.)

    in-between two hands
    your face feels like home.
    and in your opened-door-mind
    i find, i'm every bit of

    something.


    day three hundred seventy-one

    (everyday is a day of incorporation); some strange ingredient added into a whole of batter. stirred. then stirred again.

    today i want to howl. just howl like there is no moon.
    (how beautiful it would be to fill that gaping space where you are not.) there is a freedom in that. much like the skinny-dipping
    i have never done (but always will) (once my clothes come off).
    that first moment as skin meets sea, when the mussel in me
    splays its funky-hearted-opened-heart; becomes light.
    and enough to love.







    Submitted on 2012-02-02 09:16:38     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      This was a great transition, every lines connect although in different time perspectives.
    I do really love this, not just because this was beautifully written mostly because of its honesty and the heart you put to it.

    | Posted on 2012-09-26 00:00:00 | by jeniecel | [ Reply to This ]
      all I can say is.

    I really, really like this. And I'm surprised I haven't read it sooner. It's like most of your work but slightly different, more cohesive. Still has that element of calm, patience, maybe even faith, though there's always the possibility of doubt. The beauty of nature, how little things can mean so much to someone who pays attention. A quiet, delicately crafted song.

    "and enough to love."

    ...
    | Posted on 2012-06-07 00:00:00 | by lukewarm | [ Reply to This ]
      i love the change in tempo and topic, yet all of it is completely you - vulnerable and honest and just poetic with every key stroke.

    so uhmmm, yep. you ROCK :)

    x
    | Posted on 2012-02-06 00:00:00 | by biska | [ Reply to This ]
      it's been a long time since i have visited your page. this shows progression and is a body of work. and is comforting, in the way that sometimes life throws things at you you can't comprehend nor assimilate, but
    in time there are answers. Quite possibly the most helpful thing i ever read.
    | Posted on 2012-02-03 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ]


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    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
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