meyermariea

poetry & prose; other artistic type shit; the official blog of Marie Meyers

Untitled (Edit)

Are we fated to be faithful
or fateful?
Might not make any sense to you,
but I’ve been spending my days
thinking about forever lately…
and if I died today,
would I miss this place?
Would anyone miss me
when I was gone?
…Would you?

I’ve been spending my nights
tossing and turning lately,
because you haven’t been beside me
–I haven’t molded our bodies so perfectly
that we can’t tell where
my skin ends, or
where yours begins…

Dangerous, really–

We can become
the embodiment of bliss,
or this could all go up in flames.

If I died right now,
how much pain would you feel?
Would your skin betray your fury,
would your heart
bleed through your skin;
would you cry for me?

the curve of your lips–
–your deep chuckle in my ear,
as you ask me
why my mind is so far away
when you’re right beside me..

You tell me to pay attention
to the things you’re saying,
but my mind
can’t help but wander,
because I feel both so happy right now
with you here,
and so very much afraid
of this malicious happiness… – M.M. All Rights Reserved, 2018.

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On Warm Days

I. After much trial and error, I’ve grown distrusting of emotions that can be expressed at the expense of another person. It’s harder now, to close wide distances, Aristotle warned me, but the physical application against these philosophical politics, victory is not an easy feat, so as of late I’ve been asking myself if I ever gave myself a fighting chance. . .

My palms feel clammy and my hands are shaky at the thought of suddenly reaching out to touch your hair. Does he trust me? Can I do this? Doubt attacks my conscience and a weariness grows in my subconscious that threatens the shaky echelon that’s a stone throw away from crumbling down. I’m trying to maintain the fragile ecosystem I spent months creating, planting tiny seeds of sincerity that grew into something you stopped tending to.

There was a wall between us I pretended didn’t exist, and now I have secrets I want to confess to you–thoughts inside me that once were occasional whispers have become desperate and loud, cries of frustration and raging fury, and fear. . .

I want to say them out loud in the silence between us but I’m unable to, the wall between us prevents you from hearing me, and myself from speaking up to you so that you can. . . I see my sincerity, grew on this wall, weed-like vines . . . footfalls, if I so choose, I know, though, they might not survive the climb. . . this whole thing is a gamble, that can only end . . . I lie on the ground beside you, I can’t sleep alone, I want to curl into you and rest assured,

Will I make him uncomfortable if I do this? Questioning my role, the boundaries, I worry my pushy nature will cross the line I’m not seeing clearly. . . Lately I’ve been overcome with jealousy. . .

. . . I want to bridge this gap between us . . . . . . . to be continued. . . . . . . . M.M, All Rights Reserved. (2018)

stilt speech

confusing as f***
do you even know
are you conflicted?
i am
battle of wits, you’re smarter
you riddle, i don’t know the answer —
inconsistency, can’t decide its approach
i stand in the middle of the room to glimpse
every angle.
can’t move,
nervous i’ll miss the cue,
i remain there
you still riddle, i still don’t know. — M.M, All Rights Reserved.

love song

cheesy one liners,
a verbal description of mind made envisions
fantasies, fantastical fallacies come to life, disguised as emotions to define its own identity,
rhythmic soliloquy, pretty words to make real a chemical release that cannot be explained,
pupils dilate when I’m near you
my heart beat slows and speeds
I’m so dependent on what you invoke within me
my body can’t produce its own dopamine anymore
how can something i can see and feel so definitively
be so artificial

Untitled

Dancing around the truth,
how do I tell you I don’t know how to feel?
All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be proud of me
Honestly I feel like you’d think you failed
I know you heard me crying the last time
You’re helpless, yet it’s my fault
I’m to blame for our hidden thoughts
Unease and insecurities, painful ignorance and ineptitude. . .
Mom, I’m not the daughter that was raised by you
Don’t be sorry
Please don’t cry
The remnants of your tutelage within me
Has kept your face familiar. . . as well my own. — M.M. All Rights Reserved.

Red Flags & Bad Vibes . . .

The Death of Love 💘

I should have been there for her final moments, and I wonder if she suffered alone, with not even angels to guide her. Disappearing from the world, unconditional love that was given only to me. I just can’t love like I used to. Leading by–transitory–examples…loving completely unreserved, gifting and receiving in return recycled emotions. I can’t let myself be swayed by anything not reserved for me, yet I yearn for the unconditional love I once felt, searching in the most dangerous places–eyes, lips, voice, feeling–leaving behind traces I was there, only known to me because each time I feel the sense of loss…Anxiousness, agony, loneliness; there’s a void growing inside me, and I’m not enough to fill it…nor are the lies others whisper in quiet moments . . . I’ve exhausted my resources, giving my emotions to him and him and you. . . . What’s left in the wake of this death, is an unfillable void . . . . . . . .

Writing Prompt 2

Writing Prompt 2: Free Write

Standing on a ledge with no idea what’s below should I jump. Deep in the farthest part of my mind, a barren forest; Uncertainty casts shadows that manifest into trees; Heartache stills frigid air that settles heavily on the forest floor, where I lay my head. Among the leaves and fagot piles, grave markers beneath upturned soil, bring solace and warmth, however minute…my puffs of shivering breath come alive as demons, that envelope me in an unrelenting cold and whisper all my fears and failures; they erect themselves, familiar faces, ghosts of aspirations I tended to then carelessly discarded, hovering on the tree line…on the very border of my conscious and subconscious… [FIN].

Copyright Marie Meyers, 2018. All Rights Reserved.

 

HURT

“unable to turn back time”
to live the same moments a second time,
if only i could do something different;
memories taunt and haunt, like nightmares;
sleep paralysis —
i’m thrashing, helpless against the demon in my view . . . unable to escape this hurt manifesting within me . . . an open wound . . . into oblivion . . .

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