your lashes casting semi-circle shadows below your eyes.
your skin warm
your hand in the curve between my breasts
resting against my heartbeat
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
i can no longer write the things i submit
are from greater years when words flowed into my mind like well-poured wine softly splashing into the glass in a steady stream rich and flavorful
savory
and now they are rough you can hear the glug-glugging as it churns in the bottle, you can hear the splashing you can see it shudder stutter
fall incomplete messy
i can no longer impress or persuade
my papers are handed back to me reddened, raped, murdered by the hand that reads it.
i have faded fated
to be one of the bland.
Thursday, 17 September 2009
i love the feeling of his warm chest against the skin
of my back his arms
tightightight around my waist
his stubble prickling-tickling
the curves of my shoulders
each breath slowly rustling the strands behind my ear
my hair sprawled possessively on his pillow
i want to tell everyone but at the same time
it's a warm little secret resting in the chambers of my heart.
Sunday, 13 September 2009
he's better for me
he can tuck me in to his bed when my throat feels scratchy and my head's throbbing
and lightly wake me up on time to get things done his thumb softly tracing circles on my shoulder blade whisperingly calling out my name
take my hand into his when we're walking together occasionally looking over to grin quickly at me
reach over and squeeze my knee when we're studying
run his fingers through my hair the strands tangling his hand until he's inextricably entwined
build me up when i'm feeling horribly down
tell me i'm wrong when i'm being ridiculous
but
god
when your eyes are crinkling at me like that
even from a photograph
something inside me disintegrates
and the resolve wears down.
it kills me.
Friday, 11 September 2009
Dear Warren Schor--
To me, and the most of the student and faculty population at Cornell, you're just another student, a statistic, a first. A regretful, "That sucks, oh well," moment.
You're almost famous--not for your accomplishments, but for your demise. People on Facebook who pretend to care say "RIP" mentioning only the cause of your death, without even referring to your name, some even joking that they don't want to go outside out of fear of getting the swine flu that caused your "complications."
I saw your page. You have no idea how many people who wished that you would get better and wrote encouragements, crossing their fingers for you, and it's sad that you never will. Did you wonder, in your induced coma, if people would miss you? Because they do, more than anything, and me, I wish I had the chance to know you because you seemed like a great person. You were a great person.
I know this sounds incredibly cliche, but you were loved, more than anything, and I hope that wherever you are, whatever you believed in, you are safe and glad to be there.
