marichildson
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Written by marichildson

Warning I Am A Flashing Danger Sign

I tear myself apart to keep you whole, offer you pieces of my fingers for nourishment because you have always liked how I write. You have been feeding off of me for so long Im getting used to buying clothes a size smaller. I am preparing the house for my recovery.

I gave you my heart because you didn't have one.

Then gave you my soul because you needed some warmth. Buy a god damn blanket. This house does not belong to you anymore. You have overstepped your welcome. Leave my heart under my ribs and my soul between my palms.

This is your last warning.

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Written by marichildson
Warning I Am A Flashing Danger Sign
I tear myself apart to keep you whole, offer you pieces of my fingers for nourishment because you have always liked how I write. You have been feeding off of me for so long Im getting used to buying clothes a size smaller. I am preparing the house for my recovery.
I gave you my heart because you didn't have one.
Then gave you my soul because you needed some warmth. Buy a god damn blanket. This house does not belong to you anymore. You have overstepped your welcome. Leave my heart under my ribs and my soul between my palms.
This is your last warning.
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Written by marichildson

You Comfort Me Although You Are Ash

You ask my to stay with you on the bad days.

So I curl between your ribs and envision what your heart what sound like.

I wish I could hear it beat loud enough to drown out my cries but you call me your shooting star.

You tell me I burn beautifully.

You have wrapped your hands around my eyes so often I am starting to see the creases of your bones everywhere. And I love them just like I love the scent of dirt or empty eye sockets.

You wrap your arms around me when I shake but your bones don't hold enough warmth to keep me shining.

I want to stay with you but you are just a skeleton.

Made of bones and space, 

And to stay with you would be going against everything you want me to do. 

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Written by marichildson
You Comfort Me Although You Are Ash
You ask my to stay with you on the bad days.
So I curl between your ribs and envision what your heart what sound like.
I wish I could hear it beat loud enough to drown out my cries but you call me your shooting star.
You tell me I burn beautifully.
You have wrapped your hands around my eyes so often I am starting to see the creases of your bones everywhere. And I love them just like I love the scent of dirt or empty eye sockets.
You wrap your arms around me when I shake but your bones don't hold enough warmth to keep me shining.
I want to stay with you but you are just a skeleton.
Made of bones and space, 
And to stay with you would be going against everything you want me to do. 
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Written by marichildson

I Wrote This On A Napkin

We went out for tea,

I wrote this before your eyes

Could blind me too much.

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Written by marichildson
I Wrote This On A Napkin
We went out for tea,
I wrote this before your eyes
Could blind me too much.
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Written by marichildson

A Haiku For You, My Love

Bruises on my arms,

I ask you what I should eat.

Can I combust, please?

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Written by marichildson
A Haiku For You, My Love
Bruises on my arms,
I ask you what I should eat.
Can I combust, please?

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Written by marichildson

The Truth Shines Through These Fogged Windows

I put you in the car but you weren't making any sense, and as you slumped against the leather seats, you cried.

I put you in the car but you weren't making any sense. You were comparing my eyes to the flowers on the tree and I could only cover the windows to the snow outside and convince myself it wasn't December. I wanted to be the blossoms you wanted but you weren't making any sense.

You told me you loved me and I cried.

You took my hands and called me by a name that wasn't mine. But your lips formed the words so beautifully. 

You once told me the most beautiful death would be in the name of love, maybe that's why I want to push you into this traffic. But you play along to my whims because I have a name that isn't mine, I have a heart that I wish was yours. You play along to my whims because I have a mouth that won't tell you the bitter truth and you want to die in the name of love.

You always have.

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Written by marichildson
The Truth Shines Through These Fogged Windows
I put you in the car but you weren't making any sense, and as you slumped against the leather seats, you cried.
I put you in the car but you weren't making any sense. You were comparing my eyes to the flowers on the tree and I could only cover the windows to the snow outside and convince myself it wasn't December. I wanted to be the blossoms you wanted but you weren't making any sense.
You told me you loved me and I cried.
You took my hands and called me by a name that wasn't mine. But your lips formed the words so beautifully. 
You once told me the most beautiful death would be in the name of love, maybe that's why I want to push you into this traffic. But you play along to my whims because I have a name that isn't mine, I have a heart that I wish was yours. You play along to my whims because I have a mouth that won't tell you the bitter truth and you want to die in the name of love.
You always have.
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Written by marichildson

A Love Letter To The Stars

Forgive me body.

I am a poet who uses the word 'love' to frequently.

I put it in as a synonym for feel and admiration and pain.

I stick it like a post it over my poetry and call myself a hopeless romantic.

Forgive me body I fall too hard.

I launch myself at the ground like it is arms that I can disappear into,

Forgive me body.

For I know the bruises on my knees don't fade for weeks but I don't stop falling because I love scars.

I feel scars, I admire them and they bring me pain but I do not love them.

I use 'love' too often for a girl who is scared of being seen.

I use 'love' too often instead of just saying what I mean.

So I guess what I mean is that I'm feeling.

I'm feeling the floor hurtling up towards me and I'm admiring the stars from my position on the concrete.

So forgive me body.

I do use 'love' too often but thats because its keeping me floating.

The word is becoming a life vest that stops me from falling to the floor and I would rather you be scared than broken 

So forgive me body. 

Forgive me body because I say 'love' too often but that doesn't mean I don't comprehend it.

It doesn't mean I don't love

Like I'm falling.

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Written by marichildson
A Love Letter To The Stars
Forgive me body.
I am a poet who uses the word 'love' to frequently.
I put it in as a synonym for feel and admiration and pain.
I stick it like a post it over my poetry and call myself a hopeless romantic.
Forgive me body I fall too hard.
I launch myself at the ground like it is arms that I can disappear into,
Forgive me body.
For I know the bruises on my knees don't fade for weeks but I don't stop falling because I love scars.
I feel scars, I admire them and they bring me pain but I do not love them.
I use 'love' too often for a girl who is scared of being seen.
I use 'love' too often instead of just saying what I mean.
So I guess what I mean is that I'm feeling.
I'm feeling the floor hurtling up towards me and I'm admiring the stars from my position on the concrete.
So forgive me body.
I do use 'love' too often but thats because its keeping me floating.
The word is becoming a life vest that stops me from falling to the floor and I would rather you be scared than broken 
So forgive me body. 
Forgive me body because I say 'love' too often but that doesn't mean I don't comprehend it.
It doesn't mean I don't love
Like I'm falling.
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Written by marichildson

Doves

The smoke drifts from her lips in spirals, and her eyes seem to look far beyond the road in front of us.

We talk about pain and poetry and sometimes we cry,

but its ok.

And I can't help but reflect on these days.

When she clutches the steering wheel after I point out a pedestrian for the fifth time in the half hour.

And she turns around and says 

"Mari..... you are such a backseat driver."

But theres something loving in her tone, something caring in her eyes as they glare at me.

And she has doves in her hair,

That doesn't make sense but she does.

They fly between the strands of her hair and perch on her nose.

And I wonder if they're affected by the tendrils of smoke that rise from her lips.

I worry about there safety sometimes, like when we discuss the feeling of smoke pooling at the bottom of an empty stomach.

I turn to the doves, just to make sure they're still flying.

Just to make sure her hair isn't without its accessory.

Im not sure what i'll do if one day I look and..

They're not there.

I get scared sometimes that I'll turn from the window and she won't be there.

She'll have flown off into the clouds where she belonged.

And I sometimes ponder what I'll do if one day she becomes light enough that her doves can carry her off,

Away from me.

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Written by marichildson
Doves
The smoke drifts from her lips in spirals, and her eyes seem to look far beyond the road in front of us.
We talk about pain and poetry and sometimes we cry,
but its ok.
And I can't help but reflect on these days.
When she clutches the steering wheel after I point out a pedestrian for the fifth time in the half hour.
And she turns around and says 
"Mari..... you are such a backseat driver."
But theres something loving in her tone, something caring in her eyes as they glare at me.
And she has doves in her hair,
That doesn't make sense but she does.
They fly between the strands of her hair and perch on her nose.
And I wonder if they're affected by the tendrils of smoke that rise from her lips.
I worry about there safety sometimes, like when we discuss the feeling of smoke pooling at the bottom of an empty stomach.
I turn to the doves, just to make sure they're still flying.
Just to make sure her hair isn't without its accessory.
Im not sure what i'll do if one day I look and..
They're not there.
I get scared sometimes that I'll turn from the window and she won't be there.
She'll have flown off into the clouds where she belonged.
And I sometimes ponder what I'll do if one day she becomes light enough that her doves can carry her off,
Away from me.
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Written by marichildson

Sunsets

Cry me a river of your sins and let me drown in them.

Tell me again how you pulled the trigger in the most beautiful way,

how the blood fell like a crescendo, 

washing over the dark corners of this city.

Let me sink below the waters, please, let me die in peace.

I want to breathe in time to the heartbeats that this city crushed down.

The broken ones under the cobblestone and in the street lights.

This poem is for them.

The broken ones that you shot between the eyes.

But please tell me again how you lured them in with sunsets and ski mountains.

They were the innocent ones,

The ones who fell for your grace and stayed for the Autumns.

This poem is for them.

They are dying of sleeping pills in their trailer homes,

They are dying of bullets between the eyes,

They are dying looking at the fucking sunset.

The leaves are falling on their bones as we sit here.

As you describe their eyes to me, and all the hope they came with.

All their dreams that they packed into a small carry on and brought to this place.

So now the blood is washing over this city like a wave and you're offering me your hand.

Tell me about your river of sins,

Tell me about the bodies it flows over,

Tell me their stories, their dreams.

Describe their eyes to me so I can feel their fire,

Show me the pictures so I can feel their tears.

The gunshots echo through this city in the most beautiful way.

And no body cries because it

feels like rain, and the blood smells like daisies.

So no body cries because who could cry at

Sunsets?

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Written by marichildson
Sunsets
Cry me a river of your sins and let me drown in them.
Tell me again how you pulled the trigger in the most beautiful way,
how the blood fell like a crescendo, 
washing over the dark corners of this city.
Let me sink below the waters, please, let me die in peace.
I want to breathe in time to the heartbeats that this city crushed down.
The broken ones under the cobblestone and in the street lights.
This poem is for them.
The broken ones that you shot between the eyes.
But please tell me again how you lured them in with sunsets and ski mountains.
They were the innocent ones,
The ones who fell for your grace and stayed for the Autumns.
This poem is for them.
They are dying of sleeping pills in their trailer homes,
They are dying of bullets between the eyes,
They are dying looking at the fucking sunset.
The leaves are falling on their bones as we sit here.
As you describe their eyes to me, and all the hope they came with.
All their dreams that they packed into a small carry on and brought to this place.
So now the blood is washing over this city like a wave and you're offering me your hand.
Tell me about your river of sins,
Tell me about the bodies it flows over,
Tell me their stories, their dreams.
Describe their eyes to me so I can feel their fire,
Show me the pictures so I can feel their tears.
The gunshots echo through this city in the most beautiful way.
And no body cries because it
feels like rain, and the blood smells like daisies.
So no body cries because who could cry at
Sunsets?
#poetry 
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by marichildson in portal Publishing

Skeleton Boys

death

noun

the action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism.

Death: Your heart has disappeared. Don't panic.

It has left with the boy who holds his veins in his skeleton hands. The boy who has stomped you down so many times you're starting to look like the cracks in the pavement. 

Your heart has jumped right into his breast pocket and it has convinced itself it looks better mixed in with the dust bunnies under his bed. Where he keeps all the love notes from past renegade hearts. 

They write him inscribe of love, they promise to write him a sky as brilliant as his eyes if he can just transform his skeleton hands into birds nests. Can just turn his brittle bones into a home.

Your heart wants to make a home of his ribs. A cozy, seven-story house with a view of his lungs. Though his lungs have been dead for years and weeds are starting to crawl up his esophagus, your heart wants to plant a garden. Water it with its own blood and start and apple orchard. Make every word he speaks as sweet as the fruit.

Reality: Your skeleton boy doesn't want your heart. In fact, he's not your skeleton boy at all. He belongs to the earth, and the other hands that pull him away. 

The skeleton boy can not turn his hands into nests, only swords. and he cuts away at the home your heart has made, destroys the garden with his own hands and rips the roses from is lungs.

Fact: Skeleton boys are hard to hold onto. Their bones are much too fragile to act as weights and they have a tendency to blow away in the wind. Skeleton boys have bones that will rip holes in you if you are not careful.

Death: Your heart has disappeared. Don't panic. It's under the bed of a skeleton boy.

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by marichildson in portal Publishing
Skeleton Boys
death
noun
the action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism.

Death: Your heart has disappeared. Don't panic.
It has left with the boy who holds his veins in his skeleton hands. The boy who has stomped you down so many times you're starting to look like the cracks in the pavement. 
Your heart has jumped right into his breast pocket and it has convinced itself it looks better mixed in with the dust bunnies under his bed. Where he keeps all the love notes from past renegade hearts. 
They write him inscribe of love, they promise to write him a sky as brilliant as his eyes if he can just transform his skeleton hands into birds nests. Can just turn his brittle bones into a home.
Your heart wants to make a home of his ribs. A cozy, seven-story house with a view of his lungs. Though his lungs have been dead for years and weeds are starting to crawl up his esophagus, your heart wants to plant a garden. Water it with its own blood and start and apple orchard. Make every word he speaks as sweet as the fruit.

Reality: Your skeleton boy doesn't want your heart. In fact, he's not your skeleton boy at all. He belongs to the earth, and the other hands that pull him away. 
The skeleton boy can not turn his hands into nests, only swords. and he cuts away at the home your heart has made, destroys the garden with his own hands and rips the roses from is lungs.

Fact: Skeleton boys are hard to hold onto. Their bones are much too fragile to act as weights and they have a tendency to blow away in the wind. Skeleton boys have bones that will rip holes in you if you are not careful.

Death: Your heart has disappeared. Don't panic. It's under the bed of a skeleton boy.
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Written by marichildson

Stay?

Stay in this room with me, this shaking, breaking room.

Stay behind the windows, made of bars, made of bones, made of me.

I swear to you I am trying.

But my voice is hoarse and I don't know why.

Is it the sickness or because I've been screaming? I don't know why.

Neighbors, friends, I apologize. The shrieks must make it hard to sleep at night.

Forgive me, I am breaking my fingers one by one.

Stay in the water with me. Drown with me, float with me.

Stay on this cloud of jellyfish that stings every centimeter of my body.

The pain can feel nice if you let it and the burn can feel right if you fight it.

Stay. 

I need a hand to grasp and a heart to pull out, let me be your siren.

I can hear your heart in the rain and when it beats against my skin it reminds me of you.

I don't go out in rainstorms anymore.

But the sun burns me so I wrap myself in bubblewrap for protection.

Careful the seasons have teeth.

Careful the boys always have teeth.

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Written by marichildson
Stay?
Stay in this room with me, this shaking, breaking room.
Stay behind the windows, made of bars, made of bones, made of me.
I swear to you I am trying.
But my voice is hoarse and I don't know why.
Is it the sickness or because I've been screaming? I don't know why.
Neighbors, friends, I apologize. The shrieks must make it hard to sleep at night.
Forgive me, I am breaking my fingers one by one.

Stay in the water with me. Drown with me, float with me.
Stay on this cloud of jellyfish that stings every centimeter of my body.
The pain can feel nice if you let it and the burn can feel right if you fight it.
Stay. 
I need a hand to grasp and a heart to pull out, let me be your siren.
I can hear your heart in the rain and when it beats against my skin it reminds me of you.
I don't go out in rainstorms anymore.
But the sun burns me so I wrap myself in bubblewrap for protection.
Careful the seasons have teeth.
Careful the boys always have teeth.
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