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Mairi

If I could

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If I could

If I could paint over this day. Paint over the grey that shades every object and soul. Paint this sky with vibrant hues of a pinky background with strokes of singsong yellow spread out from the orange sun; imperfect lilac clouds adding character. Paint each step we walk together with my heart as it pours out. Paint your cheek with my lips for one moment, leaving the boldest anonymous colour. Paint myself into the background.

If I could draw another straw. Draw the one that is exactly the same shape, colour and size as yours. The one that makes me not "it". "It". The pseudo-human. Draw the straw that makes me close to you; curve my arm around yours like a straw over the edge of a glass. Be able to shape my mind and body into what you want me to be.

If I could erase this thought. Erase this so I don't have to live in my dream world and stay asleep until you're gone. So I can't close my eyes and be where I want to be. And finally deal with this. There is merely too much grey. There is no straw. Open my eyes. They've been closed to long. Close my heart. It will help next time. Lock these thoughts in. Fill this hole in my heart with metal. Paint a smile on my cracked mask. And I will still love you.

In my world you are red.

Comments please.

:rockon:

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Mairi... wow. I truly love this. You have that wonderful gift of assembling words that give such vibrant description and pain, without insulting the reader - very subtle. I am beyond impressed.

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Mairi, there is an ancient Latin phrase: Poeta nascitur, non fit. Means a poet is born, not made. Your work is certainly proof of this axiom. As young as you are, I am always so impressed with the flow of your pieces. It seems your thoughts walk about ten paces behind your heart, which can be devastating, but totally necessary for a born poet. I hope your struggles never defeat your rich spirit. Heartaches last quite awhile, but what you have to offer the world is eternal. I have read your laments and your angst-filled sonnets with a mix of sympathy (because I am a father) and appreciation (because I am a poet.) If you ever feel too burdened to write anymore, just recall this homily I wrote to myself years ago, that has served me through many heartaches:

Passion that results in pain

Is infinitely better than

Solitude that realizes solace.

One indicates a flame

That will never die.

The other gathers kindling

That will never light.

....keep writing.

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Mairi this is truly lovely. I won't restate the obvious, you are as talented as has been stated above. I really enjoy your writings.

Steel2Velvet is oh so right, and I always enjoy his things too.

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