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Shaunna Harper Shaunna Harper
Recommendations: 35

Sapphire Lips


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soul mates

In the heat of the moment,
I had worked it out.
My body accelerated,
the punishment of being outspoken
in silent friendships,
the faces, the spectators
sent me an answer
I could never have seen clearer.
A father,
a child
and the blood
picked at and plucked out
by hot scalpels,
shredding a union once fated.


I have no other
place to be,
no other time
to make a plan
that could make me
in turn
a wholesome person.
I only keep hope
for my consideration.
The dimension of this hope
is small, but it is there.
I just cannot reach it.


The perfection of sometimes
the dirt in ‘never’
is a part of the performance of living,
the art of being one in seven billion,
a piece of a whole.
We were all whole.
Me, eleven
in the waiting room.
Yellow daffodils and
your hacking cough.


Cancer.


Reading magazines about celebrities
and perfect living rooms
and kitchens
while you run out of air.
Your open throat,
damaged.
The hand that feeds
gives,
but the hand that writes
keeps.
Art, a talent in selfish self-obsession.


Being here does not ever equate
to once being there,
and when I sense the reminder
I feel ashamed.
The past, a blur over the present.
I spread open,
silently soothing my aches and pains
and loudly wondering
when I might see you again.
Raw,
poor
and waiting for time.
The blizzard between you and I.


Failure.


My feet give in,
my heart caves in
the storm wins
and you blow away.
I am not strong enough to catch you.
I exist motionless,
a mannequin.
They took my vision
when they took all of you
and left me behind
blind.
My only failure.
Sapphire.


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