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Boys Through The Water

I am a woman in love with an exquisite pain.
I love being in pieces, no longer running.
I am a woman who has stopped for a while.

Those blue buildings there are burning in the sun, you know.
I’ll close my eyes against their bright and baking walls.
This heat will slow me down a while.
While I sit here thinking, looking out.

I am a woman in love with a lemonade world.
Pink lips sipping at the acid air.
The bubbles are dissolving inside me and I let them,
love the feeling, sit and let them.

Those wide lakes there will sometimes drown, you know.
Sometimes though I break the surface, laughing, gasping. Sparkling.
Those breaths of air will bring me round, a little,
while I decide to stay in pain.

I am a woman in love with an exquisite space.
I love the mild vanilla air between us,
through the streets, between these curtains, it’s so hideous.
I am a woman obsessed with a distance.

So exquisitely unhealable.
I am in love with myself in a thousand bitter powder pieces, fizzing.
I’m absorbed with this, it’s taken me.

Those eyes of yours belong along
the cream curve of my neck, you know.
Their graceful blue so smooth and breath
so like the summers I have loved you,
full and warm. I am adding to their number,
so exquisitely slowly, my lovely, lovely... sshhhh.

I am a woman in love with writing about this.
In love with the statement of breaking myself.
In love with wrapping myself in my crying limbs,
night after night.
In love with stepping on the knives of this,
stabbing tender parts of me.

It’s incurable and beautiful,
to have the strength to be so weak.

by Chloe Meakin

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