maelynslavik

I dream about you still,  
do you dream of me? 

It is no grand affair, these dreams 
not of your smile, your hands, your kindness 

your cruelty 

The paragraphs you send me are long, 

certain, 

and completely free; 

they take flight around my mind like gentle songbirds, 

There is a special magic to waking up to silence.

No snow plows rumbling down the street spraying salt in every direction.

No parents yelling at you to wake up,

Because it’s a snow day,

And I get to sleep in.

Nestled within the plains of the Midwest,

Isolated and alone,

Stands a wholesome oak tree.

Her dark, chestnut body hemmed in by the mucky acorns, 

Those of which were shed out of sorrow.

Dear,

My heart

You have marks showing what I've done

You've seen things

No one wants to see

But you keep on beating

You're battered and bruised

You have scars

Caused by pain

By fear