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I Envy All That Touches You

Five poems that span The Hunger Games trilogy.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to The Hunger Games

I.

I Envy All That Touches You

Peeta Mellark before the Reaping for the 74thAnnual Hunger Games

(The Hunger Games)

I envy all that touches you -

The wind that meanders through

The roughly wrought rope of your braid;

The forest dew and meadow mist

That rest upon the salty sweat

Of your twilight skin;

The bowstring you caress

With your unlady-like fingers

Flexing in wait for some unwitting beast.

And when the hapless thing is in your sight

You release the pointed arrow.

And now I know true hatred,

As the shaft skims the pads of your tiny fingers,

As it is stroked by the pads of your tiny fingers.

In a daydream, I am that ill-fated prey,

The taut, unyielding string that will bend only for you,

The sweat that covers your dimples and bruises,

The dewy forest mist that smells of you,

The wind that unravels your braid and sets you free.

II.

This is My Trouble

Katniss Everdeen, Quarter Quell – 74thAnnual Hunger Games

(Catching Fire)

This is my trouble-

As if the word "trouble" did not describe

The very arc of my existence-

That it is too easy to love you;

Effortless,

Like floating in my father's lake;

Lazy,

Like the mindless swaying of tall grasses

In our dandelion meadow.

You were chosen for me,

In the games we were forced to play;

But if free will makes us human

Then I am no better than a machine -

A bird-like symbol that would unstick from this page

And fly away.

I begrudge even the commonest girl

Her freedom to love and rage.

I did not choose you,

And yet if I were given the choice, I would.

Pride like viscous painter's glue

Stills my heart, slows

The inexorable climbing of my soul

Towards yours.

You were chosen for me,

So I dared notchoose you

And yet when given the choice, I do.

III.

The Pendulum Swings

Peeta Mellark – Capitol City – Mockingjay Rebellion

(Mockingjay)

The pendulum swings-

Venom in, venom out-

Friend, Enemy-

Lover, Murderer-

Baked, Unbaked-

Loved, loving, love her.

Last night, I wrote the saddest song-

I could not use my fingers-

Captive arms full of insect juice-

I wrote a song with my eyes instead-

With muttering lips-

Whatever I could move-

I wrote a song, half sung-

About a creature, half thing-

A beast that tried to kill me-

That would kill me-

That had already killed me.

I pulled back their shiny curtain, peered behind

Those fanged teeth and gleaming grey-black eyes.

I wrote of someone primitive, noble, complicated, pure.

I envied her voice which cradled my song.

Her name roils my stomach, births terror in my veins.

And yet, and yet-

I still taste the humid jungle on her lips.

IV.

I Have No Words Left For Them

Katniss Everdeen – Capitol City – Training Center

(Mockingjay)

I have no words left for them.

They started with my name-

No longer nourishing,

I was left to burn

Till we were all full of ashes;

Then my image-

Plucking feathers from my wings

Until dressed like a bird, I could no longer fly;

Tunneling through my skin, down to the bone –

So that not even my bow belonged to me;

Sucking on the blood and muscle

As they surveyed the topography of my heart,

They stabbed me -

Once for the boy with the bread,

Once for boy with the snares.

When they finally reached her,

They crushed the land to bloody sinews

And blew her to the heavens.

But still they were not finished

Until I had no choice but to hand over my soul,

Impaled through the center by a bloody arrow

On a frozen balcony in Winter.

It was then that I envied the dead.

I have no more words left for them.

And so in search of myself

I sing.

V.

Open Spaces

Peeta Mellark – District 12 – Post-Rebellion

(Mockingjay)

The night you asked me to stay with you

I embraced you loosely,

Fearing I would crush you

With my ecstasy-

We never slept alone again.

I held you in that way through countless terrors,

Firmly, solidly but with open spaces

So our sad spirits would not suffocate

And, in the desperation of our grief,

Flee into the midnight woods.

Because we'd been invaded long enough.

Sometimes, in the confines of our mortal lives

It is the space to be that we most long for

When everything that once held meaning is crowded out.

Slowly, I let you draw me in,

Like the bright colored fish of your lake.

I inhabit the emptiness borne

Of more pain than the world can contain.

Soon, you become a loosely drawn caricature

In my hand-

Warm, scarred skin made bright by meteors

And stars that rise on the horizon of my fingers.

You are bathed in starlight

And I envy all that touches you

Until I have no choice but to cross the empty chasm,

The open spaces that were forced between us

And possess you-

To fill the jagged outlines of your constellation,

Trace the dashes of your star-studded body.

When my artist-finger stills,

All is quiet.

I am floating in uncertainty,

Begging to be called back

From the precipice of dark matter.

"You love me, Real or not real?"

Your "Real"

Pulls us both from the edge of the void-

Filled with dark, brittle spirits,

The rattled, raging bones of the dead-

And makes us whole again.

A million thanks to SolaVioletta for her wonderful beta-ing and consulation. You are a gem!