Ivy Marie




  1. as in not-God. as in anything-but-God. as in when I dip my fingers into you: that is holy. when I press my lips to the insides of your wrists: holy. I tell you I am yours forever in the same breath as I don’t believe in God and your kiss tastes like the only trace of salvation I have ever been able to find.
  2. it is hard to write about God when you know only the heel of his hand pressing down on your ribs.
  3. so when I talk about God in my poetry I am talking about your eyes. when I write about Heaven I mean the intersection of your shoulder and throat.
  4. say, you never liked the smell of oak because it reminds you of church & how they told you that you were un-whole / unholy.
  5. say, I will make you feel safe again.
  6. I could spend an eternity counting the moles on your back.


Ivy Marie is an emerging queer poet from Georgia, where she is studying Creative Writing and English Literature at Mercer University. Her work has appeared in the Dulcimer and Rose Quartz Magazine. She is an intern at Macon Magazine and a preceptor for English courses at Mercer. When Ivy is not writing or reading poetry, she is drinking iced coffee and getting lost in her own city.

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