1 Poetry

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Miss Dahlia
Miss Dahlia 31 Dec 2017 Tag: lost

A when your voice is lost in an ocean of voices

Society says, when he pries open your legs, like a burglar pries open a locked door, do not fight him. If you are in this position, it is your own fault that you have left yourself vulnerable. When you come clean about it in an outcry, you will be dissected like a frog on the...

Miss Dahlia
Miss Dahlia 31 Dec 2017 Tag: lost

A tonguelost

People used to wait for me with bated breath. This was when my hair was long and beautiful, when I used to keep longing between my teeth and the sounds of the ocean were tucked away in my cheek and when you kissed me, you said I was saltwater wonder. I was a sad story on the newsstand,...

Miss Dahlia
Miss Dahlia 31 Dec 2017 Tag: love

A postpartum magic

When your husband tells you that your postpartum body is still beautiful, even more beautiful because of how you sacrificed yourself for the bundle of blankets laying and laughing between you on your bed, do not cut him off, do not chop down his words. He is...

Miss Dahlia
Miss Dahlia 31 Dec 2017 Tag: lost

A canicule

. I am summer freckle-faced bright, wet, moss-eyed moments and sleeping winter bones.

Miss Dahlia
Miss Dahlia 31 Dec 2017 Tag: lost

A to let go

After 9/11, they stitched patriotism into our spines and slapped away our fingers when we tried to touch the incision site. We were only fourth grade nothings, still malleable, so we learned to heal around shrapnel splinters by always expecting that brown hands on a bomb would dismantle us....

Miss Dahlia
Miss Dahlia 31 Dec 2017 Tag: lost

A sojourn

. I tend to make a home of people while people make a home of me and we are eternally matryoshka dolls, nesting in another's bones.

Ashe
Ashe 06 Dec 2017 Tag:

A Hypothermia

Bleed into me. Your woes. Your fears. I gladly carry. I could run the tips of my fingers across the faultlines of your life for hours, lips touching imperfections and anomalies alike Marveling the beauty of it all. Curling my hands in the mire of life as you made it Trying to find...

saintedmad
saintedmad 07 Nov 2017 Tag: lifelike

A terribly pretty

so cry in you no one is god she sits in grey wind wondering how the world still knows she is alive, or dead? the fumes of old nocturnes smoke demons in familiar twists. she hums nothing well... good:: the same russian doll or christ like cull. she told herself none or all of...

tpu
tpu 22 Oct 2017 Tag: Sacrifice

A The Procession of Flame.

+--+ Often I wake. To a great distance, I focus my gaze through the window out past the gate, between the cloud and shadow's sway... There is a shape that moves in grey. Something like long robes from an olden age, draped over some great, grotesque frame. Treading tall...

saintedmad
saintedmad 28 Sep 2017 Tag: dreamstate

A no dresses come in bloody alabaster

fool stop. if i go on, out of sheer buoyancy, the heart will decide to die at the point of contact; immediate and then some,how shimmer apocalyptic:light that i know damn well is blindness. so i keep still. if i seem closer now, like white words on sky, ushering you...

tpu
tpu 23 Sep 2017 Tag: Dream

A The Dreamer, and the Deceiver.

+--+ There was once a time, I could rid, all I had gathered, and speak to the trees. To the wind, to the water to the sun, to the soil. I knew their names. . . . When the wind would sing, pines would sigh remembrance and the...

magdalena
magdalena 01 Sep 2017 Tag: personal

A catch me never

I'm clairvoyant to your billionaire lips the hoax is your tongue against my starfish lifelines you burn me with moonbeams you're a swindler, a lord chalk fresh and glitter warmth I'm the fumbling rebel the fizz when the rain falls against my heated flesh...

saintedmad
saintedmad 21 Jul 2017 Tag: mojo

A cygnus

white body, slender infinity, not yet human. i might be. i promise you, the palest existence will be angels and deaths. there are words and no words; killings. brief. sparkling, they sound like the silence does when it's loud. . . i have these hands. they look like...

tpu
tpu 31 Mar 2017 Tag: Cycle

A The Widest Scope.

-- Father from father, Spoken through fire and smoke, many tales I know. Taller than the tallest oak, wiser than the eldest folk. - Mother from mother, Blood from blood, bone from bone, aeons' fields be sown. Deeper than the darkest tone,...

saintedmad
saintedmad 27 Mar 2017 Tag: mojo

A slackjaw

.. the man with no hunger and some sunday girl without meat; standing. still. on the edge of a sinking front stoop, soaping bodies. collections. she is bound for dead. her hair a grey bruise. all the other voices are only god leaving her behind. she should be baptized at least....

saintedmad
saintedmad 17 Mar 2017 Tag: l'ecriture

A in the absence of casual divinity

rough nothing is like me, but the sun burning coldly; an afternoon spent in despondent silence, a brilliant curse muttered in the beginning of the bed. of course, i remember everything with audacious colour and i think i climbed over you to get to the place where no one else...

Atakti
Atakti 12 Mar 2017 Tag: Dark

A The Hills Lie

The past grows bony fingers that stretch and cast an ice shadow lingering on my throat. The creeping chill was seeded seasons ago in my rush through frosted daffodils, swaying defiant and brush-stroked in vibrancy. Impatience fluttered its winking white wings, enticed me further in,...

Atakti
Atakti 12 Mar 2017 Tag: Dark

A Mercy After

Death is a woman. She cuts from the cloth of time the shroud of kings and waits counting each grain, each day until the last one falls. Hourglass curves flow, a granular avalanche. Whose eyes watch them? While steel blades swing and ropes bind and pull, men roar, the blood pours...

Atakti
Atakti 12 Mar 2017 Tag: Dark

A Rush

Scarlet, scarlet, it was a scarlet hour... The rushing recedes, leaves me bitten by the workings of my teeth and lips. Regrets leak through my palms. I raise my chin, facing the children that sprung from the scarlet hour.

saintedmad
saintedmad 10 Mar 2017 Tag: dreamstate

A sudden nightwishing

while i sleep, these girls move from their walls, climbing away and they play at clothes. their toes soft and quiet in the grey night; not a sound while they kiss, fragile lips drinking cupping raw silent water and circling with kitten fingers the red stars.. . and then the...

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