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Literature Text
little siren girl, held up by fishhooks
and lines - you'll only be free when
they cut you loose.
still, they tell you: you will not fall
victim to swelling tides, you
will float. (you are a dead weight.)
you are something incomplete
like the forgotten house on the
end of the row, eating itself,
dimming day by day:
paint chips and chapped lips
have nothing left to say.
there are monsters nursing
deep beneath your flesh, with
threadbare spines and trembling
hands, they are afraid of their own
shadows. (you are only weak when
your eyes are open)
a new year waits upon your doorstep,
promising to take all that was ever [you]
away.
the paper doll can finally sleep,
to see another day.
and lines - you'll only be free when
they cut you loose.
still, they tell you: you will not fall
victim to swelling tides, you
will float. (you are a dead weight.)
you are something incomplete
like the forgotten house on the
end of the row, eating itself,
dimming day by day:
paint chips and chapped lips
have nothing left to say.
there are monsters nursing
deep beneath your flesh, with
threadbare spines and trembling
hands, they are afraid of their own
shadows. (you are only weak when
your eyes are open)
a new year waits upon your doorstep,
promising to take all that was ever [you]
away.
the paper doll can finally sleep,
to see another day.
Literature
sleeping between worlds
quarter to three in air
conditioning has me
sewing labels to my
arms in lowercase letters.
september marches closer.
soon, the sidewalks mumble
as they scorch my bare feet.
stagnant fingers cutting air.
there are no second chances
in chemical burns.
anyway, love never pitied the weak.
last week, the mountains were talking.
they told each other to be braver.
something resonated between them,
then, choked rubies embedded in glass.
light like flash-floods in the valleys.
tonight, there is nothing but pulse.
Literature
Repossession
Your words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding on
the raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.
My ribs cracked from the blow.
But, I think sometimes
of how these were the ribs
that should have chased you away from me,
quietly wondering how you managed to
slither past this cage of bone and flesh
to engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.
You were sweat & spice & scars-
Your eyes,
a thunderstorm of black and blue sex
jarring and devouring my insides,
shaped a faithless religion
through the cracks & broken shards
of my hollowed out womb.
(I want my insides back.)
Literature
rise and shine
daybreak is a vial
of liquid amber
spilt out against the sky
when I wake up.
there is enough warmth
between us, I think,
to coax the very sun
into existence—
the press of you
against my back, the
swell of you
within my chest.
and perhaps the sun awakens
each day
to see the breath and motion
of people like us,
drowsy in our crowds
of blankets.
you stir behind me,
and it blinks
its bleary eyes.
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When the sun finally resurrects, you will, too.
(goodbye, 2012
)
(goodbye, 2012
) © 2012 - 2024 intricately-ordinary
Comments32
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Hello, I wanted to let you know I've used your lovely title in my newest Title Poem, 'your teeth leave different scars'. If you wanted to read it, the link is [link] - but this comment is really just to let you know how I've made use of your gorgeous title. 