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“I’ve never been hung over before.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of you.”
You were anyone.
Where do I belong.
where the alarm clock hum is the same three lines,
I’m Sorry I’m Sorry I’m Sorry
bad poetry on repeat
I write it to myself against the bed sheets
with the tip of my finger
over and over
I’m Digging The Clay For Tomorrows Pottery
just another night I tried and couldn’t figure things out
And I am alone.
And I’m sorry
Even when I staple the blankets to the bed
sleep under a barbell, I can’t be strong enough to be honest
passively I come up with all the different angles
And I can tell myself that I owe you an apology
I owe you Every Apology In My Body
I owe you two years of waiting and four years of pain
I owe you a cradle-full of empty promises
I owe you a footprint full of snow in the gas station parking lot
I owe you a head of hair and ten spread fingers
And every happy moment I’ve spent hiding from you
And all the words that evaporate off my lip the moment I think your name.
You deserve all the stories I t
empty spaceI close my eyes
fill the space
with holographs of you.
Dust floats through.
A beam of light.
I level my eyes
with your bright eyes.
I reach out
and step through thin ice.
Someone put a thumb through
my papier-mâché skin,
waves in the space
and it doesn’t matter because
I can't feel what doesn’t touch me.
(this is going to end
in a confession
and an apology)
Dember fourth journal entry It’s December fourth.
After physics. Before 11am.
I have enough in my car
that I could just leave.
Toothbrush, clothes, laptop, a book.
I wonder how many of my classes I’d pass
without going to finals next week.
I wonder where I’d go.
Full tank of gas.
This could be life changing.
But I’m not going.
There are the moments people come to regret.
I’m in Lorain, at the beach.
I left the college
and drove here, I listened
to Lorde’s first album.
The gulls are everywhere
A woman said good morning to me
as she passed.
A man was talking to someone on the phone
All the Christmas decorations are up
Last night I was talking to Danny.
He said, he only has $36 left on his meal plan
for the next week and a half.
He said his checking account i
The Different Ways To Say I Love You“Do you like my beard?”
“I like it shorter.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I like you.”
“But not my beard.”
“It’s so scratchy!” “But you don’t have to cut it short for me.”
“But you want me to.”
“I just want you.” “You could grow your beard to the floor and I’d still want you.”
“What would you do, if I grew it to the floor.”
“Well, braid it, obviously. With flowers and colored yarn. And then you could tuck it into your belt, like a dwarf.”
“Yeah, but you’d have to braid my hair, too. You’d have to learn to braid.”
“With flowers and colored yarn.”
“All the way to the floor. We’d have to live in the forest, then.”
“We’d be matted with twigs and leaves, then.”
“When it got to ratty, I w
Poem and Circumstance One: The Poem I Wrote In The Morning
When the flowers are gone
and the fields are sewn with copper,
I’ll run with magnets on my heals
until the tallest bulbs are lit
not with passion
Two: The Morning
One touch and I turn to stone,
a look will do nothing
not with a face like this
and I can pretend, when I close my eyes
that the arm around my middle
really is the sweetest, happiest moment I’ve known
and not something left over
or conveniently dazed
And I’ll melt into the sheets like a victim
too scared of the sound my voice makes
to break the morning of its silence,
blooming and breathing, too hot and near me
even with snow falling outside.
Strange BottlesYou’ve always been way better
than me at making friends-
even the voice in my head yelling for me to save you
is the same one that wants me dead.
And I must admit I was a little hurt
when, intoxicated, I made an ass out of myself to protect
you turned my arm away from you with dancers grace
for the cat calling promise of booze.
That was the night I gave up on that voice
with a swallow of vodka, for better of for worse
and stood silently by as you flirted like a fairy,
flitted, and I wondered haphazardly at the charm I lacked.
I was wowed by the realization that all I needed
was something sweet and strong
and a front row seat to be happy,
now that it didn’t bother me who you were throwing yourself at.
You always took me along
and I’d catch you when you’d throw yourself backwards out of a chair,
and you’d score us both shots out of stranger’s bottles.
Daily BreadIn the lab she watched
babies grow in petri dishes
like grapes on vines,
for seeds inside
with no use for the shells,
I mean, it’s only logical
a thousand years later
plastic sealed preserved
signed by the chemist for consumption,
with cartoons covering pictures
of the tumorous growths where
are now harvested.
A smiling brain advertises
Nonsentience and inflation turned jerky
$15 a stick,
meanwhile the prize cuts
are handled separately.
ritualistically by the taste,
by the grace of God, we consume
this Christ in his human form
soaked in wine
The doctor’s daughter
was full of pieces that weren’t hers
the souls collected like berries on her tongue.
Rich, she vacationed
to the French Revolution,
the Western Front,
the gas chambers,
a connoisseur of sorts
on blood and the
Just the other day she was left behind.
Nerves like lightning bugs played across
Homeward SongWet with rain, the ball gowns
sweep these sad streets clean.
Once dank with rankest mourning
now perfumed with honey and tea,
Tables tipped spill flowers
like rivers run down the gutter
And songs and bells and laughter
are lifted from funeral stutter.
Even from rotting fruits
grow branches for lights to string
And even toiling soldiers
have tales of beauty, homeward bring.
Arm in arm, now spinning
leave color strewn all the way,
And where tears once were running,
the sun now shines, cheered and gay.
The Boy Who Wouldnt EatIf you can flutter
I have failed you,
for you were not forged
to be so insubstantial as that
You were writ
to be an epic fable
of endings ignored,
of outlasting your body
through the sheer will
of a writers starving heart
through a broken, bowed
but bravely abiding body
that fights the soul
to comprehend Beauty.
BeautyI'd rather wear flowers in my hair,
forming a delicate chain
Than diamonds around my neck,
covering my tender blue veins
For with every precious petal
and every lucent leaf
I'm a living lesson
teaching beauty can not be bought
But rather it grows and flourishes
with every living thought
Fearing MeI'm not afraid to cry
and I do it
a lot more than you would guess.
It isn't always sadness,
I just feel like I need to,
feel everything so strongly
that it's the only way
to let go for a moment
because if I hold on for too long,
if my grip gets too tight
I'll break myself,
I will break you like glass
and we will both
I am a good guy
who hasn't yet found a way
to show it,
I am a good guy
who still identifies with the villains,
hides everything important
anything to throw you
off of my trail....
and I don't know why,
but I am trying.
Maybe I think
that if you could see me,
the real me,
you wouldn't want to look anymore,
want to be anywhere near me,
and the idea
that I can't add up
to be enough for you,
to be enough for me,
is so fucking heart breaking
I can hardly fathom it.
I can't say that it doesn't hurt
because it does,
it hurts a whole hell of a lot,
I've come to depend on pain,
to befriend misery
Expensive LiesI sit and stare at the toilet bowl.
A guy I know is bulimic.
When we compliment him
I see the twist of agony in his eyes
as his brain reprograms it
to sound like an expensive lie
that costs him another tear
in his tattered dignity.
Friends hurry to him,
to reassure him, to love him.
They tell him how beautiful he is.
We didn't know him before,
but he's definitely not fat now.
We whisper things in concern like;
body dysmorphic disorder.
'I know you'll never believe me
but you are so gorgeous -
not just on the inside.' Not just.
And they're right, I join in,
because they are right to say it
because it happens to be true -
he is stunning. Not just on the outside.
And we want him to see himself
the way we see him, beautiful.
And I join in because
I've felt that strangle of pain
in my stomach, bowels and belly,
when someone used to tell me lies.
So I know how he feels.
Only, he is beautiful on the outside
and I'm not.
He's not seeing reality in the mirror
and I am.
And people rush to correc
you're just a question marki met you so long ago
but back then our bodies were made of metal
and nowadays they’re made of the blades of
grass and dirt settling
underneath my fingernails.
my fingers are having a hard time
reaching the keys and
my organs are shaking mostly because i haven’t
eaten in two days but also
because i’m worried about the things you're doing to yourself.
we didn’t meet very long ago at all but it feels like forever ago
and you say you don’t know me
that you don’t know anyone
but baby you're turning into a skeleton and i’m peeling back my skin
to try and reach my bones, just like you.
i hope you're happy,
i’m covering the hard wood floors now
the bits and pieces splattered.
they are calling it a suicide but i’m calling it
a way to see my brain and
just how dark it has become, and honestly
i don’t want you to try and see about your’s.
i’m mourning the loss of my heart and wish you weren’t either -
Sound PoemIthrumden, ithrumden delsum
nith mul thruss elmrissull.
Eth rut mundelliss
Curmiette dessel renrin
irme trell ithrumden.
as love for summer fades.late morning-
there's the tease of
snow in the clouds,
in the air, and the trees
have finally lost their
the sunlight is damp.
alters the room
as it graces my skin,
and for once
i don't wake up right away.
instead i lay
between my memory bitten
sheets, and i think
about all the times he said
that he hated winter.
i don't remember
when i began to love it,
and i don't care.
nothing can shatter that.
The partyFlashing lights
Smoke all around
About to pass out
My head starts to hurt
I can't take this anymore
So without saying anything
I find the exit
And escape that place
"How can someone have fun in there?"
obligation steam machineas always
grinding the cankerous
of your cognition
until the lack of compassion
leaves you unlubricated
seized frozen bound stuck
only then the machine of
your fears will burst to steam
squealing to suckle
at the genius of my
the unsung soiled hero
of middle-class ferocity
savior of the undeserving
winding slowly deftly dying
martyr to the self-justified cause
sleepless- On Growing UpSome days drip slowly
Over the edges of the earth,
Leaving us like an itch in tired eyes
As you blink away what you have
In exchange for water and
On these days,
There's nothing you can do.
Everything has an echo, and everything
Rolls off you as waves.
Death seems quiet, until it's news
Strikes like a church bell
Knocked accidentally and off the hour.
Setting aside the simile
And the gore of the thing, death is quiet, I think.
A complete retreat into ourselves until we're so deep
We're out of ourselves and back
In the bellies of stars.
And it's indeed been a long day
When we resign ourselves to our fears.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More