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jude rigor Feb 2022
sappho greets her as she
would a reflection:
hand against hand, staring into
her eyes. silence dancing
around them as a long-lost love-
r.

enheduanna sighs at the contact
and the quiet shifts as
her fingers close:
as there is no need for language
when her
inanna will grant them
a holy diadem.

-----

eternity reeks
of nights out on the lawn
daisies growing with the weeds
pillowing beneath the two
dwindling women -
hands clasped tightly,
their eyes closed.
...lapis blooming
within the petals
of the undergrowth...

gods slumber amongst
worthy poets occluding,
heart-soothing each
other without words
or sonnets
or divination.

sappho dared to
look out from
heavy-lidded
lethargy,
for she was
yearning:
at dawn

...her honeyvoiced,
    mythweaving
    enheduanna:
    a sweet-shelter
    of temptation
    and goddesses
    who wage
    tender war and
    drink from pools
    of sun...

at dawn
the ancient
divine
poet
gazes
again

and sappho
forgets she
too is nearly
as old

for her lover wears
an invisible golden-
crowned circlet
of springtime
and illuminated
lands.

but she can hardly think
anymore, when
the songsmith of
glory and prayer
is kissing her.

laying in the basin
of heaven and skies
she pours restless
eternity down
her throat.


----

lapis melts
to pink clovers
of fowlerite

no mortals notice

two bodies blending
between poems
rustling tunics
maidens casting
away their  
fruitful

sobriety.

----

poet
dreams
a woman
of verse.

hardly expecting
shallow-breathed
kisses of burning
solstice and
unrequited
love.
for this piece,  i wrote about sappho and enheduanna. both ancient poets, both incredible women who achieved a lot with their poems and lyrics. i allude to some phrases/words from sappho's fragments, as well as verses from enheduanna's poems.

i also referenced quite a few letters from open me carefully, a collection of emily dickinson's letters (what remains of them) to susan huntington, her close friend and eventual sister-in-law. the references are honestly vague and you might only catch them if you've read at least the first chapter of the collection.

also the title is a fragment from sappho, featured in "if not, winter"

here's some info on all of that for some much-needed context.

sappho: (l. c. 620-570 BCE) was a lyric poet whose work was so popular in ancient that she was honored in statuary and centuries after her. little remains of her work, and these fragments suggest she was gay. her name inspired the terms 'sapphic' and 'lesbian', both referencing female same-*** relationships.  

[some phrases/words from this piece were taken/inspired by "if not, winter" - a collection of fragments of sappho's lyrics and poems].

bio source: wordhistory . org

enheduanna: (pronounced en-hoo-d-ah-na)  was an akkadian-sumerian princess, poet, and priestess who lived around 2285 BCE. not only was she the first author on record - she was also daughter to king sargon of the akkadian empire, a powerful woman figure, and the backbone to a synthesization of two newly unified cultures.

she is acknowledged to have penned the first known example of poetry, and wrote 42 hymns that were read across the akkadian empire. additionally, she was the first named poet to refer to herself with the "i" perspective. through her writings, she combined the akkadian counterpart (ishtar) of the sumerian inanna into a single goddess that brought akkadians and sumerians alike together. though this first served as a culturally-conscious and politically driven move, it morphed beautifully into enheduanna's lifelong relationship with inanna.

enheduanna's success and works as the high priestess at the temple ur helped bridge a gap between self-discovery and religion. many of her hymns and poems - especially "the exaltation of inanna" gave a human connection to gods; something far more powerful in the long run, compared to the old ways of gods growing the land, mixing the sea.

[i ripped all this out of a research paper i wrote a few years ago. enheduanna is my niche special interest and i find her life and story so utterly fascinating].

open me carefully: emily dickinson's intimate letters to susan huntington dickinson

susan huntington gilbert and emily elizabeth dickinson were born within days of each other in December 1830. they may have known each other from girlhood; they certainly knew each other from adolescence; and they had begun to correspond by the age of twenty. their relationship spanned nearly four decades, and for three of those decades, the women were next-door neighbors. together, susan and emily lived through the vicissitudes of a life closely shared: susan's courtship, engagement, and eventual marriage to emily's brother, austin; susan and austin's setting up home next door to the dickinson homestead; the births of susan and austin's three children, and the tragic death of their youngest son, gib.

in open me carefully, we see that emily was not the fragile, childlike, virginal "bride who would never be" writing precious messages about flowers, birds, and cemeteries from the safety and seclusion of her bedroom perch in amherst, massachusetts. dickinson was devoted to her craft, and she was dedicated to integrating poetry into every aspect of her day-to-day life. she was engaged in philosophical and spiritual issues as well as all the complexities of family life and human relationships. she knew love, rejection, forgiveness, jealousy, despair, and electric passion, and she lived for years knowing the intense joy and frustration of having a beloved simultaneously nearby, yet not fully within reach.

Emily Dickinson Archive

NY Times Archive
4.3k · Mar 2022
im just a kid [tw: sa]
jude rigor Mar 2022
i started this poem
when i was
nearly 23
i'm 24 now
almost 25
but i still feel
like a child.

19
trying drugs,
loving the man
who would **** me.
and i'd forgive him
take him back into my arms
let him touch me anywhere
just to feel something.
afterward
he smokes
and smokes
and smokes
apologizing
through a haze
of drugs and
shame. he spoke
useless fragile
words and i drank
them up eagerly.
they tasted like
whiskey,
valerian,
and ice.

when i'm 20
i find a therapist.
no more drugs;
still loving him.
i slide a new slate
across the kitchen
table just for him.
but it's cracking
as his fingers
pick it up,
shattering in
place. he moves
from stone
to skin. rips
and tears
until i'm
finally
split
too.

21
still in therapy,
i tell him
it's okay
that he
cheated
because
it was
all
about
the drugs:
not me.
but when i
tell him how
much it hurts
he says
maybe you
should work on that
in therapy.
i lean into
his side
but being
near him
never quite
feels the
same and
i ache for
comforting
sin.

i'm 22 when i find out
that being pressured
into *** after
saying no twice
isn't consensual
and he's not
round anymore
but at night
i hold my breath
terrified that he'll
appear. in my
dreams there
are flash
backs lying
in wait, even
though i've
begged for
some dream
less sleep.

when i'm 23
my third or fourth
therapist
tells me
she's sorry that
i had to go through
it all. and she listens
as i fade away and keeps
listening until i
can feel the earth
at my feet
once more.
she's a good
sort. i'm sad
when she
moves.

24 creeps
upon me
like a scratchy
sweater. i want to
shrug it off of my
shoulders, but it's
too cold. i'm no
longer the things
that happened
to me in that
darkening room,
and at twilight
most nights
i no longer find
myself thinking of
him.

i feel so old.
my bones always
hurt, the cat's food
is so expensive, and
i always have chicken
in the freezer. but
i can't bring myself
to eat. the medications
keep the ache at bay
but i feel it waiting.
at least my cat always
purrs when i feed him.
makes me feel
a little
loved.

my chance to grow
got pushed back a
few years
and i probably grew
anyways, unknowingly
pushing back against
invisible walls waiting
for one to finally give.

i hate that i'm here
trapped in adolescence
i hate that i'm still
writing about him
about what happened
and how much it still
hurts me.

maybe when i'm 25
i'll try to edit
this poem.
i found this unfinished poem and decided to re-write it. it's a lot. i tried to tag trigger warnings so i hope this didn't make anyone upset. i should edit this one day. [tw: sa] = [trigger warning: ****** assaul t]
jude rigor Mar 2022
laying your head in my lap
the way you always wanted to
looking up at me

as our eyes meet
for a few moments
dark oak swirling
with words we're
too nervous to
say out loud

seconds pass and
we can't take it
anymore

you roll-over
onto the bed
and i hunch
into myself

we can't stop laughing
making spiderman jokes
sneaking glances through
the night til our hands
intertwine without
meaning to
both wishing
we would
have kissed

i'm living all the way up here now
the mountains trail down to your
old suburban home

you're not here
not in my lap
staring up at me

brown
and blue
against one
another

her eyes
laughing
and twisting
until they've
faded away

i miss you
but the phone
won't even
ring
writing this made me cry lololol. why did she have to die? why her? i wish i could go back in time and kiss her. i'm not in love with her anymore after all these years but i never stopped loving her?? i don't know if that makes sense. i need to edit this and probably scrap it all together idk. i just. i'm laying in bed alone with my cat and i'm wishing we did all the things we said we were going to do. i just want to hold her hand and tell her that i wish she was here
jude rigor Apr 2022
kissing girls:
she makes me feel so alive --
but i miss her funeral anyways
sleeping on my mountain of
burning gold and
empty graves.

leaving leftover tea
out in the car
as it rots and turns to
lukewarm longing.

kissing anyone  
i'll never learn
how to
breathe fire.

i'm nocturnal
but my eyes refuse
to adjust to
the dark.  

so i whisper poetry into
the silhouettes of
whoever will
have me.

i
cry to myself
cradling my skull
in ***** claws
that rip and tear
at everything
i try to
hold.

sleeping in
an empty bed,
i want to hold her
hand again.

i crawl out from
a ****** of pine trees
belly-deep in the tall-grass
where no one dares to wander
mistaking my echoing cries
a painful roaring sob
that reaches
out for the stars --
they think me furious
but i am only
             alone.
someone liked a poem under the same title that i published in 2017. i actually hate that poem and it makes me cringe so i rewrote it. it's not really about the same thing anymore. just about what haunts me. and  how i feel too big. like it all knocks over around me, but my limbs are too long and lanky and i can't help it. like a dragon who can't see in the dark and cries viciously and wants their only love back.
jude rigor Feb 2022
maybe i should visit you
in that frozen wasteland
where you've waited
all these years for
warmth and spring.

or maybe i should visit
our garden of flowers.
alone i'd lay down  
on the grass,
ignoring the flowers
that beckon brightly,
desperate to be
remembered.

i'd close my eyes to
feel the soft whispers
of wind on my cheek;
words winding their way
in-between the twisting
air to replicate what
you gently spoke
lying on the
gentle earth,
both eons and
mintues
ago.

      how are you doing?
      just maybe, could you stay?
      could you be my companion?

      can we stay here for life?
      or at least until
      tomorrow?


the steady calm of night would surely
coat the ground with its coolness.
but i am fast asleep. brought
under to only wonder
when it was
i lost my winter
coat.
this is an amalgamation of responses to poems that my ex-girlfriend had written me. i recently found out that she died and have been writing about it and reading everything she ever wrote me and honestly crying a lot but this poem is pretty presonal. it references verses she wrote me many years ago so if it seems disjointed or lacking context that's probably why.
jude rigor Apr 2014
jesus left me a
gun under the
table.

he didn't remember
to leave a note telling
me what it's for, but
i think i'm smart
enough to put one
and two, together. (or
                        am i?):(i am).

it's about a week or so later
when momma tells me
'god ain't real' and rips
it from my hands but
they still  sh a ke     and
reach for love that isn't
there. (in the spaces. the
                    c a b i n e t s ).

: i feel self-empowered at
the thought that maybe i
put it there - memory
evades me -- ***** me                       | high
until i'm low again.                               again. |
                                 (it's all the same).

days pass and i find
it taped under my
desk but this time
with a **** note.

"to forget" it says. "from
someone who cares."

and i think
let's see if it'll actually
            hurt          so
                  mouth open
                              black berry sm ell s
                            taunt me into
                      relaxation, (am i in
                                  p a r a d i s e ):::(i think
                                                             i am).

i know it's the love wrapping
its skeleton arms around
my body when i  f a  l   l     to
                                  the
                                          floor. || everything
                                                  is silent
                                                      on this
                                                        side.






**(c) 2014 jude rigor
1.4k · Aug 2014
homesick from the outhouse
jude rigor Aug 2014
i found
that suburbian
love-seats
couldn’t hold
the kind of love
i was searching
for

and ***
between
crumbling
couch cushions
slowly became a
tedious night ritual:

mountain
ranges told
me from a
first-time-
glance that
i was worth
more than

a subtle
  "thank
     you
.”
whispered
     into the
      curve of my
            breast.

so i left home
with holes in
my pockets
and a period
of harsh
abstinence
hanging over
my chest like

a ******* sword.
(c) jude rigor 2014

thoughts? short piece i wrote this morning.
jude rigor Mar 2014
.

your eyes burn like
krypton lights on  
charlie brown's
christmas tree,
painfully
aware that
they are and
only can be
fire hazards.




**(c) 2014 jude rigor
jude rigor Mar 2022
i used to lay on the snowed-in flowerbeds
of nan's backyard. once it snowed enough,
you couldn't tell that a ****** of perrenials
slept peacefully there: all crushed
and crooked beneath
dirt and ice.

some days she'd come and join me
if the ground was soft enough:
we'd stargaze up into the cosmos
of pine trees overhead and listen
for the stillness of winter - the hush
of silence that lingered in the air.

ivy and henbit writhed
gingerly underfoot:
a quiet dogfight
of frozen earth
that begged a
sluggish spring
to come out of
hiding.
i wrote this an hour or two ago for a contest on allpoetry! the prompt was a video covering the spring snow storm that occurred in the northeast recently. it had to be less than 100 words and i'm pretty proud of it. cheers. (if you're interested, my username on there is @opheliaswam).
jude rigor Apr 2022
you hold my hand under the
yellow light of a baptist church
praying to no god:
narcotics anonymous.

you introduce me but it doesn't feel like i'm yours
our clasped hands break apart as
a fifth marlbolo black slips
between your lips.

murmured conversations
secret promises
drift back and forth:
and my apparition
waits in the tepid
night.

i shift back and forth
through the golden amber haze: i could
lean back into the dim scraps of pavement
and no one would notice a thing.
this is going to be a series of poetic memoirs about an abusive relationship i was in a few years ago. i'll have tw in tags but it's mostly the occasional reference to SA and stuff like that.

also idk why but re-reading i just imagine someone with five cigs in their mouth at once LOL
jude rigor Apr 2022
your friends pity me
i see it in their eyes
but pretend it's
not there

you bring me along regardless
holding hands under the table
laughing alongside them
and we toast to your
oncoming sobriety

and i think they pitied you too
knowing that you and change
were fated mortal enemies
starting from conception.

god buried you in the dirt when he crafted your soul;
and the angels cursed you, turning the earth
to marbled heliotrope:

we met in that dark prison.
you whispered that everyone
had given you up. so i swore
to never leave. to try.
to fight for us. to
love.

you hold my hand for 46 seconds underneath
the sputtering pools of blonde light
after your narcotics anonymous
meeting.

and the angels pitied me as well,
turning their heads at stoplights
and crosswalks like i wasn't even
there.

as if i could forget or pretend
that i've never seen the
eyes underneath
our bed at
night.
btw im not tryna demonize addicts bc that's some rl hard stuff to deal with, my ex-partner just happened to suffer from addiction alongside being an absolutely awful trashbin person.
1.2k · Oct 2017
soft gradient
jude rigor Oct 2017
let me touch our souls together once more:
comforting insecure heart breaker pocket lover,
be mine - i show up to class but i'm
still in your bed there's
no time for sleep
only dreams of
pink hands and red tea
unconditional
keychain
of
me.
i loathe rhyming poetry so much but still wrote this so??
1.1k · Feb 2022
sensory
jude rigor Feb 2022
my bedsheets won't stop
strangling me
each night,
twisting around my
legs and arms and neck
until i cough myself
awake.

i'm breathing blood
once i'm finally up.
it's 5am and i think
i've been dying in my
sleep.

i turn the fan on
and the heat up
praying i can
fling my sheets
to the floor while
i fight with slumber,
waving it like a white
flag in the
dark.
jude rigor Jul 2017
crawl into bed
coffee stained sheets
i don't **** strangers
i don't bring tea to bed
not anymore
don't bring myself to bed
can't sleep in bed
893 · Feb 2014
tallest man on earth
jude rigor Feb 2014
he rolls in
mint leaves
and cigarette
smoke,

standing up
to waltz out
the back
door

and out to
the moonlit
streets of
our urban
nightmare

before i have
a chance to
whisper, i miss
you -
          don't leave
.





**(c) 2014 jude rigor
832 · Apr 2014
charity bangers: a haiku
jude rigor Apr 2014
animal planet:
save the whales, fleshy mortal--
turn on: crucifix.






**(c) 2014 jude rigor
jude rigor Apr 2014
no
one
cares
unless
you've
got that
gun right
up against
your skull.





**(c) 2014 jude rigor
something from a while ago.
753 · Mar 2014
monsters
jude rigor Mar 2014
you look beautiful
with that tar smothered
all over your mouth.




**(c) jude rigor 2014
anyone interested in beta-reading some of the things i plan on pubbing?
721 · Nov 2017
dull ache
jude rigor Nov 2017
i'm so angry
my face feels pale
empty space no art-
ist wanted to draw in

i want something
to fill this void behind
sharp teeth: vomiting
coffee grinds and blood
over my favorite novel
in a dream where my
glasses are still
broken and there's
always been wet bed
sheets, red is nothing
is smothering

oh, i want.
need pain
love leaving i've
never craved laughter
no one here is looking at me
the eyes of hungry gods are
glued to my skin tearing them
selves apart leaving me leaving me
to cope with one less layer
i think there are devils in
the clouds that haunt me.
oh, i need.

i need a cigarette
somewhere between
home and hell

taste fog water
catch a breath
push everything
down with old
blood coffee
splash water
on my face:

who the **** is that?
sometimes i have some angry dissociation episodes and i wrote this during one
715 · Aug 2017
at least my minor loves me
jude rigor Aug 2017
blind date
with my college
career, i ask them
what they plan on
doing with their
degree and i get
a shudder  and
an exorcism
all in one
breath:::
                 i'm trying my best.
690 · Sep 2017
quiet thunder
jude rigor Sep 2017
you are sleeping in a world i can't see:
there are
clouds
holding hands
over my head
and i only ever
dream of you or
nothing

study in a city
smog in my teeth
stale mint air...
...but you're always
in this forest
i keep in my chest -
silence and kissing
there's something
strange and soft
and
missing

dumb hopeful
lonely girl in the mirror
it won't stop
raining

it won't stop
wow i miss him and i'm okay but that doesn't mean i can't miss him
jude rigor Jan 2018
temptation:
pretty boy with his
hands around my
throat, if evil is an
******
color me in
blood
and name me
'angel' or 'sweet
heart'

i'll respond to all three
pretty boy takes his
atlas hands to wrap
me in a hug just as
i start to scream
for more.

angel sweet heart
don't touch me again
only pretty boy can
see me here

temptation:
i'm bathing in it.
uh well. it is what it is. i'm in an awful mood and really overwhelmed. i'm sick of this ******* crazy cult-like people telling me they can cure my mental illness with prayer, i'm so tired of my mom telling me i'm going to hell, i'm barely living. i'm looking into inpatient programs for bpd and seeing what my insurance covers but yeah if i disappear for a week or two it's bc i need to work myself out and get better and hopefully that happens soon.
629 · Jul 2017
suddenly, out of nowhere
jude rigor Jul 2017
****
suicide note
written to my
**** blog,
**** if i'm
not free,
i don't have
wet dreams
in the snow
anymore, i'm
a summer girl,
i'm dead and alive,
i sleep with the
cryptic ghosts
of my own
sadness.
600 · Oct 2017
10.11
jude rigor Oct 2017
evil wine speak
you look so pretty in every color
god you're so old
and i so young

empty bottle basement
child's home, fate
is tiny hands

bodies blend
to time and
silhouttes

let me lead you home
i am guilty but i am writing
597 · Feb 2014
this is not the inferno.
jude rigor Feb 2014
atlas, you man
of a monster:
why have you
laid my mother
out on her back,
across the earth?

i swear to you,
fail to keep her
heartbeat trembling
and i will shake the
universe from your
shoulders.

no more smoking
breaks in the
lavatory.

you're made
of stone anyways.





**(c) jude rigor 2014
scraps from band class.
595 · Feb 2014
today
jude rigor Feb 2014
.

    i'm watching
    the universe,
    fog creeping
    up the glass

  i press my face so
far into the wall
that it cracks

              stretching its
      limbs freckle
                   to freckle,
        branching
                   across celestial
          skies:

                                  and suddenly
                                        i can breathe.





                                    **(c) jude rigor 2014
586 · Aug 2017
vent poetry to delete later
jude rigor Aug 2017
you're leaving
again, and i can't
process anything
right now, can't
even write good
poetry right now:

you sleep in a silent world
of therapy and speak clearly
into the phone to let me know
you still love me and you promise
this time to change

i'm scared to trust you
baby i'm not perfect
you can't hold me from
rehab and i don't know
if i should trust you again

i'm already so lonely
please change
my boyfriend is going to rehab again and im glad hes getting help but it hurts inm so lonely and i need him but he doesnt need me
584 · Mar 2014
pennies
jude rigor Mar 2014
dusting stars across
a galaxy
that never wanted
you in the first place.





**(c) 2014 jude rigor
557 · Sep 2017
calm
jude rigor Sep 2017
air is
not bitter
like me
i have
spirit
somewhere
wilting
sunflowers
full of willing
kissing wind
just for me:
i feel my longing
in each pause
every breath
of sunlight
cold morning
lukewarm coffee
steam,
air not so bitter
like me
i feel like i'm caught in a not totally awful limbo does anyone get what i mean
528 · Aug 2014
holy water
jude rigor Aug 2014
kiss your
dead girl
hands,
exorcist-
bringer :: and
            ch
               ok
                  e       o n
               the         soot
            the              flames
           the                  terror
            coating
                           infinity-stained lips
                                                      :: ghosts
                                                           linger       in      the
                                                                             back
                                                                                  dr
                                                                                     op.
(c) 2014 jude rigor

messed around with formatting for this one. c: i'd really love feedback on the new poems i've been uploading!
485 · Jan 2023
1st date
jude rigor Jan 2023
we don’t hold hands
but it’s okay
i build back my
own heart to not
burden you with
expectations

i rear-end an old man
on the way to your house
my heart keeps beating
even when the car turns
off and when i look at you
it doesn’t stop stuttering

i’m so wound tight
but the hours grow softly
into one another until i have
to remind myself to wind up again:
i need to leave, so i shroud
myself in a satin second skin
perfect for saying good
bye

i drive away
we didn’t kiss
that’s okay
there are no
expectations

my gut twists
painfully as i’ve
always wished i
could be more
bold

i sleep fast
caught between
two mountainsides
and there’s no time
to ask myself when
it’ll all end
481 · Dec 2017
seasonal, huh?
jude rigor Dec 2017
summer quietly creaks open the back door
slips from beneath your skin records shattering
as you stare down from the attic, questioning
everything. it's gone before you can remember
what warmth even is
sadness warps
an old yellow novel you used to love
holding it close as it twists and moans
rip the best chapter out because
it belongs to you
a bunch of feels in my heart u feel me
434 · Jul 2017
mid summer
jude rigor Jul 2017
southern girl
lily petals,
you buy me
flowers
first paycheck
no more drugs
they smell like
warm bedsheets
hotel coffee
sun
428 · Aug 2017
fucked up doubtful
jude rigor Aug 2017
my mother opens her chest
and tells me god put a gun
there for when he comes back,
i protest the right to carry
outside the city lines
even though i've been
hurt too:
her wine cabinet tastes like
retribution and hope,
her red 4 days old open seal
tastes like ******* ****
20 minutes later,
when it's just me, the dog,
and a lukewarm drink.
don't put ice in wine. i've
learned this.

you know, i don't even
pick up bibles when
i'm ****** up? i cry
into tarot cards that
are vague and lack
comfort and pages
and pages
and pages
of lackluster
fake sunshine

water to wine to water again

my dad's the alcoholic,
nice ******* try,
big guy,
you're not
even speaking-
i have a dissociative
disorder, *******,
try me when i'm
feeling less real
istic.
i rarely drank, drank a lot last week, my family is full of religious zealots that border culty and it makes me sad
jude rigor Dec 2017
kissing guns
my secret *****
don't know how to fire
i puke on green carpets
leaving lipstick in the sun to melt
choke me i'm not breathing
i don't want to cry ever again
whisper poetry into my spine
and i might ****** quietly
**** me into the mattress
         and i'll cry
i'm having a bad day sorry for bad poetry
jude rigor Jul 2017
today exists
in movie stills
i have only
ever been
a ghost
in my
own
skin
394 · Jul 2017
let your mother love you
jude rigor Jul 2017
my teeth
sink into
instant coffee
cautiously; this will
never be the same
unless you are here.

            i might pick up
            a cigarette and
            a bible in the same
            breath,
            i still love you
                 all the same.

being alone has
taught me that
i miss you even
when i don't,
i want everything to feel
                                        close again.
384 · Sep 2017
summer circa 2013
jude rigor Sep 2017
mountain patio
laughing tremble gut feel-
ing, we're dancing and
you hold onto my hand
familiar scent of pine
cigar smoke in our eyes
men don't scare me here
smiling at you
music, forever
echos through
the forest
and this
short breath slows
secrets scribbled on napkins
in a fancy bathroom...
... whisper and hot mouth-
our friendship
is yellow and
soft
i'll always love the beatles.

night so dark i'm scared it
might end
   gold light in your hair
driving home to
a lake of obsidian and fire
        rose quartz flowering from our backs
              i miss you
          we dive into a painting of the sky
                 water is warmer
i once had a really good summer before i used to get super manic and empty in summer and yeah we went to this post celebration for a golf tournament they host every year in memory of my deceased uncle, they have a band that does beatle covers and it's in between mountains and there's old people smoking cigars and for some reason i'm never afraid to dance there
362 · Aug 2017
realism, i paint landscapes
jude rigor Aug 2017
i. prodigal daughter

****** cough
great grandmother's
             hankerchief
   letters, no name,
      not mine
  
                              i ruin a lot
                              you can't see
                         red hands together
                            prayer. maybe.
                                   not me.

ii. menace

burning woman
settle in the wallpaper
your eyes are yellow
again: i cry while
you paint over me -
        this house is as haunted as me.

iii. flight of the wolves

her eyes
    slide into mine
until eventually
                 the moon takes me by
                            the hand
                 we are running
                  against ourselves
                  and bleeding stars
                               fading as nothing
                               but hungry dogs
                               into the night

iv. ancient light

you have never
wanted touch
like this  
                   a mysterious something
                   is in the air
                   someone else's sun
                   swallowed whole

      fire has his hand in my mouth
                   i am screaming.

v. town fair memory

my lover in a dream
finds me by the craft table
it's sun down
             tiptoes around  my adolescence
                  he knows he is not my love.  

i lay on the trembling blacktop
with my friends. the sky is pink
but not as warm as us, we can see
stars from here: we're not waking up
                 from today

                    his name
                        still
                    eludes me
i used some nice prompts for this
361 · Aug 2017
...areyououtthere
jude rigor Aug 2017
i come from a city of sleeping
ghosts that do not remember
where they were born: i keep
raw honey in the attic of my
mother's mother's funeral
home so somehow they
will learn to be bittersweet -
i only need them when
i'm craving tea, i think i'll
die before learning to sleep
without flowers and sugar
pressed to the cave of my mouth
as a raven hiding from
man's shadow
and the
night.
jude rigor Feb 2020
in an ancient forest                      a chalice somewhere raises
dirt ridden murmurs                   in a temple of fire
caress the roots of                        beeswax begging
the trees                                         for raw sin
no one kneels                                at the foot
where there is flame                    in the palm
seal the sarcophagus                   we break bread
into the immortal night              binding books
we meditate                                 in holy dreams
for medicine                                we won’t need
honey burns                                us dogs of hell
gentle call                                    in the light.
something from my poetry class
jude rigor Sep 2017
marina tsvetaeva's "poem of the end"
clear umbrellas
soft and cold rain
mountain smoke
old photographs
books i want to read
dandelions
gas money
voices
dreaming in foreign languages
timelines
hanging ferns
natural light
"to emily dickinson" by hart crane
almond milk
apologies
poem or list? don't really know. when it rains i tend to dissociate more. can't write for **** when i'm like this.
jude rigor Jul 2017
pomegranate tea
you forget my name as you
introduce your mother
and wait for her to leave::
                                                  :: you make sure to steep the tea
                                                     before placing it delicately between
                                                     my two, small hands. there's no
                                                     innuendo, you can tell i am nervous,
                                                     but i want to change. so you lead me
                                                     to your bedroom and turn on music,
                                                     that i still can't hear.

the *** was okay,
i was happy that you were patient.

by the time we finished,
i had the taste of tea
still in my mouth,
nothing had
changed,
and i pondered
my lack of love
as i drove away.
340 · Feb 2020
imitation
jude rigor Feb 2020
I am from a hungry sun unsated
from sewer smoke and old trees
I am an eviction notice swept
into yesterday’s trash.
(but it’s okay,
      nothing lasts forever:
everything is changing
         and the sidewalk tastes
                   of past lives.)
I am from burnt coral pine needles -
dug into the soil
clawing, rooting into
ageless thighs
forever in a dream
an old static VCR loop
where we stayed
forever by
the lake.

I am from old
new farms,
(quiet ghosts
     weeping in the
rafters,
    and
   family  photos)
attic-squatting:
never coming
home.

peeling paint
trembling apartments
creaking floors
dirt driveways
sparkling water
couch made of wine stains
home made of humans
forest of suns -
   (there are faces
    in-between,
    blurred photographs
    and burning meteors
    in a shoebox
    made of steel.
    I keep it this way,
    so we’re always
    together.)
jude rigor Jul 2017
grab me by the neck
**** your confessional  poem
don't write into me
this might be a joke but it also might not be. i'm rlly talking abt a specific kind of poetry guy tbh, u kno the rlly fake pretentious kind. i can be fake pretentious too but anyways. this is edgy. i apologize. i'm too gay.
330 · Aug 2017
two of swords
jude rigor Aug 2017
show me you love me
in a dream you can't
control, we collect crystals
and give each other tarot
readings - but i always
wonder what you are thinking,
laid out between judgement
and queens in my pink floral
bedsheets. not real, i'm
seeing it all the same.
this is one of my favorite cards, i get this a lot when i do readings for myself.
328 · Jul 2017
summer tooth ache
jude rigor Jul 2017
goodbyes and lost feelings
mix together. summer makes
fools of us all, but all i wanted
was for you to hold me. take me
by the hand.

i'll love you eternally, i guess.
my teeth grind together
in my sleep. bleeding gums
drag me by the heart to my
therapist's door and stare
until i let myself in.
317 · Dec 2017
merry christmas
jude rigor Dec 2017
since i started
sleeping in hidden hemisphere
it only snows when i'm
sad. it's cold every day and
my fingers shake even though
winter doesn't exist here. you
left the blizzard for a smoke
and i didn't realize that meant
you were leaving for good
draw hearts in the snow
with my feet, no angels
i don't want to fall asleep
out here: i don't want to fall
asleep without you
but here i am
with my own
cigarette
i draw hearts
in the air with
smoke
the snow freezes
once i'm home
i lost my glasses but
think the snow hasn't
swept away my love
yet. the street light
breathes ambient
gasps of electricity
i wish i could see
more clearly
it's still so cold
i lost my winter clothes
leaving socks in the snow
i'll walk until i nod off
there's no one else here
i'll sleep forever in the drift
if u get this i will be shook
jude rigor May 2019
it’s november when
the meds kick in, it’s
december when i feel
human again. (or maybe,
for the first time?)

i lack less.
found an appreciation
for something or another
dug up in the front yard
by a half-blind dog.
appreciation for
the living
and the
quiet
small
moments.

i used to know empathy,
used to take her hands
between mine in
cut scenes
but those were
   trembling eras
    of seconds,
    caught between
  an intensity i’ve since
        given     away.

an inferno.

of being
in love
with
wheat
grass bet-
ween
high
ways
and

last bit
of clouds
eating sun
like nectar
in the rearview:

or sweet talking
directly into his eyes
at midnight, hearing
a smile in the smoke
that separates our
houses.

cats with twigs
and dirt swimming
in their bellies.
ghosts in the
woods beyond
my car,
yowling at
the full moon
as if they
were born
to.

i now know
the silence and
warmth of
sleep.

i exist alongside
unfamiliar calm,
a quaint silence
that does not
burn at the
                 touch.





but

the world is
almost softer
            almost
                       lighter   --

my skin is
held to-
gether
with
some
thing
more
than
glue.

     (maybe
      stitches?)

i wonder
if i was
human
the whole
time.
re-wrote a poem i wrote half a year ago, i'm turning it in for a poetry class portfolio. honestly im gonna edit it again but this is the first edit for now. if i change anything major i'll probably put it here and edit it or maybe rework entirely.  who knows~~~
jude rigor Sep 2017
disembodied:
flowers with thorns
sensitive skin
i don't cut myself
these are from
holding everything

do i even exist?
i hope not
my forehead is cold
i'm shaking
car window down
the sun looks so pretty
as it rises
traffic, drifting,
i think i'm falling
asleep

at the wheel
my doctor is rl cunty about having ADD and didn't care that i have a huge *** cyst in my ovaries and told me i've over reacting about chronic pain p much so yeah **** her
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