401130 - Hello Poetry

You held my head below the spigot The river dangerously near its capacity Told me to drink you, 'cause you’d do it for me So I did. I was asking God to give me a sign Just between us, two – knock over the glass, I wouldn’t tell. I learned that God engages only with good girls Who don’t go around giving out free milk, like my mother said. Girls who lactate only after they’ve been whitened and rung - Whose milk nourishes, full stop. I found the cavities in my skin early I dug them deeper - I wore infection like a veil yellowed with time Over skin undefiled 'I'd rather learn from my own mistakes than from Jesus'' I said, when I was made to swallow the wafer that bore my name It's true I'd rather ache alone than be made to love anything God doesn't love women like me.

0

Apr 30, 2016

Apr 30, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC

401130

women like me

You held my head below the spigot The river dangerously near its capacity Told me to drink you, 'cause you’d do it for me So I did. I was asking God to give me a sign Just between us, two – knock over the glass, I wouldn’t tell. I learned that God engages only with good girls Who don’t go around giving out free milk, like my mother said. Girls who lactate only after they’ve been whitened and rung - Whose milk nourishes, full stop. I found the cavities in my skin early I dug them deeper - I wore infection like a veil yellowed with time Over skin undefiled 'I'd rather learn from my own mistakes than from Jesus'' I said, when I was made to swallow the wafer that bore my name It's true I'd rather ache alone than be made to love anything God doesn't love women like me.

25

Who's the hollowed apple in the road? Who's dug your insides out, left you owed Love and time - Maybe we can fill you up with sauce and sweet things Reclaimed wooden wings You won't fly, but they'll fit nice And we're here to watch you try

0

Apr 19, 2016

Apr 19, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC

401130

Twine

Who's the hollowed apple in the road? Who's dug your insides out, left you owed Love and time - Maybe we can fill you up with sauce and sweet things Reclaimed wooden wings You won't fly, but they'll fit nice And we're here to watch you try

7

i know love in taking’s wake i know no love ‘til my pride is abused then i know the saddest love, remorseful love shame misplaced and mispicked

0

Mar 1, 2016

Mar 1, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC

401130

known

i know love in taking’s wake i know no love ‘til my pride is abused then i know the saddest love, remorseful love shame misplaced and mispicked

4

i’ve taken residence in a home already owned. i’m an orb of light in the corner of your world, a nameless presence. chipping paint on your railing, silent love. your spirit curled and clung to my bones, you stayed like a stake in the soil. i’m proud to keep you here, upright in the sun.

0

Feb 16, 2016

Feb 16, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC

401130

cyclical

i’ve taken residence in a home already owned. i’m an orb of light in the corner of your world, a nameless presence. chipping paint on your railing, silent love. your spirit curled and clung to my bones, you stayed like a stake in the soil. i’m proud to keep you here, upright in the sun.

6

the longer and farther away you are, your image browns in my brain. your skin fades, and i know that to reach your core again, it would take so much of my time, biting away at the rotten parts. you live there, behind inches, then feet, then yards of softened pome - the acid pool ever growing between my mouth and your core.

0

Feb 7, 2016

Feb 7, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC

401130

rotted

the longer and farther away you are, your image browns in my brain. your skin fades, and i know that to reach your core again, it would take so much of my time, biting away at the rotten parts. you live there, behind inches, then feet, then yards of softened pome - the acid pool ever growing between my mouth and your core.

8

you breathe, once more, to give love its name, you are the mother who dies in labor. you died on a wednesday, we celebrate you then, every wednesday, at 2 10′s, we became closest then. my face is filled with salt of the sea, you are singing, and skimming its waves heavy love in your wings - i reached out my hand, with brilliant feathers, you flew away ‘it’ll always be like i said’ your body asleep, i felt you in the hands of your man, your mother. the earth lost its detail as i scaled the tree, it grew fat and blurred, its nuances enveloped by shades of grey, i never touched it that day, but i felt it in their palms. i pulled my hand away to inspect your muddy traces.

0

Feb 7, 2016

Feb 7, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC

401130

your friend who died last year

you breathe, once more, to give love its name, you are the mother who dies in labor. you died on a wednesday, we celebrate you then, every wednesday, at 2 10′s, we became closest then. my face is filled with salt of the sea, you are singing, and skimming its waves heavy love in your wings - i reached out my hand, with brilliant feathers, you flew away ‘it’ll always be like i said’ your body asleep, i felt you in the hands of your man, your mother. the earth lost its detail as i scaled the tree, it grew fat and blurred, its nuances enveloped by shades of grey, i never touched it that day, but i felt it in their palms. i pulled my hand away to inspect your muddy traces.

22

when a boys dies he lives a few scattered moments longer per person who knew him. he dies, and yet he is still alive, as the words leave another’s mouth “he’s gone.” he’s still alive with blood and bones and spirit there. every piece is still where it belongs. the words travel from mouth to brain and it’s there, in the language, that he dies. and it’s no one’s fault - he is gone, he is dead. but from then on his life is limited to the sculpture the people he knew are capable of creating. so people remember him on and on, he was tall, he was kind and smart. they frame the same photograph over and over. people are afraid of the bad, the spear he ran past as a kid and screamed as it tore his thigh open, that shrill of his voice, the day he dented the wall with a mere elbow's tap, the pieces that made him more than a thoughtful still life. his life is more accurately described as a vignette of horror and beauty. yet those who survive him meet someone new in his passing - they meet the flawless portrait of a boy, who was only a boy, a beautiful boy.

0

Feb 7, 2016

Feb 7, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC

401130

James

when a boys dies he lives a few scattered moments longer per person who knew him. he dies, and yet he is still alive, as the words leave another’s mouth “he’s gone.” he’s still alive with blood and bones and spirit there. every piece is still where it belongs. the words travel from mouth to brain and it’s there, in the language, that he dies. and it’s no one’s fault - he is gone, he is dead. but from then on his life is limited to the sculpture the people he knew are capable of creating. so people remember him on and on, he was tall, he was kind and smart. they frame the same photograph over and over. people are afraid of the bad, the spear he ran past as a kid and screamed as it tore his thigh open, that shrill of his voice, the day he dented the wall with a mere elbow's tap, the pieces that made him more than a thoughtful still life. his life is more accurately described as a vignette of horror and beauty. yet those who survive him meet someone new in his passing - they meet the flawless portrait of a boy, who was only a boy, a beautiful boy.

4

California days, nowhere nights - cerulean sea filled up with too many people, slow trek over land too large to love, too vast to claim, (but claimed anyway) I will never see you again, I don’t want to. Understand that I am in so much of everyone you know, everyone you will know - it hardly matters, but it does, and it hurts to know. Indigo air, neon night tufts of lilac and tired red light- sleeping work sleeping dreams sleeping everything

0

Feb 7, 2016

Feb 7, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC

401130

California days

California days, nowhere nights - cerulean sea filled up with too many people, slow trek over land too large to love, too vast to claim, (but claimed anyway) I will never see you again, I don’t want to. Understand that I am in so much of everyone you know, everyone you will know - it hardly matters, but it does, and it hurts to know. Indigo air, neon night tufts of lilac and tired red light- sleeping work sleeping dreams sleeping everything

17

I think of you all the time and how I never call. So I bought cards and stamps. I would write all the people I loved but hardly knew anymore, and I would feel the keeper of guilty weight untie my wrists, let me hit the ground hard and remember that I am connected to something. I tucked them away on the windowsill and thought about what I would say. The colours have melted into one another now, coral reds and blue purples, the jewelry of infectious yellow card stock, the ink's faded in the sun's light. I haven’t decided what to say, and the price of stamps goes up all the time, so I’ve decided that I should leave them all alone after all.

0

Feb 7, 2016

Feb 7, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC

401130

letter

I think of you all the time and how I never call. So I bought cards and stamps. I would write all the people I loved but hardly knew anymore, and I would feel the keeper of guilty weight untie my wrists, let me hit the ground hard and remember that I am connected to something. I tucked them away on the windowsill and thought about what I would say. The colours have melted into one another now, coral reds and blue purples, the jewelry of infectious yellow card stock, the ink's faded in the sun's light. I haven’t decided what to say, and the price of stamps goes up all the time, so I’ve decided that I should leave them all alone after all.

10