LucaScarrott - Hello Poetry

My paint swells with blisters these white walls whimper tears create a vision a pattern paintings on the canvas. But no matter what the poet’s might say not all pain is beauty to the eye and mine blisters and burns and cracks like my bedroom walls in my childhood house. No matter if you paint me over and over or place a rug over carpet stains or add a frame when you redecorate building a collage on the wall over time my paint will still blister.

0

Nov 5, 2024

Nov 5, 2024 at 6:06 AM UTC

Painted Blisters

My paint swells with blisters these white walls whimper tears create a vision a pattern paintings on the canvas. But no matter what the poet’s might say not all pain is beauty to the eye and mine blisters and burns and cracks like my bedroom walls in my childhood house. No matter if you paint me over and over or place a rug over carpet stains or add a frame when you redecorate building a collage on the wall over time my paint will still blister.

16

In wellie boots I wade through the years. Tears of denial seep through and splash into the top of these wellie boots dragging me down one by one. Sticky in your grasp I cling wishing that mud could turn to stone. trudging through the realization that it never was and never would be. With each step these wellies begin to separate. They fall off and sink. They’ve drowned. I’ve waded into quicksand. I laugh at the belief that these wellies would be enough protection from a much larger situation. I’m laughing as I am slowly sinking at least I’m not drowning unaware that you would watch me suffocating. Tears meet the years old tears dried at my feet delusion meets grief. Now at shoulder depth I am laughing. As I prepare to take my last breath I am laughing. I get pulled out while still laughing. By someone who isn’t you. and I see my wellie boots in the distance dead and floating. Now I jump in relief. Barefoot.

0

Nov 5, 2024

Nov 5, 2024 at 6:00 AM UTC

Wellie Boots

In wellie boots I wade through the years. Tears of denial seep through and splash into the top of these wellie boots dragging me down one by one. Sticky in your grasp I cling wishing that mud could turn to stone. trudging through the realization that it never was and never would be. With each step these wellies begin to separate. They fall off and sink. They’ve drowned. I’ve waded into quicksand. I laugh at the belief that these wellies would be enough protection from a much larger situation. I’m laughing as I am slowly sinking at least I’m not drowning unaware that you would watch me suffocating. Tears meet the years old tears dried at my feet delusion meets grief. Now at shoulder depth I am laughing. As I prepare to take my last breath I am laughing. I get pulled out while still laughing. By someone who isn’t you. and I see my wellie boots in the distance dead and floating. Now I jump in relief. Barefoot.

34

We are like bread. Bread has three irreversible modes: dough, bread, and toast. many things in life, if not everything in life have many different forms. we are all in the different stages of bread and yet we criticise and judge ourselves for moving and changing and needing a new environment. The suitable storage for dough differs vastly to the suitable storage for bread and yet we do not mock it but facilitate it. We could learn a thing or two from bread.

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Oct 25, 2024

Oct 25, 2024 at 2:56 PM UTC

learn from bread

We are like bread. Bread has three irreversible modes: dough, bread, and toast. many things in life, if not everything in life have many different forms. we are all in the different stages of bread and yet we criticise and judge ourselves for moving and changing and needing a new environment. The suitable storage for dough differs vastly to the suitable storage for bread and yet we do not mock it but facilitate it. We could learn a thing or two from bread.

19

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0 and repeat] We fit toge ther seamlessly like the numbers on a digital alarm clock, moving without hesi tation, from one figure to the next, a movement of time transi tioning, unsettling, unnotica bly building on and constructing ourselves within the construction of time itself. We are the only static constant, the on ly reliable source: time keeps moving forward, and so will we —

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Oct 25, 2024

Oct 25, 2024 at 2:29 AM UTC

Digital Footprints

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0 and repeat] We fit toge ther seamlessly like the numbers on a digital alarm clock, moving without hesi tation, from one figure to the next, a movement of time transi tioning, unsettling, unnotica bly building on and constructing ourselves within the construction of time itself. We are the only static constant, the on ly reliable source: time keeps moving forward, and so will we —

19

Tripping over myself, bleeding myself out trying to confine myself to the confines of your categories, the cages that barricade us in. I have rapidly outgrown them and now they splinter skin. When should I begin to cry out? I have seen others leave it too late — their bodies impaled by cold, hard metal their organs pooling on the floor, their hearts’ still beat once, twice, they stop. Is it possible to shrink? tweezer out the splinters before I am spilt pull out my own bones until I fit. Hypocritical to myself I encourage the cries of relief as the brave ones break free — Will I be consumed? Or will I break out

0

Oct 24, 2024

Oct 24, 2024 at 2:06 AM UTC

splinters

Tripping over myself, bleeding myself out trying to confine myself to the confines of your categories, the cages that barricade us in. I have rapidly outgrown them and now they splinter skin. When should I begin to cry out? I have seen others leave it too late — their bodies impaled by cold, hard metal their organs pooling on the floor, their hearts’ still beat once, twice, they stop. Is it possible to shrink? tweezer out the splinters before I am spilt pull out my own bones until I fit. Hypocritical to myself I encourage the cries of relief as the brave ones break free — Will I be consumed? Or will I break out

19

What makes you wake up in the morning? Tell me so I can try it sentence me to a life of living please, in desperation I plead, I’ll give you the lead so you can solve the study of staying alive be my witness see me wake up in the morning continuously my sentence ends when I’ve tried each of these reasons there’s enough to last a lifetime these reasons become a lifeline the case of staying alive: the next best love story ever told me and the reasons me and the seasons me and the unread novel on the shelf of the public library on the street that I have yet to live on with friends I have yet to meet and a garden I am yet to plant bulbs in that grow life with and if these reasons are ongoing and growing what’s not to say that these reasons are ever going to leave me witness me complete my sentence of living alive —

0

Oct 23, 2024

Oct 23, 2024 at 10:37 AM UTC

The Case of Staying Alive

What makes you wake up in the morning? Tell me so I can try it sentence me to a life of living please, in desperation I plead, I’ll give you the lead so you can solve the study of staying alive be my witness see me wake up in the morning continuously my sentence ends when I’ve tried each of these reasons there’s enough to last a lifetime these reasons become a lifeline the case of staying alive: the next best love story ever told me and the reasons me and the seasons me and the unread novel on the shelf of the public library on the street that I have yet to live on with friends I have yet to meet and a garden I am yet to plant bulbs in that grow life with and if these reasons are ongoing and growing what’s not to say that these reasons are ever going to leave me witness me complete my sentence of living alive —

29

Sick of each blade of grass blurring into the next, trees becoming a series of bushes, streaks of green across the skyline. Was that a cow? “Look — some sheep! Oh, wait no, they were just wrapped haystacks — sheep without heads.” Speeding past flurries of road signs: ‘turn off at the next junction’ “What? The one back there?” Driving on for a few more miles before being able to turn back again. Stopping at the services to relieve natural needs. Except for rest — you can sleep on the road. Except your sickness will persist through the night and you could miss some significant sights which will be gone by the time you open your eyes. Sick of driving in the fast lane; life on play ready to entertain. “Pass the sweets” trying to **** the sugar from the bitterness of passing time. Sick of help lines dotted sporadically across the sideline but never quite in reach. Sick of this constantly churning stomach which only stops when asleep. Sick of momentary flickers of other passengers before they too go on their way. A lack of individuality; a wave of sameness Comforting. Sickening.

0

Oct 15, 2024

Oct 15, 2024 at 3:41 AM UTC

Motion Sickness

Sick of each blade of grass blurring into the next, trees becoming a series of bushes, streaks of green across the skyline. Was that a cow? “Look — some sheep! Oh, wait no, they were just wrapped haystacks — sheep without heads.” Speeding past flurries of road signs: ‘turn off at the next junction’ “What? The one back there?” Driving on for a few more miles before being able to turn back again. Stopping at the services to relieve natural needs. Except for rest — you can sleep on the road. Except your sickness will persist through the night and you could miss some significant sights which will be gone by the time you open your eyes. Sick of driving in the fast lane; life on play ready to entertain. “Pass the sweets” trying to **** the sugar from the bitterness of passing time. Sick of help lines dotted sporadically across the sideline but never quite in reach. Sick of this constantly churning stomach which only stops when asleep. Sick of momentary flickers of other passengers before they too go on their way. A lack of individuality; a wave of sameness Comforting. Sickening.

22