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Numinous-forest
14/F/NY © 2020 JCT all rights reserved, please don't post my poetry anywhere without my permission. I have been writing poetry for about two years now, but it feels like longer. I am a published poet and writer.
You hold out a flower to me and show me its intricacies, its petal, its every seam. Then you ask if I could live with myself if I squished, because you couldn't, you say I tell you most days I already don’t live with myself, I am just waking up and waiting to fall asleep Or in bed waiting for the morning, counting the intricacies of the wall. I tell you that my head already doesn’t live with me, it lives leagues deeper, much deeper in the petals of my flower. And when I show you my back with all the seams, the places where the stem meets the petals, and they stitch together unwillingly. I tell you, the world has already smashed me, It seems to have no problem living with it.
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Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 9:50 PM UTC
Flower
Tell me about the worst days So I show you my ****** hands and bound legs I show you the maggots in my skeleton and the pins in my hands I show you the patches in my head and the bumps down my back You pretend not to notice the decaying nature of me, pretend not to see my slow acting killer. and are surprise when I tell you that the maggots java burrowed into my hips
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Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 8:28 PM UTC
The worst days
We do not say the word love it is ice we dare not tread for fear of cracking We say: Care, cherish, treasure, admire To say love would be jump into The fullness of emotion that lies beneath the ice
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Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 6:11 PM UTC
What we say
I used to let the rich red flowers that sprout every month dominate my garden I couldn't- wouldn’t- undergo the embarrassment of digging shears out of by bag And dragging them into the bathroom with me. I couldn’t bear to leave the clippings in there, perhaps I wouldn’t. I wonder who made me ashamed of this red garden. I wonder why they find it so thorny, when these are not roses, but tulips
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Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 12:00 PM UTC
Rich red flowers
I swallow my med like one uses a lifesaver, with desperation you are my sunshine, my only sunshine the people around me are somber, the world is gray, I am lively you make me happy when skies are gray I drop the pill back in the organizer the first of many to remain in that box I learn to create my own sunshine
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Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 7:36 PM UTC
Sunshine
Love is all trust falls and trapeze for some We put our affection on display in the air in hopes that people will clap when we catch each other from the deadly fall below. I wonder sometimes what happens to the partners that fall Often partners fall from the slip of a hand We call it an accident, no one's fault and sometimes it is Love could also just be a simple walk through the garden But perhaps I enjoy the show of trust falls and trapeze as dangerous as it is
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Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 8:47 PM UTC
The circus of love
When the out of order is in order it is a hard feeling to place The chips are all mixed up inside But the machine can still dispense The out of order sign belongs on me but yet by some mystery no one has even checked so see if they can get chips
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Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 10:15 PM UTC
A vending machine
We are writing our from our hearts Red ink staining the pages We are writing with our hearts Each word in rhythm We are showing everyone our hearts So that no one can see the wounds elsewhere We are convincing ourselves that if our heart still beats There is no problem. But our hearts are beating our blood away
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Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 9:57 PM UTC
Our hearts
My heart tightens my rib cage traps my lungs these are part of a dance we’ve done many times a dance where one partner is trying to run and the other is trying to waltz. You do not get a head start, there is no finish line or trophy. You just hope that the next dance is slower, The steps are less hard, and the partner less willing to dance.
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Dec 18, 2020
Dec 18, 2020 at 2:56 PM UTC
A dance as old as time
My skin is red there its peeling there So I pull. I pull at this pain that traps me; I pull away the suffering; I pull away the memories, the hurt too much to keep. But when I am done pulling what will remain of me
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Dec 18, 2020
Dec 18, 2020 at 2:50 PM UTC
remainder