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alleigh-peterson
21
these days i notice the way my limbs sway gently as i walk the rough catching of my thighs has become unfamiliar the space left between left for someone to fill love cuts through the hickory bark of my heart your hatchet cracking me open i spill dinner dates on the rooftop overlooking the city we both want to escape with every mouthful i swallow your tender caresses across my stomach i have hated for so long how is it possible to feel alive around such a stranger if you knew me would you love me since you know me do you love me teardrops from the sky hit my balcony you held me as i wept that night current joys nostalgic nights a hickory tree splintered open bark cracking down the sides raw and exposed the lightning ripped open the truth and self the soft white underbelly of hickory exposed.
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Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 12:44 PM UTC
hickory
I remember when we were sickly brains and visible bones and there was something so romantic in dying. The night you told me I was beautiful and I laughed. And I laughed. And I laughed, because who knew those words would mean so much until you left me. We would watch the clouds and talk about how they were meant to be on the ground but they hung themselves instead. You joked that you were jealous, and you’d be a cloud one day. If i’m honest, i didn’t really understand what you meant i didn’t really know, and i still don’t know but i do know that when i look at the clouds all i see is you .
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Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 4:22 PM UTC
I don’t know, you’re dead now
he makes me feel more dead than alive and i thought it was the opposite until i realised i have craved being empty for so long i count calories on my phone because habits are hard to break. i swear every time that this pack of cigarettes will be the last and then i find myself lost again and crawling up the stairs when i'm too drunk is a tradition i never missed because it never left to begin with feb. 25.
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Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 11:21 AM UTC
it's 2 am and i can't sleep
(i can't write good poetry when i'm tired so i'm sorry if this isn't to your liking) giving myself a **** TED talk every time i want to get out of bed is exhausting to say the least and it's cloudy -- i could make some metaphor about how the sun doesn't shine but i know you like metaphors and cloudy days so i don't. i wrote a song today. march 14.
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Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 11:21 AM UTC
pressure pusher
i swear to god if i write one more **** love poem i am going to lose it
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Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
his dad died and we were on lsd
i was nine years old when my body decided it could no longer follow the marbled features of inspirations before myself my slender, sculpted legs gave rise to thick thighs resisted against me exposed me and by then i thought i would never walk on the runways in high rise new york city buildings bright city lights to highlight my flaws my hips just as expansive as the judgment they give way to scrutiny-- i pity the paintings trapped inside the louvre i too despise the cold gaze of unwanted audiences who complain of travel who complain of coming such a long way for a disappointment.
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Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
the louvre
the day you died i carefully wrapped the delicate parts of myself up in old blankets i had last used with you seeing your mother for the first time after wasn't easy searching her eyes for the memories of you (the baby pictures were my favourite) you had such little hands.
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Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
my version of baby shoes
i. some nights i feel powerful like i have the energy to entertain crowds of the strangers i live with who get drunk off cheap alcohol in my living room. empty plastic cups turned over, sticky red wine carelessly splashed across linoleum tiles kind of like how it feels when you get your heart broken the sort of mess you are left to clean up alone. ii. the drunken stumbling, praying to make it to the bathroom in time nobody notices the spilled wine until the morning the frantic scrubbing so the ants wandering are not forced to pull off their limbs waiting for someone to save them.
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Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
when an ant becomes stuck in spilled wine
you make me want to ***** fruitful words they spill down my chin you make lovesickness tangible my forearms tingle from missing the circles you trace into my skin effortlessly my mind twists itself in sailors knots with thoughts of you i go to school by the water i have always thought the sunsets were beautiful but once the sun has set it’s easy to turn away from a sky full of stars you are a galaxy my mind craves the expansion so I can find the most lonely crevices of you and make them whole again.
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Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
for my love.
i am the one they write about in all the lovesick poems i have found someone again-- not myself (yet) i lost myself in the good & bad my whole life i have been terrified of the dark the late nights spent alone haunt something within me. i slept with my legs on your bed last night and it's always been unexplainable as to why i feel safe with my legs off the sides of the bed i think i am comfortable being uncomfortable because i am afraid of the opposite but how wonderful it is to feel so small in such a big world / e.p.
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Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
creature fear