chamyie - Hello Poetry

I want to be born in cold air. Snow in December, maybe. He asked why I was cr- Ying. I said no reason and he did not Persist but I could tell from The furrowing brows That he too wanted to be born in cold air: Rain, or some variation of it.

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May 11, 2019

May 11, 2019 at 4:56 PM UTC

Born

I want to be born in cold air. Snow in December, maybe. He asked why I was cr- Ying. I said no reason and he did not Persist but I could tell from The furrowing brows That he too wanted to be born in cold air: Rain, or some variation of it.

8

You are like a wet dream, Baby. Supple and grotesque, you writhe Your way between my legs, over mountains of Tender chicken ******* “Slimy slimy slimy” You said. I chuckled Thinking of your skin clinging to mine like A wet t-shirt because No matter how hard I try to pinch you off You spring right back, hands Pressed against my chest. We were as innocent as a young boy Reaching into his pants, discovering what it is To be touched for the first time, what it is to Dance on the edge of the mountain.

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Apr 30, 2019

Apr 30, 2019 at 12:43 PM UTC

Baby

You are like a wet dream, Baby. Supple and grotesque, you writhe Your way between my legs, over mountains of Tender chicken ******* “Slimy slimy slimy” You said. I chuckled Thinking of your skin clinging to mine like A wet t-shirt because No matter how hard I try to pinch you off You spring right back, hands Pressed against my chest. We were as innocent as a young boy Reaching into his pants, discovering what it is To be touched for the first time, what it is to Dance on the edge of the mountain.

16

I love it- How a Saturday never felt So good. It’s like I am falling into place. Every Piece of me bent and broken such that I may be placed, so delicately, into The ocean, into a room with blue curtains. If I had known I would have stuck around, but these feet have carried me too far out; there Is no home anymore. Only the sound of the sea, supple upon the shore.

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Apr 27, 2019

Apr 27, 2019 at 3:05 PM UTC

saturday

I love it- How a Saturday never felt So good. It’s like I am falling into place. Every Piece of me bent and broken such that I may be placed, so delicately, into The ocean, into a room with blue curtains. If I had known I would have stuck around, but these feet have carried me too far out; there Is no home anymore. Only the sound of the sea, supple upon the shore.

9

I work One sock at a time With elbows glued together behind My back. I work with A pencil in each finger Intertwined, mingling, Whispering something about me and The sweaty palms. I work keeping My shoelaces untied so I may trip over them And fall to the ground so that, I may, Perhaps By some miracle of God Or a stay in the hospital, Find a way to Keep my toes Warm; work without trouble.

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Apr 23, 2019

Apr 23, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC

One Sock at a Time

I work One sock at a time With elbows glued together behind My back. I work with A pencil in each finger Intertwined, mingling, Whispering something about me and The sweaty palms. I work keeping My shoelaces untied so I may trip over them And fall to the ground so that, I may, Perhaps By some miracle of God Or a stay in the hospital, Find a way to Keep my toes Warm; work without trouble.

20

Water running through toes and over elbows. Cascading down forearms and up necks. Falling in stampedes from underneath eyelids PIT PAT PIT PAT PIT PAT Onto shoelaces and ankles and Fabric draped across our laps. This is the feeling of an afternoon spent entangled in Covers. The sensation of a cold breeze Swooping us up on its burdensome wings Only to ask “Where’s my tip?” and the shrugging shoulders That follow. The rattle of empty pockets. The Shattering of glass and a cry for HELP So incredibly ARDUOUS it slices your throat Like a steel blade SSSSSS SSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS And the clock doesn’t stop ticking Around and around until you’re too dizzy. This is the feeling of water running through toes and over elbows. Cascading down forearms and up necks. This is the feeling of an afternoon spent entangled in covers. The feeling of a cold breeze swooping us up on it burdensome wings. The feeling of a cry so arduous it slices your throat like a steel blade.

0

Apr 22, 2019

Apr 22, 2019 at 8:20 PM UTC

Something about feeling and sound

Water running through toes and over elbows. Cascading down forearms and up necks. Falling in stampedes from underneath eyelids PIT PAT PIT PAT PIT PAT Onto shoelaces and ankles and Fabric draped across our laps. This is the feeling of an afternoon spent entangled in Covers. The sensation of a cold breeze Swooping us up on its burdensome wings Only to ask “Where’s my tip?” and the shrugging shoulders That follow. The rattle of empty pockets. The Shattering of glass and a cry for HELP So incredibly ARDUOUS it slices your throat Like a steel blade SSSSSS SSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS And the clock doesn’t stop ticking Around and around until you’re too dizzy. This is the feeling of water running through toes and over elbows. Cascading down forearms and up necks. This is the feeling of an afternoon spent entangled in covers. The feeling of a cold breeze swooping us up on it burdensome wings. The feeling of a cry so arduous it slices your throat like a steel blade.

22

You are sad today. You aren’t really Sure why, but it’s eating You alive. You are the rabbit in the tiger ’s mouth. You are the elephant ’s tail. You are up from seven to ten wandering the Path of your thoughts and Driving them up walls until They are just barely Out of your reach.

0

Apr 21, 2019

Apr 21, 2019 at 8:09 PM UTC

Today and Onward

You are sad today. You aren’t really Sure why, but it’s eating You alive. You are the rabbit in the tiger ’s mouth. You are the elephant ’s tail. You are up from seven to ten wandering the Path of your thoughts and Driving them up walls until They are just barely Out of your reach.

13