dean-1 - Hello Poetry

I claim a hyphenated existence that does not belong to me

0

Apr 7, 2016

Apr 7, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC

I am nostalgic for a place I will never see

I claim a hyphenated existence that does not belong to me

this is panic: your heart forgets how to beat, every muscle in your body tenses, sets a good example your throat closes so your foolish heart can't escape -- you know you're not lucky enough to die like this, but you still hope it'll be over soon. five years later and you think you should understand by now -- wait. did you think there was an answer? did you think this staccato heart of yours, these sweaty palms, actually meant something? you must be new here. kid, they're gonna eat you alive in the Real World.

0

May 8, 2015

May 8, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC

i don't wanna live like this but i don't wanna die

this is panic: your heart forgets how to beat, every muscle in your body tenses, sets a good example your throat closes so your foolish heart can't escape -- you know you're not lucky enough to die like this, but you still hope it'll be over soon. five years later and you think you should understand by now -- wait. did you think there was an answer? did you think this staccato heart of yours, these sweaty palms, actually meant something? you must be new here. kid, they're gonna eat you alive in the Real World.

9

i like to think that there 're always people who make wishes twice a day no matter how old they get, you told me and through the slurs for the first time i heard you hope

0

Dec 10, 2014

Dec 10, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC

11:11

i like to think that there 're always people who make wishes twice a day no matter how old they get, you told me and through the slurs for the first time i heard you hope

9

furious aesthetic and empty grace like broken glass, like shattered inertia holy roman emperors born and raised in missouri gunned down, target practice furious grace and empty aesthetic like tear gas canisters, like shattered bone hidden by roses laid down the highway now ashen, red from embers, red from blood the furious world watches empty screens there is no aesthetic, no grace, in ******

0

Sep 24, 2014

Sep 24, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC

ferguson

furious aesthetic and empty grace like broken glass, like shattered inertia holy roman emperors born and raised in missouri gunned down, target practice furious grace and empty aesthetic like tear gas canisters, like shattered bone hidden by roses laid down the highway now ashen, red from embers, red from blood the furious world watches empty screens there is no aesthetic, no grace, in ******

10

the bus is a slow revolving door and i am its penultimate

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Apr 1, 2014

Apr 1, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC

Untitled

the bus is a slow revolving door and i am its penultimate

3

i wonder if you took all the untitled poems and laid them out end to end how many times they would span the globe and how many hearts could finally rest

0

Mar 12, 2014

Mar 12, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC

untitled

i wonder if you took all the untitled poems and laid them out end to end how many times they would span the globe and how many hearts could finally rest

8

you are not stardust and you are not iron you are not an element on the periodic table and you are not a being crafted for perfection you are blood and flesh you are skin and bone you are all of these clichés and far more but you are nothing besides what you make yourself not forged from iron not hardened by fire but wonderfully fallible and beautifully human

0

Feb 24, 2014

Feb 24, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC

you are not stardust

you are not stardust and you are not iron you are not an element on the periodic table and you are not a being crafted for perfection you are blood and flesh you are skin and bone you are all of these clichés and far more but you are nothing besides what you make yourself not forged from iron not hardened by fire but wonderfully fallible and beautifully human

13

we are the sacrilegious baptizing saints, flinching away from rosaries and counting sidewalk cracks

0

Jan 17, 2014

Jan 17, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC

and

we are the sacrilegious baptizing saints, flinching away from rosaries and counting sidewalk cracks

4

i slept alone, your wrists were my hair. delilah mine, i still love you.

0

Jan 13, 2014

Jan 13, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC

sapped strength

i slept alone, your wrists were my hair. delilah mine, i still love you.

3

today the marsh had a viking funeral all the trees and all the brush floated along in their frozen beds of ice the birds sang in memoriam and even from behind the glass we turned our heads away i wonder where you are and whose funeral you're watching

0

Jan 11, 2014

Jan 11, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC

11 january

today the marsh had a viking funeral all the trees and all the brush floated along in their frozen beds of ice the birds sang in memoriam and even from behind the glass we turned our heads away i wonder where you are and whose funeral you're watching

21