delilah7n - Hello Poetry

Body is sorry Body came from Other Body Body absorbed symbols Body combined symbols to describe What it might be like to be Body Body saw pictures of its inside And held an old brain Body's pain is created there In Nucleus hell center A space to water the certifiably insane Vortex of tubes that will rot into mush Body released pheromones once Body couldn't help but blush Now Body lays in the dark Body purrs as memory whirs About times that Body bruised And lost its ability to talk about Body To represent Body All the times that Body walked on without itself

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Jun 27, 2017

Jun 27, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC

Body Timeline

Body is sorry Body came from Other Body Body absorbed symbols Body combined symbols to describe What it might be like to be Body Body saw pictures of its inside And held an old brain Body's pain is created there In Nucleus hell center A space to water the certifiably insane Vortex of tubes that will rot into mush Body released pheromones once Body couldn't help but blush Now Body lays in the dark Body purrs as memory whirs About times that Body bruised And lost its ability to talk about Body To represent Body All the times that Body walked on without itself

19

God is a drag queen baby so colorful rainbows are his black and white photographs God swallows glitter by the ton and who the **** thinks he's still reading your late night texts he's moved on the world spins on his heel's axis God wears gold chains and face paint some all knowing clown mocking the rules we sorted out when he bothers to look down

0

Apr 26, 2017

Apr 26, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC

Drag Queen

God is a drag queen baby so colorful rainbows are his black and white photographs God swallows glitter by the ton and who the **** thinks he's still reading your late night texts he's moved on the world spins on his heel's axis God wears gold chains and face paint some all knowing clown mocking the rules we sorted out when he bothers to look down

13

kissing just for practice we’d pour wine on the grass we’d pour beer on the grass nodding off love’s advance imagining bridges laughing through stitches blonde hair in the distance ski monster now wanderer my friend and my friends' pets we’re boy and dogs and women my friends all lost their heads when they lost their pets and lost earrings in between the cracks of the mattress some lost things will fade into blackness the kind in my womb the kind you found in the woods when you lost sight of your hands for the first time then found the light in the spine of a boy with kind diamonds between his teeth it was all me my retinas chose to see the light when brightness was not what i needed i need him to fade back into the blackness of my beer bottle please i need him to see the importance of knees of how his knees folded under his form but return me to the floor once more where carpet holds friction of first dance and what more could religion be than praising the light of men yes ill return to the darkness then seal me behind ***** and let me be but roll me through the grass stained with wine beer and tea

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Apr 24, 2017

Apr 24, 2017 at 10:13 PM UTC

lost pets and kissing for practice

kissing just for practice we’d pour wine on the grass we’d pour beer on the grass nodding off love’s advance imagining bridges laughing through stitches blonde hair in the distance ski monster now wanderer my friend and my friends' pets we’re boy and dogs and women my friends all lost their heads when they lost their pets and lost earrings in between the cracks of the mattress some lost things will fade into blackness the kind in my womb the kind you found in the woods when you lost sight of your hands for the first time then found the light in the spine of a boy with kind diamonds between his teeth it was all me my retinas chose to see the light when brightness was not what i needed i need him to fade back into the blackness of my beer bottle please i need him to see the importance of knees of how his knees folded under his form but return me to the floor once more where carpet holds friction of first dance and what more could religion be than praising the light of men yes ill return to the darkness then seal me behind ***** and let me be but roll me through the grass stained with wine beer and tea

38

Smoke floats between the damp sheets of linen in my mouth. The vacuum of my nose ***** it out. I perch on a faded lawn chair browned from the 2000’s sun. It’s February and 34 degrees. I spent all week getting lost in my phone for hours on end. Some people sip green, barely dancing, the neighbors’ presence. I tell lies so lightly to my new friend. She is 21 and well read. Someone put a hole in her head. We think we move in circles but it’s more like jagged lines. Her dramatic lines pair with my new found mind. We speak of the fear of speaking. We porch hop, chatter box to couches and beds where ghosts hang over heads. Sunlight causes it to end. The morning windows open and the roof is wet. I sip coffee and delay regret.

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Apr 12, 2017

Apr 12, 2017 at 10:48 AM UTC

Cheap Therapy

Smoke floats between the damp sheets of linen in my mouth. The vacuum of my nose ***** it out. I perch on a faded lawn chair browned from the 2000’s sun. It’s February and 34 degrees. I spent all week getting lost in my phone for hours on end. Some people sip green, barely dancing, the neighbors’ presence. I tell lies so lightly to my new friend. She is 21 and well read. Someone put a hole in her head. We think we move in circles but it’s more like jagged lines. Her dramatic lines pair with my new found mind. We speak of the fear of speaking. We porch hop, chatter box to couches and beds where ghosts hang over heads. Sunlight causes it to end. The morning windows open and the roof is wet. I sip coffee and delay regret.

29

isn't it funny how we can now identify rivers from the air i see colored squares of grass living beneath this metal machine a vantage point that humans sought from birds we were always searching for flight formulas or aiming slingshots toward the stars maybe writing songs for the gods sweet melodic pleas so we could levitate- separate into angel dust precipitation- sweaty droplets of liquefied soul drowning the mississippi in pulls of poison from my past lives' organs the very air that dares to guard the rain contains all of the oxygen those bodies had smoked to stay awake

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Mar 28, 2017

Mar 28, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC

thoughts on death at 39,000 ft (clouds as disassembled souls)

isn't it funny how we can now identify rivers from the air i see colored squares of grass living beneath this metal machine a vantage point that humans sought from birds we were always searching for flight formulas or aiming slingshots toward the stars maybe writing songs for the gods sweet melodic pleas so we could levitate- separate into angel dust precipitation- sweaty droplets of liquefied soul drowning the mississippi in pulls of poison from my past lives' organs the very air that dares to guard the rain contains all of the oxygen those bodies had smoked to stay awake

23

it has been so long since my head has bled flower poems about our friendship. they're always such a mess. recycled nostalgia and loose ends. the dark thoughts drip down the tube of my throat. but for now, let's share a beer and flood ourselves knee deep in poetry. what i mean is every mouth has a reference taste for memory. what i mean is green apple holds a photo of four girls in a basement. *** and coke are the boys that we played with. clementine is goodbye and ***** slushies are a bed of pine. whiskey is a winter storm with our queen jane. tequilla is a lost stitch and a baseball game. what i mean is we're a graveyards of tin cans and band lyrics about goldenrod and desire. i'm heavy with the times we reminisce about the two girls on fire. i'm glad knowing dead girls are forever.

0

Mar 14, 2017

Mar 14, 2017 at 11:45 PM UTC

reference taste

it has been so long since my head has bled flower poems about our friendship. they're always such a mess. recycled nostalgia and loose ends. the dark thoughts drip down the tube of my throat. but for now, let's share a beer and flood ourselves knee deep in poetry. what i mean is every mouth has a reference taste for memory. what i mean is green apple holds a photo of four girls in a basement. *** and coke are the boys that we played with. clementine is goodbye and ***** slushies are a bed of pine. whiskey is a winter storm with our queen jane. tequilla is a lost stitch and a baseball game. what i mean is we're a graveyards of tin cans and band lyrics about goldenrod and desire. i'm heavy with the times we reminisce about the two girls on fire. i'm glad knowing dead girls are forever.

2

Sometimes I get up and walk, hoping that I will be lucky enough for some stranger in the street to grab my shoulders and shake me awake. But the city does not give me the validation that I am there. The machinery is too big. We all trek sidewalks while colors conduct buses and horseless carriages. Where else do I exist other than in a flash of eye contact with a stranger? It’s quickly forgotten in a space called later and it can take as long as a minute. Gears in gadgets briefly remember the certain touch of their match’s square angles and the time between their touching is named “experience before comprehension”. This is the foreplay before language’s conception.

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Feb 15, 2017

Feb 15, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC

gears

Sometimes I get up and walk, hoping that I will be lucky enough for some stranger in the street to grab my shoulders and shake me awake. But the city does not give me the validation that I am there. The machinery is too big. We all trek sidewalks while colors conduct buses and horseless carriages. Where else do I exist other than in a flash of eye contact with a stranger? It’s quickly forgotten in a space called later and it can take as long as a minute. Gears in gadgets briefly remember the certain touch of their match’s square angles and the time between their touching is named “experience before comprehension”. This is the foreplay before language’s conception.

2

hangover guides me home again. old news spews through the screens all around me. lies are subjective and time is a flat circle. we are somewhere near the eye of the storm. high ground is the sure plan to suffer so save yourself by submitting to flood. mirrors reveal your fastest escape plan. clouds are coming no matter how hard you blow back, so all you can hope for is snow. we are somewhere near the eye of the storm.

0

Feb 8, 2017

Feb 8, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC

alternative truth

hangover guides me home again. old news spews through the screens all around me. lies are subjective and time is a flat circle. we are somewhere near the eye of the storm. high ground is the sure plan to suffer so save yourself by submitting to flood. mirrors reveal your fastest escape plan. clouds are coming no matter how hard you blow back, so all you can hope for is snow. we are somewhere near the eye of the storm.

12

Crack the window Find me in the left lung of the house's chest I close my eyes and let the sound of white wind trace the shells of my ears with it's smallest finger Ghosts sleep in the morning Electricity finds its rhythm in my veins and I start up again Angels wake with bed head in their best denim I pierce the bed skin to find feathers wear metal wear silk wear flesh I paint time lines in a circle post them on the ceiling and sleep with one eye open I dream of feeling- shut inside believing perverse or the reverse

0

Jan 9, 2017

Jan 9, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC

it's 2017 and we're babies again

Crack the window Find me in the left lung of the house's chest I close my eyes and let the sound of white wind trace the shells of my ears with it's smallest finger Ghosts sleep in the morning Electricity finds its rhythm in my veins and I start up again Angels wake with bed head in their best denim I pierce the bed skin to find feathers wear metal wear silk wear flesh I paint time lines in a circle post them on the ceiling and sleep with one eye open I dream of feeling- shut inside believing perverse or the reverse

19

my view is navy i drive toward your house with sparkler finger-tips not yet lit our time is humid we hush the fire and rock to sleep, guitar wires, manipulating sound waves we whisper secret sounds in the wake of airplane lights moving across cheap glitter in the night sky we bloom into our minds and heaven is the place where clouds diffuse to reveal the moon i scratch my throat on sugar cubes you burn your hands on stove tops and cigar butts we blister fuse together

0

Jan 9, 2017

Jan 9, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC

what Dead Girls do

my view is navy i drive toward your house with sparkler finger-tips not yet lit our time is humid we hush the fire and rock to sleep, guitar wires, manipulating sound waves we whisper secret sounds in the wake of airplane lights moving across cheap glitter in the night sky we bloom into our minds and heaven is the place where clouds diffuse to reveal the moon i scratch my throat on sugar cubes you burn your hands on stove tops and cigar butts we blister fuse together

20