girl-diffused - Hello Poetry

The unraveling starts in bedrooms Always, first with the skin, Flesh melting away Tender molting, Each joining feels like a sacred offering Gloria Patri, et Filio… Ave Maria, gratia plena… Your fingers are so tender, my skin pliable, alive Burning. I’m keening, moving rhythmically– Placid stirrings of the sea. When you reach inside, it feels like a baptism. How do you do that? How do we do that? Burn & revive ourselves. Eis quos amo Peur perfectus fractus After we’ve exchanged ****** offerings– Fluid, teeth, & skin We collapse into soft, melted darkness. Your hands find my face, cradling my hurt. You see me with such Reverence & adoration. Am I a goddess to you? Do I terrify you? “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Now we’re truly naked. You kiss each part of my face– Cheeks, nose, softly parted lips, eyelids. You see me beneath the sacred cloth. It’s terrifying, I want to say, yet so beautiful.

0

Mar 4

Mar 4, 2026 at 9:42 AM UTC

with reverence

The unraveling starts in bedrooms Always, first with the skin, Flesh melting away Tender molting, Each joining feels like a sacred offering Gloria Patri, et Filio… Ave Maria, gratia plena… Your fingers are so tender, my skin pliable, alive Burning. I’m keening, moving rhythmically– Placid stirrings of the sea. When you reach inside, it feels like a baptism. How do you do that? How do we do that? Burn & revive ourselves. Eis quos amo Peur perfectus fractus After we’ve exchanged ****** offerings– Fluid, teeth, & skin We collapse into soft, melted darkness. Your hands find my face, cradling my hurt. You see me with such Reverence & adoration. Am I a goddess to you? Do I terrify you? “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Now we’re truly naked. You kiss each part of my face– Cheeks, nose, softly parted lips, eyelids. You see me beneath the sacred cloth. It’s terrifying, I want to say, yet so beautiful.

30

The workman told you to bury a curled dark lock Of your dead baby’s hair in the earth, A quiet offering to a quieter god You spent several months weeping to the sky Your small hands curled into your white frock Work was left unattended in your colorful house No food on the stove, No boiling salt fish, or softened dumplings in murky white water The pungent smell of cured fish filling the quieter home The home, austere and shrinking into the long street Your helper comes to do all this Your children understand in their small ways You covered the lock of dark hair with fresh dark soil Palm fronds wave in the wind Salty sea air kisses your wet skin Tears make tracks on your cheeks like a map pointing to Nothingness, like a page of a book with words of moroseness Once you had my mother, birthed her into a world of noise The sure and strong hands of the matriarchal mother, Your mother, who’d delivered more babies than she’d had her numerous children Then you cooked, you toiled, swept the veranda with your broom Left the buried lock of hair in the locked cabinet of your mind Now, when I make the saltfish, I do it with stilted preparation My hands form lumpy misshapen cornmeal dumplings I fry the little ***** of dough for too long, they come out dry I pop one into my mouth and chew There, the fragrant smell of your perfume, Sweet lull of your voice, your birdlike hands.

0

Nov 10, 2023

Nov 10, 2023 at 8:27 PM UTC

of loss & primal ancestry

The workman told you to bury a curled dark lock Of your dead baby’s hair in the earth, A quiet offering to a quieter god You spent several months weeping to the sky Your small hands curled into your white frock Work was left unattended in your colorful house No food on the stove, No boiling salt fish, or softened dumplings in murky white water The pungent smell of cured fish filling the quieter home The home, austere and shrinking into the long street Your helper comes to do all this Your children understand in their small ways You covered the lock of dark hair with fresh dark soil Palm fronds wave in the wind Salty sea air kisses your wet skin Tears make tracks on your cheeks like a map pointing to Nothingness, like a page of a book with words of moroseness Once you had my mother, birthed her into a world of noise The sure and strong hands of the matriarchal mother, Your mother, who’d delivered more babies than she’d had her numerous children Then you cooked, you toiled, swept the veranda with your broom Left the buried lock of hair in the locked cabinet of your mind Now, when I make the saltfish, I do it with stilted preparation My hands form lumpy misshapen cornmeal dumplings I fry the little ***** of dough for too long, they come out dry I pop one into my mouth and chew There, the fragrant smell of your perfume, Sweet lull of your voice, your birdlike hands.

28

I. All I can say is that it is a hum Reverberant, droning, consistent Quiet thrumming along the surface Stirs me awake and then it fills me with Ichor and I sip, sip, and sip (until I'm drunk). All I can say is that it is a hum, Quiet droning, a hushed whisper, Loud screaming inside the head, A piercing headache, sometimes a discordant wail. II. You sit on the porcelain lip of the tub Hooded eyes lowered, your fingertips Pressed together like the steeple of a church I think: Yes, this is what Renaissance painters modeled angels after. Your skin is like a rose-tinged alabaster, your cheeks Suffused with blood. The painter took a measured time with you. "Do you honestly think you'll be okay on your own?" You ask. Silence, she greets you. III. Hasn't my mother violently Ejected me from the nest I'm only a few months old, a nestling Wings awkward and clumsy Beak agape for masticated food (I'm not ******* ready yet) Ejects me Her beak threatens to pierce my shell This is dejà vu. I've conversed before Different room, different domain, Different speaker, a sicker listener I'm as sick, sick as **** now Mind, she hums, crescendo Crescendo high like a choral piece Orchestral, and this is resplendent Everything is gleaming Your face encased in a soft glow Halo of light Your face, cherubic, His face, Romanesque, was sculpted like a Bronze Age statue. "Your mother didn't give you the right set of tools. My mother at least gave me–" he falters. IV. I remember calling the ex 28 times in the span of 2 hours. The policeman, he counted. Thrashing on the floor, weeping like Persephone must've in Hades, like a fallen Mortal reborn as a minor goddess Stripped me, he did though, of my wings Avian feathers streaked with years-old blood My tears, why yes, they're bleeding rivulets. My shit-brown eyes alight on the bleach Yes, sweet death "Stop calling me. I'm ******* another ***** right now," the ex says. V. Memory is so faded, Plays like a scratched and worn cassette tape Mind is a-humming, humming, my mind is Orchestral choir, church choir, Pentecostal Now, I eat ichor, ravenous, now I am Closer to God and she is a woman, Draped in funeral attire She weeps, soundless, a Seer "I don't know," I say. "The med isn't working," you reply Cherubic face shifts and morphs Melts into soft glow light, One with the halo, is the halo Nothing makes sense, everything else does too. My mind races, cassette tapes Whirs, skips, images flash, I weep Weep like Sisyphus Eyes spilling rivers of penny-tinged Crimson, sanguine ichor One day he'll taste it and hate me, Loathe me, the jade-eyed serpent Poison-fanged I'll clutch his scales until my fingers are Cut, welts, mottled bruises, fading scars I will be punished, am punished The illness, the eternal Boulder on the eternal hill, it rolls and rolls, my mouth agape I await my cyclic fate ordained by the Higher God VI. How many men have I lured into the chamber? Drunk on sweet wine or mead? Petrified into osseous Their gazes failing to avert from my Penetrative stare? He was an errant General, beautiful but stupid, his mind a one way road, his temper unpredictable and flighty Oh, how I loved the duality of him We philosophized Theorized on the Gods Laughed at their follies Wondered at the mysteries of the universe, Her deep annals Oh, how I loved the physicality of him Tight, corded muscle, his back like a Wound spring, Bronze hand Grasping a silver sword Hark! His rounded shield is lifted, my hideous reflection stares back at me My eyes, widened, the cup of manna Clatters, soundly in the chamber Reverberates Bounces off my throne of skulls How many men have I–? VII. "Can you honestly say that you can take care of yourself?" You ask from the place atop the lip of the porcelain tub. Your hands, a steeple, a church spire Perhaps, you are a lesser God, perhaps we are all falling Lucifers, wingless, blinded by vengefulness and betrayal Perhaps, he too is–? "Am I an infant to you?" I ask. The headache splits The pain demands, claws at the side of my skull, dances across my nerves, liquid iron on my tongue Because when did I? Oh, Sisyphus you weep! You, who slaughtered so many! Oh, Medusa, you wept, you beautiful serpentine harlot, you ***** you– The choir is a strong crescendo, Ascending, ascending, ascending Lowers like a thrumting and heavy bellow Deep, rich, and full, timbre "Everyone, all your life has said you were crazy, but I don't think you are, I–" VIII. The tapes skip, voices garbled, muffled, Indiscernible and distorted Mind shrieks, lower now, quieter now, Barely audible, a fading whisper, your halo Recedes, soft glow dims Your hands separate, the steeple, no, the Spire collapses. Held breath hitches, Serpentine tendrils become wisps of hair, Cloudlike We are lesser gods, not quite mortal, not quite divine The itch demands to be felt, protests And I, I scream endless into a dark chasm My voice, it does not call back to me It does not– "I don't know."

0

Nov 9, 2023

Nov 9, 2023 at 11:18 AM UTC

medusa

I. All I can say is that it is a hum Reverberant, droning, consistent Quiet thrumming along the surface Stirs me awake and then it fills me with Ichor and I sip, sip, and sip (until I'm drunk). All I can say is that it is a hum, Quiet droning, a hushed whisper, Loud screaming inside the head, A piercing headache, sometimes a discordant wail. II. You sit on the porcelain lip of the tub Hooded eyes lowered, your fingertips Pressed together like the steeple of a church I think: Yes, this is what Renaissance painters modeled angels after. Your skin is like a rose-tinged alabaster, your cheeks Suffused with blood. The painter took a measured time with you. "Do you honestly think you'll be okay on your own?" You ask. Silence, she greets you. III. Hasn't my mother violently Ejected me from the nest I'm only a few months old, a nestling Wings awkward and clumsy Beak agape for masticated food (I'm not ******* ready yet) Ejects me Her beak threatens to pierce my shell This is dejà vu. I've conversed before Different room, different domain, Different speaker, a sicker listener I'm as sick, sick as **** now Mind, she hums, crescendo Crescendo high like a choral piece Orchestral, and this is resplendent Everything is gleaming Your face encased in a soft glow Halo of light Your face, cherubic, His face, Romanesque, was sculpted like a Bronze Age statue. "Your mother didn't give you the right set of tools. My mother at least gave me–" he falters. IV. I remember calling the ex 28 times in the span of 2 hours. The policeman, he counted. Thrashing on the floor, weeping like Persephone must've in Hades, like a fallen Mortal reborn as a minor goddess Stripped me, he did though, of my wings Avian feathers streaked with years-old blood My tears, why yes, they're bleeding rivulets. My shit-brown eyes alight on the bleach Yes, sweet death "Stop calling me. I'm ******* another ***** right now," the ex says. V. Memory is so faded, Plays like a scratched and worn cassette tape Mind is a-humming, humming, my mind is Orchestral choir, church choir, Pentecostal Now, I eat ichor, ravenous, now I am Closer to God and she is a woman, Draped in funeral attire She weeps, soundless, a Seer "I don't know," I say. "The med isn't working," you reply Cherubic face shifts and morphs Melts into soft glow light, One with the halo, is the halo Nothing makes sense, everything else does too. My mind races, cassette tapes Whirs, skips, images flash, I weep Weep like Sisyphus Eyes spilling rivers of penny-tinged Crimson, sanguine ichor One day he'll taste it and hate me, Loathe me, the jade-eyed serpent Poison-fanged I'll clutch his scales until my fingers are Cut, welts, mottled bruises, fading scars I will be punished, am punished The illness, the eternal Boulder on the eternal hill, it rolls and rolls, my mouth agape I await my cyclic fate ordained by the Higher God VI. How many men have I lured into the chamber? Drunk on sweet wine or mead? Petrified into osseous Their gazes failing to avert from my Penetrative stare? He was an errant General, beautiful but stupid, his mind a one way road, his temper unpredictable and flighty Oh, how I loved the duality of him We philosophized Theorized on the Gods Laughed at their follies Wondered at the mysteries of the universe, Her deep annals Oh, how I loved the physicality of him Tight, corded muscle, his back like a Wound spring, Bronze hand Grasping a silver sword Hark! His rounded shield is lifted, my hideous reflection stares back at me My eyes, widened, the cup of manna Clatters, soundly in the chamber Reverberates Bounces off my throne of skulls How many men have I–? VII. "Can you honestly say that you can take care of yourself?" You ask from the place atop the lip of the porcelain tub. Your hands, a steeple, a church spire Perhaps, you are a lesser God, perhaps we are all falling Lucifers, wingless, blinded by vengefulness and betrayal Perhaps, he too is–? "Am I an infant to you?" I ask. The headache splits The pain demands, claws at the side of my skull, dances across my nerves, liquid iron on my tongue Because when did I? Oh, Sisyphus you weep! You, who slaughtered so many! Oh, Medusa, you wept, you beautiful serpentine harlot, you ***** you– The choir is a strong crescendo, Ascending, ascending, ascending Lowers like a thrumting and heavy bellow Deep, rich, and full, timbre "Everyone, all your life has said you were crazy, but I don't think you are, I–" VIII. The tapes skip, voices garbled, muffled, Indiscernible and distorted Mind shrieks, lower now, quieter now, Barely audible, a fading whisper, your halo Recedes, soft glow dims Your hands separate, the steeple, no, the Spire collapses. Held breath hitches, Serpentine tendrils become wisps of hair, Cloudlike We are lesser gods, not quite mortal, not quite divine The itch demands to be felt, protests And I, I scream endless into a dark chasm My voice, it does not call back to me It does not– "I don't know."

120

Do you ever just pine for someone? The way they smile while talking to a loved one That bright and easy laugh, the gleam in their eye, the knowing...the realization that you're watching them enjoy themselves from across the room Or maybe you're just a spectral spectator Flipping through photo albums, looking through photos that are a permanent snapshot A moment in time A second A few minutes Of them smiling among a gathering of friends They're so happy, they're so brightened and unassuming in their youthful zeal You can hear the bursts of laughter The peals of it Disjointed conversations among friends Maybe one or two have passed on Maybe they just lost touch with them But you look at them now All the same You really look at them You realize that they've changed so much from the person they were in those pictures No more bright laughter No more infectious smiles No more disjointed conversations with gatherings of friends No more college bar hopping No more wandering the backstreets of Venice at night Or Rome Or Britain Or Germany No more spontaneous traveling The light is dim now in their eyes It's like the bulb inside of them has burned out So... You pine for them, for the person that they were yesterday, & days before, & years before you entered their life After your arrival, came a burial Somewhere along the way With the unspoken hurt & unprocessed trauma They died And so ... You grieve

0

Nov 9, 2021

Nov 9, 2021 at 10:47 PM UTC

& so you grieve

Do you ever just pine for someone? The way they smile while talking to a loved one That bright and easy laugh, the gleam in their eye, the knowing...the realization that you're watching them enjoy themselves from across the room Or maybe you're just a spectral spectator Flipping through photo albums, looking through photos that are a permanent snapshot A moment in time A second A few minutes Of them smiling among a gathering of friends They're so happy, they're so brightened and unassuming in their youthful zeal You can hear the bursts of laughter The peals of it Disjointed conversations among friends Maybe one or two have passed on Maybe they just lost touch with them But you look at them now All the same You really look at them You realize that they've changed so much from the person they were in those pictures No more bright laughter No more infectious smiles No more disjointed conversations with gatherings of friends No more college bar hopping No more wandering the backstreets of Venice at night Or Rome Or Britain Or Germany No more spontaneous traveling The light is dim now in their eyes It's like the bulb inside of them has burned out So... You pine for them, for the person that they were yesterday, & days before, & years before you entered their life After your arrival, came a burial Somewhere along the way With the unspoken hurt & unprocessed trauma They died And so ... You grieve

40

Hello old friend, With your tall sweeping evergreens Towering almost endlessly Into a blue clear sky The endless swell of traffic Cars peeling down the street The smell of roasted coffee beans From some hole-in-the-wall cafe The obvious transplant donning an umbrella in the Autumnal warm rain The light sprinkling of water enough To nurture the verdant green Hello old friend, Mt. Rainier, she greets me, Looming ever majestically Over expanses of tree and road Her white peaks cresting over Fields of blossoming flowers The tulip fields scattered across the sloping Skagit Valley, her vineyards spanning for miles and miles Hello old friend, Seattle's grungy nature Masked by her streets of trendy Cafes and farm-to-table restaurants Her mom and pop cafes Her canvas gray dress marred by graffiti And street tags The busker on the street corner panhandling for change The homeless sheltering under a cardboard blanket outside of a Starbuck's The transplant with the umbrella stopping down to drop change in their jar The crumpled dollar The locals who pointedly ignore him on their way to work, to school, back home, to somewhere...anywhere... The constant dazed bustle The stench and pungent odor of **** Curling around every seedy corner and Affluent street crossing Hello old friend, It's been a while Let me nestle into your newness A new coast greets me across the horizon Replaced by homespun everything Pastoral fields where the bovine and equine reside Hello old friend, I suppose you're home now I suppose you're home...

0

Oct 30, 2021

Oct 30, 2021 at 10:46 PM UTC

My Old Friend

Hello old friend, With your tall sweeping evergreens Towering almost endlessly Into a blue clear sky The endless swell of traffic Cars peeling down the street The smell of roasted coffee beans From some hole-in-the-wall cafe The obvious transplant donning an umbrella in the Autumnal warm rain The light sprinkling of water enough To nurture the verdant green Hello old friend, Mt. Rainier, she greets me, Looming ever majestically Over expanses of tree and road Her white peaks cresting over Fields of blossoming flowers The tulip fields scattered across the sloping Skagit Valley, her vineyards spanning for miles and miles Hello old friend, Seattle's grungy nature Masked by her streets of trendy Cafes and farm-to-table restaurants Her mom and pop cafes Her canvas gray dress marred by graffiti And street tags The busker on the street corner panhandling for change The homeless sheltering under a cardboard blanket outside of a Starbuck's The transplant with the umbrella stopping down to drop change in their jar The crumpled dollar The locals who pointedly ignore him on their way to work, to school, back home, to somewhere...anywhere... The constant dazed bustle The stench and pungent odor of **** Curling around every seedy corner and Affluent street crossing Hello old friend, It's been a while Let me nestle into your newness A new coast greets me across the horizon Replaced by homespun everything Pastoral fields where the bovine and equine reside Hello old friend, I suppose you're home now I suppose you're home...

44

You treat me like Aphrodite Venusian goddess rising Pearled milky foam Like clotted cream speckling my dark skin We tumble 'cross the bedsheets Hair pooling around me Tasting each other Briny saltwater and Earth Mingling sweat and it-has-been-far-too-long kisses And I shall never claim another lover As I have claimed you And I shall never mount another man With as much reckless, unbridled Abandoning as I have you You treat me like Aphrodite Shield me from rain With your oversized coat Smelling of clean leather and lingering petrichor You drink from me as if You were Bacchus Drunk off my honeyed lips Like it was fragrant wine Drink, my love Drink and be merry Lay your head on my lap Let me run my fingers through your Sunflower-streaked curls Let me kiss love and loyalty Into your mouth Let it be a contract Love me like Aphrodite

0

Feb 4, 2020

Feb 4, 2020 at 9:17 PM UTC

Aphrodisiac

You treat me like Aphrodite Venusian goddess rising Pearled milky foam Like clotted cream speckling my dark skin We tumble 'cross the bedsheets Hair pooling around me Tasting each other Briny saltwater and Earth Mingling sweat and it-has-been-far-too-long kisses And I shall never claim another lover As I have claimed you And I shall never mount another man With as much reckless, unbridled Abandoning as I have you You treat me like Aphrodite Shield me from rain With your oversized coat Smelling of clean leather and lingering petrichor You drink from me as if You were Bacchus Drunk off my honeyed lips Like it was fragrant wine Drink, my love Drink and be merry Lay your head on my lap Let me run my fingers through your Sunflower-streaked curls Let me kiss love and loyalty Into your mouth Let it be a contract Love me like Aphrodite

31

when you sing, you want it to bloom out of the garden in your bones and out of your heart, and you want it to be like you were thirteen again and you had blooming sunshine in your face you scaled trees, climbed rocks skinned your knees wild and as brazen as the first kiss you stole from some girl spattered freckles on her face you counted with your lips (you got to 14) erected a monument out of your garden but it was bare your bones, dried husks who can pull you out of that water? i can't... neither can she...

0

Feb 19, 2019

Feb 19, 2019 at 4:26 PM UTC

a bare garden

when you sing, you want it to bloom out of the garden in your bones and out of your heart, and you want it to be like you were thirteen again and you had blooming sunshine in your face you scaled trees, climbed rocks skinned your knees wild and as brazen as the first kiss you stole from some girl spattered freckles on her face you counted with your lips (you got to 14) erected a monument out of your garden but it was bare your bones, dried husks who can pull you out of that water? i can't... neither can she...

20

Today (my darling) You fed me Shards of glass (said "open wide") And apologized for cutting my mouth open.

0

Aug 8, 2018

Aug 8, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC

Sadism

Today (my darling) You fed me Shards of glass (said "open wide") And apologized for cutting my mouth open.

6

You j u m p start my machine-heart, Fingers plucking at dust_coated wiring, slick with dark oil Ear pressed to my bloodless mouth, my digital murmur a mechanical purring You j u m p start my machine-heart, fingers coaxing a little warmth into the epicenter, a tiny nugget of coal from your heart to mine I burst aglow and I'm a hearth and I belch out warm delicate red-flames. Make me live, dear Make me live and roar

0

Jun 16, 2018

Jun 16, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC

Machine-hearts

You j u m p start my machine-heart, Fingers plucking at dust_coated wiring, slick with dark oil Ear pressed to my bloodless mouth, my digital murmur a mechanical purring You j u m p start my machine-heart, fingers coaxing a little warmth into the epicenter, a tiny nugget of coal from your heart to mine I burst aglow and I'm a hearth and I belch out warm delicate red-flames. Make me live, dear Make me live and roar

18

Woman, strictly be a r i v e r unto your self.

0

Mar 21, 2018

Mar 21, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC

river

Woman, strictly be a r i v e r unto your self.

12