mmildbeast - Hello Poetry

I toss a stone in the winding black of a tunnel just to hear the way it’s flung away from my body and returned to me the circular nature of this tunnel and the echo the ricochet, a sound which lances through me the weight of the drop, the echo the tunnel I fight back with my own repetition I’m afraid to say it, but I say it anyway, “Alive, alive, I’m alive.” the drop in the dark is just a plummet I’ll come back too, if I can if I can I can if it has to repeat, I’ll repeat it five times, 10 times, a hundred times I’ll cast my psyche out on line each morning just to submerge myself in the unknown the circular nature of the reel and the wave the darkest water, the gasp the winding or the knots the line I swim against a current so much stronger than myself the terror in a body fighting to survive, “Live, live, I’m going to live.” the drop in the dark is just a plummet I’ll tear away from anything sharp if I can if I can I can if I have to be anything I’ll become the stone in the dark I’ll tear away from anything sharp against the current against the line my own voice echoes in the tunnel I’m afraid to say it, so I say it again, “Alive, alive, I’m alive.” if it has to repeat, then I’ll repeat it ten times, 50 times, a thousand times I’ll come back I’ll be the stone in the tunnel the drop, the echo a sound that lances through me the terror in a body just fighting to survive “Live, live, I’m going to live” if I can if I can I can

0

Apr 19

Apr 19, 2026 at 2:56 AM UTC

Ideation.

I toss a stone in the winding black of a tunnel just to hear the way it’s flung away from my body and returned to me the circular nature of this tunnel and the echo the ricochet, a sound which lances through me the weight of the drop, the echo the tunnel I fight back with my own repetition I’m afraid to say it, but I say it anyway, “Alive, alive, I’m alive.” the drop in the dark is just a plummet I’ll come back too, if I can if I can I can if it has to repeat, I’ll repeat it five times, 10 times, a hundred times I’ll cast my psyche out on line each morning just to submerge myself in the unknown the circular nature of the reel and the wave the darkest water, the gasp the winding or the knots the line I swim against a current so much stronger than myself the terror in a body fighting to survive, “Live, live, I’m going to live.” the drop in the dark is just a plummet I’ll tear away from anything sharp if I can if I can I can if I have to be anything I’ll become the stone in the dark I’ll tear away from anything sharp against the current against the line my own voice echoes in the tunnel I’m afraid to say it, so I say it again, “Alive, alive, I’m alive.” if it has to repeat, then I’ll repeat it ten times, 50 times, a thousand times I’ll come back I’ll be the stone in the tunnel the drop, the echo a sound that lances through me the terror in a body just fighting to survive “Live, live, I’m going to live” if I can if I can I can

49

in my house lives a small demon she has recently learned to share the heat of my lap my time or my meals I often withhold my supper to show her when sharing is appropriate that my hunger also bears importance in her impatience she wishes to bite me she, too, withholds she still leaves my hand between her teeth to let me know she could though they never sink into my skin I understand her small body could tear me to pieces in an single instance of despair or fear she may hurt me and run and I would miss her long for our lessons in sharing her time or warmth our mutual trust

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Sep 9, 2022

Sep 9, 2022 at 12:32 PM UTC

How do you teach a beast consent?

in my house lives a small demon she has recently learned to share the heat of my lap my time or my meals I often withhold my supper to show her when sharing is appropriate that my hunger also bears importance in her impatience she wishes to bite me she, too, withholds she still leaves my hand between her teeth to let me know she could though they never sink into my skin I understand her small body could tear me to pieces in an single instance of despair or fear she may hurt me and run and I would miss her long for our lessons in sharing her time or warmth our mutual trust

20

I carry my heart on the pelt of a rabid coyote winter impelled and needless pacing it runs away from me faster than it knows premature blooms hold me by the wrists they tear me open with their lonely beauty don’t go as pleaded by roses it was a climb into an abandoned house wind howling through years of dust together we mourn their soft petals ignore how each step may be a great collapse I look for you in every empty room your rhythmic breathing is the slow drum I rip apart the static like a seam the same way the coyote bares its teeth maybe the agony of its foaming mouth is a dream maybe my bed is a pool I drown in each night I surface each morning shivering I never forget the snow or ice driving the shovel in with so much force my palms rip blood or roses or blind white flesh broken by new thorns panting just the same eyes just as wild I watch as my father pulls out his shotgun one bullet echoes in the field a second that feels like years my eyes burn with sorrow and I grip my chest “It wasn’t its fault,” I whisper as though choking “No,” he responds, “But now the misery is over.”

0

Aug 9, 2022

Aug 9, 2022 at 3:55 PM UTC

Rabid.

I carry my heart on the pelt of a rabid coyote winter impelled and needless pacing it runs away from me faster than it knows premature blooms hold me by the wrists they tear me open with their lonely beauty don’t go as pleaded by roses it was a climb into an abandoned house wind howling through years of dust together we mourn their soft petals ignore how each step may be a great collapse I look for you in every empty room your rhythmic breathing is the slow drum I rip apart the static like a seam the same way the coyote bares its teeth maybe the agony of its foaming mouth is a dream maybe my bed is a pool I drown in each night I surface each morning shivering I never forget the snow or ice driving the shovel in with so much force my palms rip blood or roses or blind white flesh broken by new thorns panting just the same eyes just as wild I watch as my father pulls out his shotgun one bullet echoes in the field a second that feels like years my eyes burn with sorrow and I grip my chest “It wasn’t its fault,” I whisper as though choking “No,” he responds, “But now the misery is over.”

29

in a dream my mother ran into a field of flowers each one lit ablaze by the last ray of sun red like her lips red like her hair at war with the deep green sky they dipped and bowed their heads of fire offering a dance to their queen fragile emptiness still with silence no hand was offered her Mona Lisa smile has never held me I was swallowed up by the oncoming storm whipped up into the clouds by rain I watched her tip her body against the wind and fall into the sway like a burning petal

0

Jun 30, 2020

Jun 30, 2020 at 1:04 PM UTC

Poppy.

in a dream my mother ran into a field of flowers each one lit ablaze by the last ray of sun red like her lips red like her hair at war with the deep green sky they dipped and bowed their heads of fire offering a dance to their queen fragile emptiness still with silence no hand was offered her Mona Lisa smile has never held me I was swallowed up by the oncoming storm whipped up into the clouds by rain I watched her tip her body against the wind and fall into the sway like a burning petal

14

train cars sway without the weight of the flock did a new world unfold empty out and flood the streets? each scream along the tracks is into the void I clench my fists in my pockets silenced behind every pair eyes which ones crease with a hidden smile grim comfort with no joy shared and sheared no sir, no sir black sheep with no wool to spare

0

Jun 9, 2020

Jun 9, 2020 at 4:01 PM UTC

One for the little boy.

train cars sway without the weight of the flock did a new world unfold empty out and flood the streets? each scream along the tracks is into the void I clench my fists in my pockets silenced behind every pair eyes which ones crease with a hidden smile grim comfort with no joy shared and sheared no sir, no sir black sheep with no wool to spare

11

the pullgrab the uplift the swallow me whole I choke on the warmth of you a pocket of air trapped beneath the ribs tugging and expanding infinitely as if there was no breastplate and beneath is just the heart a quivering bird nesting enclosed in barbed wire breathing I dig in with short fingernails what is this skinshape what is the encapsulated story held in my marrow why is the muscle so hard to scrape from the bone I’ll be a little boy forever with scabbed-over knees and a pink nose burning eyes that have forgotten how to cry

0

Nov 14, 2019

Nov 14, 2019 at 11:27 PM UTC

Effigy.

the pullgrab the uplift the swallow me whole I choke on the warmth of you a pocket of air trapped beneath the ribs tugging and expanding infinitely as if there was no breastplate and beneath is just the heart a quivering bird nesting enclosed in barbed wire breathing I dig in with short fingernails what is this skinshape what is the encapsulated story held in my marrow why is the muscle so hard to scrape from the bone I’ll be a little boy forever with scabbed-over knees and a pink nose burning eyes that have forgotten how to cry

17

remnants of a star bits and pieces strewn about death like a child’s playroom littered without consequence abandoned kaleidoscope mirror fragments blood splatter prism heaven smeared like paint or jelly the color violet for breakfast bright red lip curled crumbs of the bluest Indian summer trapped in this grin of fire pink gums and overturned snow globe the body of confidence lost to the floorboards glitter impossible to sweep up even more disgusting to hold shining universe adhered unwillingly trapped between sticky fingers

0

Nov 14, 2019

Nov 14, 2019 at 5:36 PM UTC

Snow Globe.

remnants of a star bits and pieces strewn about death like a child’s playroom littered without consequence abandoned kaleidoscope mirror fragments blood splatter prism heaven smeared like paint or jelly the color violet for breakfast bright red lip curled crumbs of the bluest Indian summer trapped in this grin of fire pink gums and overturned snow globe the body of confidence lost to the floorboards glitter impossible to sweep up even more disgusting to hold shining universe adhered unwillingly trapped between sticky fingers

18

what a shrill cry; a thousand sirens I have always hated the way my mind speaks before you every tangle of fire licks the heels of passing gentleness I pry open the shell of us for a hideous pearl and hold in my hands the stillborn body of trust

0

Sep 26, 2019

Sep 26, 2019 at 5:43 PM UTC

Stagger.

what a shrill cry; a thousand sirens I have always hated the way my mind speaks before you every tangle of fire licks the heels of passing gentleness I pry open the shell of us for a hideous pearl and hold in my hands the stillborn body of trust

5