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poesuer Jan 8
mud
his exhausted hunch, his purpling heart, his bullet shocked head
he picks the shells off the floor and kisses them
he throws them in the air and dances with them
he lies with them like a great beast would

he lost his life first day of the somme;
his medals worth no more than their weight

he cracks the bullets open like a rat underfoot
and he creates, he paints and he sings
and he could have really been something if God had saved him
poesuer Dec 2018
"There will surly be a place for you," a wise old woman said
"Not on god's green earth, only in heaven above, will there be a place for you."
The concept of a happy peaceful afterlife is very dangerous if you say it to the wrong person. Not that I think it's not a valid belief, quite the opposite. It's dangerous to promise eternal happiness to the disinfranchised when the only way to attain it is to die.
poesuer Dec 2018
The dog barks at the mailman, some school kids catch the bus, the sun goes up before going down

A spider climbs across the mirror and she doesn't know the shape of a human being

The dog settles down in his bed, the kids walk home together sweet treats in hand, the lesser stars start to love themselves

The spider got whacked by a hardback book and she doesn't know what a human is
How can one think like a human without being shaped like one
poesuer Nov 2018
a word doesn't have to be real for it to have meaning
nothing has to be real for it to grip your stomach and throat and force butterflies into every part of your anatomy
the emotion crawls under your skin and all you can do is feel it

a woman rises in the dawn with her fiery red hair, eating men like air
you become that smiling woman, only 17 and not even a lady
dying becomes your art, and you are indeed very good at it

a man frowned like thunder and went away, the stars not needed today
you begin to pack up your very own sky, melancholy filling your entire world until it all comes to a standstill
wind does not blow and not even streetlights shine
your very own lover is still in tact, a phone call away even
but he frowned like thunder and went away

a raven, a remorse, a rapping at the chamber door
a madness, a mania, a man whose mind is gripped by loss
a horror that now belongs to you, the pigeons on the street start to quoth "nevermore,"
every crow is an omen, every bird is wandering through purgatory just to torment you,
and you have no loss to speak of

I dreamt I wrote that feeling, I dreamt I put it into words
I dreamt I transcended humanity, I dreamt I became the art
I dreamt about the feeling, I dreamt you felt it too
I've been reading a lot to get out of my writers block and this is the result. three of my favourite poems, lady lazarus by Sylvia Plath, funeral blues by WH Auden, and the raven by Edgar Allen Poe served as main inspo. I tried to make them into something new, about poetry itself and how much of an amazing art form it is. about how you don't have to empathise to be able to feel the intense emotion and power behind them. also, I know 'dreamt' isn't a word. I just like how it looks/sounds more than 'dreamed'.
poesuer Nov 2018
I'm going to have a hard time cleaning up this mess
sorting out the bedsheets and pulling the mattress topper back into place,
throwing out the takeaway we were too drunk to eat

the febreeze won't hide the sweat and rotten food, not very well

my little den of hedonism feels empty without my love to share it with
without his arms around me, without his cologne,

I feel unclean in the morning-after mess
my bf came back for a visit. it was fun, but we made a lot of mess and now he's back at uni and I miss him again.
poesuer Sep 2018
I needed to write something

Maybe about how after you went I was only left with smoke dancing in the streetlights

Or about how the stars were so pretty when my eyes couldn't make out your silloette anymore and all I could do was look up

I thought about writing about a dying lover, a ghost that I could still feel clinging to my body

But that's just not right

You're still here, my halcyon boy

You didn't smile like thunder and go away,
No funeral blues today

tether holding me to earth, I can still reach out and hold on tight

My boy, we won't see each other much

And it'll take some time

But somewhere down the line

We won't be alone
poesuer Jul 2018
There's a man on the radio trying to show the audience how to grow onions

Who has the heart to tell him he's mistaken?
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