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 Apr 2017 EtherealOmega
Poetic T
We are but a lingering breath in the
                                  void of existence.

When we exhale a final vocalization
                of our moments that shed a tear.

We are but a grain of earth that grows
                          petals. that will always fall.

Our place is in memory, we are but a breath
                                               
                                              in a grain of sand falling.
 Apr 2017 EtherealOmega
ryn
.
                    Time,
                    space
           ­         and everything in between.

                    Heartaches,
                    tea­rs
                    and secrets that don't come clean.

                    Gambols,
                    laughter­
                    and smiles beaming keen.

                    Deep thoughts,
                    aloneness
                    and the dark places we've been.

                    Handholding,
                    carel­ess hugs
                    and ready shoulders to lean.

                    Reckless stabs,
                    impulsive jabs
                    and caustic words we don't mean.

                    Contentment,
                    count­ing blessings
                    and hope we can glean.

                    You,
                    me
        ­            and everything in between.


.
ill bite my lip
hard
i hate the taste of blood
but suddenly i need it
i need to feel it
on my tongue
down my throat
in my neck
red
like the sea that moses split
in the stories i used to believe and read as a child
but i dont read too much anymore
its a shame really
i could be so smart
wasted potential
i could be so **** smart
wasted space
I could be SO **** SMART
wasted air
I COULD BE SO ******* SMART
WASTED


and as i look back i see a shadow of who i once was
and a shadow of who i could be
and both of those shadows
both of those shadows
are much more beautiful than me
we got dressed up for dinner but didn’t go to the dance
it was prom night and we were wasting time in my friend’s basement
when the question was asked:
how many men in your life are you comfortable around?
‘well,’ we said, ‘what do we mean by comfortable?'
we defined it like this:
how many men in your life could hug you
without making you flinch?
none of us had more than a handful, ticking names with our fingertips.
my total was two-point-five:
because i’d trust my dad with my life in the way that
you have to question authority to know that it’s right,
so i don’t ever **** away in fear from his familial touch.
(i’m the only one of us whose father makes the cut.)
the second name on my list is a kid from AP physics.
his name is trent and i’ve had a platonic crush on him for like a year.
we’ve bonded this year over math socks and clorox and death jokes.
(a few hours after this basement conversation,
we’re going to an afterparty and he yells my name
from across the parking lot;
we meet each other, running, and he collides into me with joy.
i don’t flinch away— i meet him half-way.)
the point five is
tricky
see, half the time, my brother grabs me and it terrifies me,
begging for him to just let go because he’s hurting me,
i don’t like tickling because it leads to panic attacks—
i don’t like unsolicited men touching me let go of me let go of me.
when my brother reaches for me, i flinch—
half the time.
but when he wants to actually hug me,
he just lifts one arm from his side and lets me tuck myself
under his shoulder, loose and gentle and loving, like good siblings.
half the time, my brother is reaching, and that is terrifying.
half the time, my brother is offering, and that is comforting.

how many men in your life could hug you without making you flinch?
take
a minute to think about it, it takes a lot of reflection.
a man without boundaries,
who takes what he wants and touches you when he wants to,
a man who doesn’t care that i’m flinching—
rapists and assailants don’t have boundaries,
they don’t listen when you say stop let go of me let go—
how terrifying it is for someone you know to just
grab you whenever he wants to.
i don’t want your hyper-masculine hands touching me without asking.
not unless you’re part of my two-point-five person list.
otherwise, you're just going to make me flinch.
speed write: 10 minutes
You are a Woman Honey
…Jude's advice to his teenage granddaughter


*If you grow up to be the type of woman
That men want to look at.
Well let them look at you
Show them what a real woman looks like.
Let's thier eyes learn your power.

If you grow up to be the type of woman
That men want to touch.
Well if it's right for you let them
But understand why they want to.

Are they reaching for a drug
A drink a fix to loneliness.
Are are they reaching to touch you
Your heart your spiril your beauty inside.
That wants to help every hurt animal
Or every lost soul.

You are strong not made of
Excuses promises and metaphors.
You are a Woman.

If you grow up the kind of woman
That men want to hold.
Well if it's right let them hold you.
Let them hold you as the woman
Who is smart equal and strong.

Not as the Oracle that can fix their
Lost identity with all the answers.
You don't have them
You are a Woman not a crutch.
Or a drink of wine
Ore a rose petal.
Help him stand
upon his own feet.
Not on yours.

If you grow up
to be the kind of woman
Men want to love.
That's ok
let them love you.
Just know the difference
between being loved
And falling in love yourself.

Falling in love
is flying to the planets.
When you have never left
the one traffic light town.
It is breathing the air
at the top of mountains
Where eagles fly.

And if it falls down
and love flies away.
Do not break up with
its crumbling dust.
Remember
you have seen the planets.
Been to mountain tops.
They will always be beautiful.
And love
will always be beautiful as well.

You will know you are not just
looking for a place to be.
And that you are the place.
A place to be shared with a worthy lover.
Who knows and loves your power
And the magnificent life you can build
With your woman's  hands
And strong woman's heart.

Grandad
Jude
Forgot to say
I love you honey
Grandad Jude
 Sep 2016 EtherealOmega
JR Potts
Sometimes when I think of you
I wish I had all the money in the world
because I want to give you all the finer things
the expensive dinners
the diamond rings
the designer clothes
the tropical vacations
the pearls
the shoes
and basically
every material
desire in this world.

Sometimes when I think of you
I wish I had nothing, nothing at all
because a man with nothing has time
to make love on a blanket
under the star-lit night sky
to kiss you a thousand times
to count the individual lines
inside of your eyes
until he knew them all
like his own reflection
he has time
to listen when you cry
and promise that it'll be all right,
even when he doesn't know
he wants you to know
it'll be all right.
He has time
to hold you tight,
he has time
he has time
he has time
for you.

Sometimes when I think of you
I wish I didn't have to choose
Originally Written 09/06/13
 Aug 2016 EtherealOmega
Soulless
My heart is hammering in my chest
Almost
as
If
It's trying to escape my ****** prison
I'm panting forcing the air in and out of my lungs
Faster
And faster
And faster
Until I can't breath anymore
I'm choking on air
I'm suffocating
Clawing at my throat
Desperately gasping for oxygen
I can't stop
Although the muscles in my legs are screaming for me to halt
My legs won't carry me fast enough
Away from that horrid thing in the mirror
Lights
Cars
And shop windows pass by in a blur
My legs finally give out and I collapse on the ground
I look into a puddle
only to meet the gaze of the one
I tried so hard to escape from




Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.

Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.

Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.

Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.

Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the ****-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.

Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.
Black loom the crags of the uplands behind me,
Dark are the sands of the far-stretching shore.
Dim are the pathways and rocks that remind me
Sadly of years in the lost Nevermore.

Soft laps the ocean on wave-polish'd boulder,
Sweet is the sound and familiar to me;
Here, with her head gently bent to my shoulder,
Walk'd I with Unda, the Bride of the Sea.

Bright was the morn of my youth when I met her,
Sweet as the breeze that blew o'er the brine.
Swift was I captur'd in Love's strongest fetter,
Glad to be here, and she glad to be mine.

Never a question ask'd I where she wander'd,
Never a question ask'd she of my birth:
Happy as children, we thought not nor ponder'd,
Glad of the bounty of ocean and earth.

Once when the moonlight play'd soft 'mid the billows,
High on the cliff o'er the waters we stood,
Bound was her hair with a garland of willows,
Pluck'd by the fount in the bird-haunted wood.

Strangely she gaz'd on the surges beneath her,
Charm'd with the sound or entranc'd by the light:
Then did the waves a wild aspect bequeath her,
Stern as the ocean and weird as the night.

Coldly she left me, astonish'd and weeping,
Standing alone 'mid the legions she bless'd:
Down, ever downward, half gliding, half creeping,
Stole the sweet Unda in oceanward quest.

Calm grew the sea, and tumultuous beating
Turn'd to a ripple as Unda the fair
Trod the wet sands in affectionate greeting,
Beckon'd to me, and no longer was there!

Long did I pace by the banks where she vanish'd,
High climb'd the moon and descended again.
Grey broke the dawn till the sad night was banish'd,
Still ach'd my soul with its infinite pain.

All the wide world have I search'd for my darling;
Scour'd the far desert and sail'd distant seas.
Once on the wave while the tempest was snarling,
Flash'd a fair face that brought quiet and ease.

Ever in restlessness onward I stumble
Seeking and pining scarce heeding my way.
Now have I stray'd where the wide waters rumble,
Back to the scene of the lost yesterday.

Lo! the red moon from the ocean's low hazes
Rises in ominous grandeur to view;
Strange is its face as my tortur'd eye gazes
O'er the vast reaches of sparkle and blue.

Straight from the moon to the shore where I'm sighing
Grows a bright bridge made of wavelets and beams.
Frail it may be, yet how simple the trying,
Wand'ring from earth to the orb of sweet dreams.

What is yon face in the moonlight appearing;
Have I at last found the maiden that fled?
Out on the beam-bridge my footsteps are nearing
Her whose sweet beckoning hastens my tread.

Current's surround me, and drowsily swaying,
Far on the moon-path I seek the sweet face.
Eagerly, hasting, half panting, half praying,
Forward I reach for the vision of grace.

Murmuring waters about me are closing,
Soft the sweet vision advances to me.
Done are my trials; my heart is reposing
Safe with my Unda, the Bride of the Sea.
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