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curious hands
travel my ticklish ribs
squeezing my skin into clay
smoothing my insecurities
stretching my limbs
and as if alone in a meadow
breeze kisses my red cheeks
and daisies hug my short legs
rugged hands trace my chin
such a touch
sends me flying
swimming in the air
floating in lust
breathing in wildflowers pollen
im left lightheaded
lingering lips to forehead
i awake
to a fervor gaze
and fluffed blankets
" goodmorning "
i have a passion for poetry as i do for writing, but i have a hard time creating it myself. some criticism might be nice.
i feel red
i have a lingering dread
always standing out
as if in a quiet crowd
i were a shout
but i do not stand proud
i become still in fear
imagining im on the edge of a pier
pondering the jump
imagining my heart losing its pump
i would only be another domino
another life refusing to grow
im meant to feel red
but without the dread
my eyes stretch in worry
mice run and scurry
dribbled in sweat
i begin my fret
holding my fists
as serpents hiss
fading to black and white
here comes the fright
demons crawl the walls
i begin my tumbles and falls
gravity pulls me down
smiling faces surround
"can you see them?"
i ask
growing off the stem
my petals shrivel brown
i ate a plum today
the deep purple hue
and melting red juice
dribbled over my chin
it wasnt quite ripe
and this is how my poem begins
you arent really my type
standing all akin
mind all a luce
but im drawn to you
what might the knights forsay?
when they see me run
for fun
into your arms
might their ears shriek in alarm?

i ate a plum yesterday
might it have been ripe this day?
leaving my mouth dry and bitter
i would like another bite
my poem is not over
men do not think me polite
i cause their knees to jitter
and this is what the knights forsay
when i ran to your arms that day

"he is a reminder, that looks deceive, a ripe plum is not ripe at all, the act is clear, shouldnt the juice be sweet? shouldnt the corners of your mouth lay sticky? you are instead left bitter, running to an unsavory fruit that longs for your tongue. you do not eat unripe fruit, you throw it aside. this fruit will quake and die quietly where you have left it... do not be a fruit fly, they crave lifeless desperate sweets."
how might you interpret such a poem?

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