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Mar 28 · 63
depress
Ashlyn Rimsky Mar 28
it slips
and it dips.

it falls
to the wayside,
like clothing
on the floor
or brown hair
on a pillow.

it waves
in piles
of misplacement
that crash
and fall,

rippling
and blurring
from one day
to the next.
Jan 15 · 70
Apt 3A
Ashlyn Rimsky Jan 15
There is more paint on my hands
Than my canvas,
Which is blessed with an image
Of my dog's ****, and I love it.

There is a small stain
Of yellow splattered memory
From when I knocked over
The paint tube for the 17th time,
And no one yells. I love it.

It is a Friday night at 24,
My first night alone in my apartment.
All of my friends are drinking,
Or spending time with their partners,
But I am here, drinking wine out the bottle,
Sneaking leftovers out the fridge with my bare hands,
Spilling paint all over my ******* self,
Painting a silly doggy ****,
And for once
I am happy
Alone.
Jan 1 · 1.5k
Alone
Everyone asks
"Aren't you afraid
To travel all alone?"

I reply
"Not at all.
I am afraid
To never have gone."
Jan 1 · 53
My Lunch was a Lamb
My lunch was a lamb at some time.

I wonder where he lived,
Where he walked, if he got to
Feel the grass beneath his feet,
Feel the breeze on his wool,
If he had any friends.

I gave it no thought.

I wonder if he had any.

I wonder if he got to live the good life
They say I've been living.

I ought to be more grateful.
Dec 2021 · 262
Missing: Tongue
Ashlyn Rimsky Dec 2021
I used to write a lot,
I had a lot to say.

These days I am quieter,
It's easier that way.
Dec 2021 · 102
Cloud 9-5
Ashlyn Rimsky Dec 2021
I looked outside and saw
The leaves had fallen off,
The grass had yellowed
Some time ago.
I did not notice
For quite some time.

I saw my hands in the glow of clouds
And wondered,
How long has it been?
How much time has gone by?

I want so much more
Than four walls and a bed,
To simply wake up,
pillow under my head,
A meal in my stomach
But I am simply fed up.

The way set in place
By society, blindly
Tapping my way through
A 9-5, 8-6, 7-9,
Why?

When did I lose
The dream for something more?
I am drowning, weighed down
By rigid rules and indecision.
I worry it's too late to save me.
Sep 2021 · 235
Running on My Mind
Ashlyn Rimsky Sep 2021
Two grey sneakers
On a narrow, dirt,
Forgotten path.

An indescribable,
Unbearable urge:

To run away.
To have it.
The boy,
The girls,
The dog.

The house
With a roast
In the oven,
An aroma of carrots
In the air.

Leaves colored
And falling.
A fire going.

No where to be
And be happy about it.
What a dream,
What a dream.
Aug 2021 · 180
Cryonics
Ashlyn Rimsky Aug 2021
They say when you die,
Cryonics can bring you back.

I lay motionless and cold,
Hopeful that life will, one day, return.
Aug 2021 · 73
Black & Milds
Ashlyn Rimsky Aug 2021
Black and milds
Mask the darkness
Of a cold, rainy,
Starless night.

They fill my lungs
The way that headlights
fill the fog,

Leave bits of Ashes
In the cushions -
Glowing, then gone

Now all that is left
Is a hole in the seat,
And a smell I can't get rid of.
Aug 2021 · 142
Fit
Ashlyn Rimsky Aug 2021
Fit
I can fit
In the crook
Of your arm
And the space
Between your lips
And the gaps
So inviting
Between your fingers.

I can fit
On the edge
Of your bed
And the cushion
Of your couch.
Sink your head
On my pillow
Of a chest.

I can fit
Pans of veggies
In the oven,
Fill our mouths
With a temporary
Substance, some
Sustenance.

I can fit
In your phone
As a number,
Paint your background
With the spackle
In my eye.

I can fit
so many spaces,
and places,
and people,
and things,
just anywhere but in.
May 2021 · 108
Lemon Tree Whores
Ashlyn Rimsky May 2021
When life gives you lemons,
You get lemon ******.
May 2021 · 104
poke
Ashlyn Rimsky May 2021
a fleshy finger
makes its presence
known on my left
shoulder. firm
and intentional.
fleeting like your
interest.
May 2021 · 460
Dandellions
Ashlyn Rimsky May 2021
She thinks dandellions are beautiful,
Contagious bursts of sunshine on the neighbors lawn,
Waiting to be wished upon.
Breaths of wind planted
By the mouths of hopeful children.
Ashlyn Rimsky Mar 2021
I am waiting for
Now to be over. When it
Is, then what happens?
Jan 2021 · 298
Brown Dog
Ashlyn Rimsky Jan 2021
It has been months
Since I have

Pet a brown dog
On the floor
Of a living room
That breathed
To the rush
Of chasing.

Felt its tongue
On my cheek -
Sticky with slobber.
Saw it lap at my cup
Of water.
Found it heavy
on my lap.

Came home
To a beating heart
Waiting for me,
What a thought!

It's been quiet
Quite a while.
Jan 2021 · 320
Let It Be
Ashlyn Rimsky Jan 2021
There is no rush,
Only breath.

There is no stress,
Release that notion.

Just let it be,
        let it be.

Listen to your heart beat,
Dance to its song.
Sway to its rhythm
Like you should have all along.

Make an intention,
Set it to motion.
Keep your head
Above life's commotion.

This day is a gift,
This life is a light.
Your soul is a beam
That can brighten the night.

Smile like a full moon,
Shoot like a star.
Be the best you,
The true you that you are.
Dec 2020 · 273
Bored Games
Ashlyn Rimsky Dec 2020
When I say I like to play games,
I mean I like monopoly.
I mean I like rolling the dice,
Playing the odds and hoping
To land on something lucky.

When I get lucky
I land on free parking,
Like the kind on the street
Outside of your apartment.

I celebrate as I am showered
In more kisses than I can count.
I shove them down my throat
To negotiate with later.

As time passes we will
Trade them back and forth
Until every inch of space
Between me and you is occupied.

For a while we will be equal.
We will play nice. Pay small tolls.
Taking only what we are giving,
Trading for mutual benefit,

Growing from one another.
Building houses and visiting
One another's properties.
Not worrying about landing
On one space or another.

Slowly grassy fields turn
To sprawling developments.
Places that some people aim to be,
Make a family, one, two, three.

But we are not the type to, baby.
We will not stop for a white picket fence.
We have personal goals, for personal developments.
We are career driven people.

In the name of monopoly,
We will circle the board until we are dizzy,
Erecting concrete skyscapers one layer at a time,
Building walls stacked on walls
That scream to the sky

"Something was built here."

Something hard. Something heavy.
Something immovable. A concrete block
Concealing a once-grassy field.

I went to visit you there.
I found a ticket on my dash board.
I guess thats why you said you're fine,
But I am not.

These walls cost me a toll that I cannot pay.
I heard the only way to knock them down
Is if one of us loses.

Good thing "It's just a bored game."
Nov 2020 · 96
Reasons for Seasons
Ashlyn Rimsky Nov 2020
Fall blows in like a cold breeze
Sends shivers down my spine,
Makes me weak in the knees.
I want to jump into every pile of leaves
Throw them up and set the sky on fire.

For once I am not scared
To watch the world die.
If for just this moment
I saw its true colors.

Yellow. Red. Orange.
Green. Sometimes Brown.
Vibrant and dying,
Spewing colors into sky
As if its dying breath
Was an exhale of self -
Releasing all that is not necessary
Right here, right now.

I'm starting to believe that there are reasons for the seasons.
Bone-chilling nights where my breath turns to ice,
Warm summer sun and spotless skies.

If fall is the season where eveything dies,
Why do I feel so alive?
a work in progress
Oct 2020 · 591
sunshine
Ashlyn Rimsky Oct 2020
What joy:

To hold
The world
In your arms -

Alive and warm
And soft
And breathing

Chest rising
And falling
Yet rising again

Always rising,
Like the golden
Dawn, consistent,

Always bright.
Always beautiful.
Somehow,

In my arms
Against the odds
I'm holding light.
To my golden retriever, Apollo, who somehow manages to love me unconditionally
Oct 2020 · 79
Merry-go-round
Ashlyn Rimsky Oct 2020
He is five-foot-ten,
Brown hair, brown eyes
with lips that taste like playgrounds -
Something sweet and familair.

He's something to slide across.
A merry-go-round, something that I take for spins.
I'm not sure what that makes me
Besides sort of dizzy.

If I were five
(Or maybe now)
I'd glue our hands together.
Sticky and stuck and stupid.
So sticky, and stuck, and stupid.
Sep 2020 · 355
Crummy Days
Ashlyn Rimsky Sep 2020
Life
is not glamorous
(all of the time).

Sometimes life just is
bags of empty potato chips on the couch,
crumbs in the folds of a stomach.

Sometimes life is a frown,
a heavy body, a dull aching
for something more.

Sometimes life scrolls by
like Mario chasing meaningless flags
or photos on my Instagram feed.

Most times life is a muddy blur
Of the same ****, different day.
Some days I want to run away.

I often sit in a room with myself and do not say hello.
I do not ask how I am doing.
Sometimes I close my eyes and pray I'll disappear,

But I am here.
I am here.
I am here.

Today is a new day.
I have a choice
to make it count.

Like a preschooler learning
one, two, three..
no one besides me can decide.

I can open my ears - I can hear myself.
I have a lot to say.
I can open my mouth -

Shout it out, like a prayer
to my inner goddess.
Today is a new ******* day.

It is mine. Rain or sunshine,
it does not matter.
Matter is what I make it.

It's the atoms and the Adams
that connect us. The Eves
and passing eves.

There are no sinners here, and no saints.
Why? Because I say so.
Today is good because I say so.

Good is what I make it.
Like Good's potato chips
In the folds of a stomach.

Its something to laugh about.
Wrong feelings do not exist.

Sometimes you just need to listen.
Aug 2020 · 626
I Am Content
Ashlyn Rimsky Aug 2020
I am content
here, on the concrete step
carved out for the homeless man.

I am content
with the 30 minute wait
for a bowl of hot eggs.

I am content
wandering the streets
not knowing where to go.

I am content.

When fate comes,
he will beckon.

Home is in the walls of this body,
old creaky bones and toothy smiles.
Soft footsteps fueled by inner hearth.
These arms can hug themselves.

I need not worry.

I am content.
I am content.
Aug 2020 · 1.3k
mouth breather
Ashlyn Rimsky Aug 2020
mouth
breathes heavy.
***** air.
lungs are full
of space.
the butterflies
do not fly -
they are dead.
i coughed them up.
hacked the ashes
of their bodies
into breeze -
some sweet nothing,
some kiss of wind
i hope
will find its way
to your mouth,
wide and lonely
and waiting
for mine.
Aug 2020 · 135
Long Gone Loves
Ashlyn Rimsky Aug 2020
Sue is baking pretzels on a Thursday afternoon.
Flour on her hands, just like we used to.
Its some familair smell in the air,
Deep warmth that fills a room in the abscense of your laughter.

When I asked you if you thought about old loves,
You said she was a snuggie blanket in the closet.
You said she was a car on the side of the road.

I didn't understand just how far thoughts could wander.
They drive me crazy - traversing time,
Traveling places that this body no longer can,
Conversing with lingering loves in my mind -

"I'm building a travel van like you always wanted to.
I'll be travelling solo, and you won't know
Where I'll go and the things I'll see.
Its just for me.

..but I wish it weren't.
If you had the option, would you go?
If you had the option, would you want to know?"

I will always be wandering, searching for home.
I will always be wondering, wishing to know:

"Do you ever think of me
The way I think of you?"
Does anyone else think about their past loves? In what light?

"I wonder whose arms I would run and fall into if I were drunk in a room with everyone I had ever loved." - Unknown
Jul 2020 · 129
Unique Just Means Alone
Ashlyn Rimsky Jul 2020
Soul, you're getting old.

You are tired, worn-out
Dance shoes with a hole
In the toe,

Each tap a tick of time
Unnoticed in
The beating of this body,
The wearing of this sole.

Swaying to songs,
Smiling and spinning,
Spewing lyrics into space
As if the aliens are listening.
This one isn't finished yet, but I like it anyways
Jun 2020 · 516
Goddess
Ashlyn Rimsky Jun 2020
My body is a temple
But the men don't pray.
Jun 2020 · 141
Lost Cause
Ashlyn Rimsky Jun 2020
Where do we go
When we are forgotten
In everyone's minds
But our own?
Jun 2020 · 412
Grocery Shopping
Ashlyn Rimsky Jun 2020
I circle the store at least three times, every time I go.
I can never make up my mind.
Usually Trader Joe will ask me if I'm OK,
Or if he can help me find anything.
Usually I'll lie and say I'm fine,
Squinting intently at the array of fresh greens
But today I asked him..

How can I decide which fruit is the sweetest?
Does it matter where it came from?

Does it matter if an onion is red, or yellow, or "sweet"
If they all will make me cry?

What's the difference between a fig and a date?
How come I can never find either of them?

If swiss chard is so good for you,
Why does it taste so bad going down?

Why do beans make you farty?
How is that a "magic fruit?"

Why is everyone blind to the lie
That carrots make your eyesight better?

Is it toe-may-toe or toe-mat-toe?
Poe-tay-toe or poe-tat-toe?
Does it matter?
Does any of this matter?

He replied, "Ma'am, my name isn't Joe. I don't know. I just work here.. and they definitely don't pay me enough for this."

So I left with an empty bag, and a heavy mind.
Please provide any constructive criticism that you are willing to share!
Jun 2020 · 120
Cushions
Ashlyn Rimsky Jun 2020
I recently traded my air mattress
For a big, thick, fancy one.
We had to heave it up the stairs and around the bends,
Laughing and sweating and crying the whole way.
My arms were so sore, and we were all so tired,
But I slept oh so sound.
Jun 2020 · 216
Golden Boy
Ashlyn Rimsky Jun 2020
Golden boy, my ray of sunshine,
You'll never know how much
Your radiance soothes my lows.
It seems so simple,
A furry back on my toes,
A lapping tongue, a wet black nose,
But you're so much more to me
Golden boy, my ray of sunshine,
And you'll never know.
Jun 2020 · 253
Joe
Ashlyn Rimsky Jun 2020
Joe
Joe is the first thing on my mind
When I open my eyes in the morning.
I long for his warm embrace,
His electrifying kiss,
The smell of his presence
So familiar to me,
Enveloping me with a sense of comfort.

Without him my day is sad,
My mind foggy and groggy.
But most days Joe is here for my taking.
I sip him in slowly
With a mug more than half full,
Giving me that bit of motivation
That life without him lacks.
Jun 2020 · 178
Thanks for Knocking
Ashlyn Rimsky Jun 2020
I've never been good at hellos.
There is something heavy
In holding conversations
For weeks, or months, or years
Under the notion that some day,
Goodbye will come.

When Goodbye comes I'm never ready,
But I always try to be.
I am 10 minutes late for our date
Taking all of the wrong roads
Just hoping to throw Goodbye off my track.
I release the butterflies in my stomach
In effort to protect my delicate parts
From Goodbye. I fill their void with letters.
Like the giant chocolate ones
You got me on Valentine's day
That spelled "YOU CUTE."
Then, my biggest fear was you
Asking me to stick around. How ironic.
I take L's and the O's and the V's and the E's
And the G O O D B Y E's
Sitting so patiently on the tip of my tongue and swallow them
Unit they're so jumbled
That I forget the difference between the two.
I slur them all together, misconstrued.

You deserve better. I'm sorry.
I know it is not lovely to try to hold
Someone who is on lockdown.
I am scared of what I might catch
If I open that door.
Or worse, who I might lose.

And so I stay silent.
I pull up my mask and
Sit my back against the door
Listening to the lovely way you
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I'll pass you jumbled romance notes
Through the cracks, and you'll smile.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
But you won't understand
Knock. Knock.
How much you mean to me
Knock.
Because I will not open the door
Until you are gone.
May 2020 · 99
She's a Catch
Ashlyn Rimsky May 2020
He says I'm a catch.
I say, "Like corona?"
And laugh contagiously
But he doesn't catch it.

When I fell for him
He wasn't watching.
I just scraped my knees,
And got dirt in my blood.
May 2020 · 166
Vulture Culture
Ashlyn Rimsky May 2020
Turkey vultures perch in their trees -
On two different branches,
In two different trees
Of the same kind.
Two black dots in a pale blue sky.
Each looking past the other one
From their own vantage.
Unfamiliar to the shape
Of their own beak. They do not beckon.
No motive. They will not become
Anything out of the ordinary.
They sit and wait for life to happen,
Or rather, for it to not. Call it oppurtunity.
They flutter their wings and soar
Only towards death. When they find it,
Tearing the flesh from the bone,
Devouring the innards in ghastly gulps,
Pecking til the bones are bare
And their stomachs are full.
May 2020 · 479
Mirror Mirror
Ashlyn Rimsky May 2020
Among the piles of ***** clothes
Beyond the stacks of dishes
Lives a girl you’ve passed before
A truly absurd missus.

She shows the moon her moonlight
And showers in the rain.
If you glanced your eyes upon her
You would wonder if she's sane.

She wears two different shoes
One black and yet one red.
She even has three hair colors
That grow out of her head.

Her skin is very spotty
White patches all around.
Her head is red and blistered
With scales like dragons crowned.

She has teeth like a vampire
Some pointed and some straight.
I’ve been told she bites people
Who touch her by mistake.

Some people say she is a fool
Who hides behind blue eyes,
Or say she is a tyrant
With a torso full of lies.

Some people say she's misconstrued,
Not odd deliberately.
“Perhaps she's a mishap of God”
They say concernedly.

She laughs at jokes not funny.
She does everything wrong.
One time she walked around the town
With her dress tucked in her thong.

I heard she drinks alcohol
Like it's her morning kiss
And slurs her speech suspiciously
In an evil nasty hiss.

So if you see this missus
I’ll tell you what to do,
Just walk right on past her,
Until you’re somewhere new.

She is not worth your time
Not a second or a split
Not a minute or an hour
Not a day and not a tick

So simply just keep walking by,
Your dignity in check.
Keep your eyes on the horizon
And she's gone within a sec.

Don’t dare to look too closely, ma'am,
Fear what she may do!
If you gave her any time of day
You’d find out.. well.. she's like you.
Apr 2020 · 82
Home
Ashlyn Rimsky Apr 2020
If I were home..

I'd find comfort in the concrete
Etchings on the front porch
Spelled by a six-year-old
With her mom's apartment keys.

I'd open the front door
Like a gust of wind
On a summer day
Just blowing through

And see you sitting there
On the couch, always on the couch
With a red blanket, a box of Cheez It's
And the game

And I wouldn't stop, or think twice.
I'd just yell "I'M HOME!"
And make my way through

The dining room,
With goofy pictures
Of you and Kel
From the fair

To the kichen,
Where I'd open all the cabinets
To the smell of dust,
Empty aside from cosmic brownies.

I'd grab a pack, and come sit next to you.
You'd grab yours too,
And light one. And it would
Glow brighter than any candle
Ever could. And that smell would
Fill me up in ways I no longer
Can feel full. And maybe I'd notice -
That your fingers were yellow as the sun.
Or maybe I'd notice the teeth still in your
Smile. But probably not. Definitely not.
If I'm honest, I wouldn't notice a thing.
And what a gift that would be.
Mar 2020 · 138
I'm Wandering..
Ashlyn Rimsky Mar 2020
Did you ever wonder?
When you wandered?
When the sun rose
on green pastures?
When you frolicked
through the fields?
When you laid down
and felt it on your skin?
That soft meadow,
That summer sun,
That fragrant air.

And did you ever wonder?
When you wandered?
When the leaves died and bled
all the colors of the sunset?
When you watched them fall,
slowly, to rest with the earth?
When they floated around you
and crumbled them beneath your feet?
That crunch.
That rustle.
That rot.

And did you ever wonder?
When you wandered?
When the fields froze and
the moon no longer shone?
When your breath turned to ice?
When the cold came to chatter you mouth? To shatter your bones?
When it was dark and you were alone?
I am dying to know:
When the frost came to bite you,
Did you feel it?

And do you ever wonder?
When you rub those bloodied hands on sticks and stones,
just hoping to make a spark, if it will ever catch the same?
Mar 2020 · 134
the last supper
Ashlyn Rimsky Mar 2020
he swallows her.

slowly, then all at once.
presses his lips to her cheeks to
watch the color bleed across her face,
like an ink blot in water
but reversed.
her creator amends his mind
and draws the color from her skin.

she was so lovely.
he imagined what could be
with colors as beauteous as these
and though she begs him not to,
he proceeds.

she screams,
and he is pleased.
he gulps them down in kisses.
drinks her last breaths down
like the finest Cabernet
that ran dry on her birthday.
her nails scratch prophecies in his back,
possess him until becomes a wolf
in the moon-like whites of her glossy eyes.
he is wild. he breaks bread and
***** the marrow from her bones.
a sweet slaughter, splendid sacrifice.
her colors dripping down his face
a perfect masterpiece.
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