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 May 2015 S
bucky
"i know it's cliche but-"
your throat is a graveyard spitting up coffee grounds and
used tissues / toilet paper / whatever you can get your hands on
(everything you own is covered in blood.
this is normal)
vulnerability turned burial shroud / tent / house
hotels arent wastelands for you to learn to hate yourself with
(
"i know, i know
not everything is a burial ground, etc"*)
glittery and sick and tired
[ and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning ]
 May 2015 S
bucky
I FEEL THE FURIES DESCEND -
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO SAVAGE A PILE OF MEAT AND MUSCLE
THE STENCH OF IT, O GOD
O GLORY SCREAMING, WHY
RAGING AGAINST SOME BROKEN
DYING THING:
PEEL THE SKIN FLAKING FROM MY BACK,
WEAR IT AS A TROPHY
FASHION MY SKULL INTO A SICKLY CROWN
YOU DESERVE THIS THRONE! YOU
REALLY REALLY DO!
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO DIE
FROM SELF HATRED
PUTRID FIRE AND MALEVOLENCE
REMINISCING LIKE OLD FRIENDS, AND
MY FINGERS LYING AT THEIR FEET
I WAS NEVER ALIVE! NOT IN THE
RIGHT WAY, AT LEAST, SING
SONGS OF MY COURAGE
SACRAMENT AND DUST SENT OUT TO SEA
ON A FLAMING BOAT
NOTHING BUT A SHATTERED URN AND A
DECK OF CARDS
AND A SUICIDE NOTE THAT SAYS SORRY,
WRONG NUMBER
THIS ISNT - THAT IS TO SAY, IM NOT -
I CANT BREATHE, NOT WHILE
EAGLES SWALLOW MY LUNGS, A FLY SWARM
TURNED HOLY SCREAMING
REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT!
 May 2015 S
the Sandman
You do a simultaneous favour
To spiderwebs and fire
As they dance in your depth
And I skim across your surface
Skitterishly
Watching the blue flow up into blue
And the blue sink down into blue
Reaching fingers reluctantly down, and up,
Broken only
By the water-colour green in between-
I want to be the surface
That only I can break,
That holds the horizontal
Between you & your sky; I
I want to be within
And outside of your
Deep, light body
At once
(Till I can no longer feel the hot burn
On soles and blazen palms)
And then stay so until spiders
Build their home on my shoulders.

I'll stay still for them,
And you.
So you can make patterns across my arms-
Cobwebby patterns of (strobe) light-
And I will fly inside you,
Because you are my sky.
This is why I now only swim
Upside-down;
Because I feel like I am flying
 May 2015 S
Aveline Mitchell
I bid you all a fond farewell
As these bones turn to dust in capitalist shackles.
No more will my voice be silenced
By gender roles and repression.
My foremothers gave me my rights nearly a century ago
And you still act like it’s pocket change.
No more.

I will rise above this consumerist nation
And be heard.
Feminism means equality, not women over men.
Don’t take offense when I lock my car doors.
You’ve proven yourselves untrustworthy.
“Not all men.”
But enough men.

I am not backing down; I am not giving in.
I am breaking free of conformity,
Barely comfortable in the skin you told me was imperfect.
Flip-flopping your beliefs; I am never good enough for you.
But I will always be good enough for myself.
 May 2015 S
the Sandman
Ink Black.
 May 2015 S
the Sandman
Burn me still, when you do,
With ink on the pads of my fingers
And with my meter scrawled hastily
On the centre of my ticklish palm,
And let me find my sour/sweet chaos
In the order you placed me into,
For I know now and will ever know;
In the madness, there is love.
 May 2015 S
the Sandman
Love Me
 May 2015 S
the Sandman
Would you love me with blue-stained hands,
in the bleary hours of sand-crusted haste?
Would you love me in oversized sweatshirts and sweaty hairbands,
when I have ink on my fingers and creams on my face?

Would you love me barefoot in splotchy grass,
after my ankles have turned brown and green?
Would you love me when I'm crass and when I'm slacking off in class,
or doodling in the corner of a notebook in a dream?

Would you love me anyway
and, if it's not too much trouble,
would you love me every way?

Would you love me as much in a push-up bra
with red-stained lips and curled (combed) hair,
when I love with all the love I have
in the hope of getting some loving back?

Love me fierce and love me gentle;
Love me till all my love is gone.
hold me close till I am warm.

To trying and failing and trying again
because hope springs eternal
in our foolish hearts.
 May 2015 S
the Sandman
Untitled
 May 2015 S
the Sandman
Okay, deep breaths. I can handle this. People do it all the
Time. And I'm a people. Alright, I've got to now enter-
God, oh god. Why, why did I even come here? Okay,,
Maybe no one will notice me if I'm away from centre.
I'll go sit in that corner. Maybe I should go talk to
People; maybe I should get up. No, it's too late.
I'm going to die here. I'm going to throw up.
Oh **** it someone's coming this way.
Maybe I'll just pretend I don't see him.
Wait, oh no. He's saying something.
Oh god, what did he say?
Okay, I'll just nod along.
Smile. Nod. I hope that
There isn't something
In my teeth.
Oh god,,
breathe.
Breathe
-Why
won't my legs stop twitching?
Oh **** it. It's in my fingers now, too.
Maybe I can just peel them away. Maybe
I can peel away my whole finger.
I could peel all the skin right off my body.
I just want to run away. My legs
ache
To run till there aren't any people around anymore.
I wish the world would
give way beneath me and swallow me whole.
If I press my feet down hard enough, maybe..
Maybe the ground will shift and
sink under my feet,
and I can go inside and never have to talk to these people again.
Oh crap when did he stop talking!?
He's just looking at me now; did he ask a question?
I should say something. He thinks I'm an idiot,
I'm sure of it.
I'll just say "yeah." Or no, wait, I'll say "cool."
<<Yool.>>
Oh great. Just **** me.
 May 2015 S
the Sandman
Flye
 May 2015 S
the Sandman
I don't have a distinct poetic agenda
And I can never recollect accurately in tranquility.
All I am is a voice, but
I want to be a loud one
-Not seeking inspiration
Under every rock laying unturned
With a cosmic universe throbbing
Patiently under it.
I want to lie awake at night,
Vowing not to sleep until I reach my next goal-
I want to have goals
And not be a dreamless drunk;
I want to fly
And not flutter;
I want my wings to melt,
Over and over again,
Day after day,
Until I can build wings strong enough
To hold the heat of the sun
Inside them, and then propel further.
I am not Icarus. I am not
An aimless butterfly.
I am with direction.
 May 2015 S
the Sandman
Your hands/your fingers/your palms,
Twined -a vine- delicate and proper
-The one point of softness in you,
I swear-
Around a cigarette that whispers its
Spiral tower wisps
Before it sizzles when you bite it
By accident (you say)
Before it whimpers, and gives-
The best way to die, surely,
To die on the pad of the tip of your
Finger protruding out your
Lovely balmy palm-
Look pretty fab I think! I want
To jump into them
So you can hold me so close
And I can crawl over, unsteady
On new, shortened (further!) legs
To the point on your wrist where
Your heart throbs the most.
In other words,
Be mine.
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