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fika Apr 2023
He lay, slumber, neck perched against the wooden desk covered in a sage silky cloth. Teeth rested against his bottom lips. Through the gap between his teeth is a low-pitched breathing, like a tea kettle finishing its brew in the rhythm of the rise and fall of his stomach. While his thick eyebrows resemble their origin contradicting to the bristly stubble on his head, parading his full cheeks that melt into his quivering chin. His thighs represent the one’s of his mothers with natural aging much to evident for such a young child. His stomach exhibited its roundness, open to the still air.
fika Jan 2023
I'm a soft woman.
fika Dec 2022
If you still read my poems, read this one

I’m going to lay it all on the line

The same way children do when speaking bluntly to strangers, and their mothers have to apologize on their behalf. Although I’m not apologizing.

I think I’m bisexual
I’d never tell you
I’m too afraid you'll never want me back
Like a malignant tumor that you want to make sure is
dead and gone and gone and gone again.

when the sky’s drippy yoke rises over the horizon
You’re on my mind,
If you need it simplified:

1. Yes, this is for you
2. You make me scared to be venerable. Here I am. Take it as you will.
3. I’d never tell you I’m bisexual because I don’t think you’d ever want me
    again. That’s ok.
4. I really ******* miss you
fika Sep 2022
You are the equivalent to
A warm blanket pulled out of the dryer, wrapped around my cheeks.
fika Sep 2022

One shot
Three shots, cheers
My head is spinning

Men-bloodshot eyes fester up my body
As if they try to climb into my skin, to live out the rest of their youth

I-saw a beautiful woman tonight
Mom I might be bisexual?
I-am maybe.

She was wearing black shorts and clogs.
Leather woven into itself
with wooden soles- companions

A boy
Loved my presence
Worth every minute

I wish he was between my thighs
My mother would disagree

A future with someone new maybe.

Random and choppy and bad and confused poem
  Sep 2022 fika
Caroline Shank
Let Us Go

At great risk we go
through certain half deserted
streets.  The lights burn holes
in my contemplations.  The spine
of poetry is fallen and lies
spattered on the ground

Go with me. The vocabulary
inspired by the sea air will
carve runes in the granite.

We travel light. Our skin, like
canvas ingrained with words,

We drop to our knees in
silent supplication.  Sounds
paint where rhyme

There is no tomorrow.  

Caroline Shank
fika Aug 2022
So young but
the world chewed you up
To see the depths of grey
A boy could bear
Layer after
Layer after
Layer after
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