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Like it or not, each place holds a memory
I may not have played on these streets
But cemented beneath the building lamplights is my first real kiss--
Israeli-flavored, textured like tabouleh--
These shuttered storefront windows are not my version of Brooklyn at nighttime
But I know what it is to turn this dark corner coming home--
Tired from dancing, completely alone--
This rooftop terrace is not mine, not where I crafted a hip adolescence
But it is where I built bases for potluck communities--
Here my love of human connection was crafted, then bourne.
My current apartment is still not really mine--
Belonging, as it does, to the landlords creaking the floorboards above me, their parrot, and their cat--
But it is where boys first slept over, where first I was marked by someone
Leaving their toothbrush, their territorial imprint behind.
I guess I'm saying--
We don't choose which memories get locked in where,
Nor have we any say when they happen or why
We can choose to rage against the imperfection of their sense of timing or location-
As I so often do-
Or we step onto a street of acceptance that these are our Lives, and our experiences
Will happen at their will, where they will, when they will,
And despite their imperfections, we are along for the ride.
"... had an early lunch."
"... already ate... not hungry."
My daily white lies.

One hundred pounds. Most
Teenage girls' dream size, but the
Weight of my nightmares.

"... eating disorder..."
The last words I hear before
My head hits the ground.

I don't even feel
it anymore. My body
Got used to starving.

A penny for each
Meal I've thrown out could buy me
Another water.

Work out until your
Size is small as your daily
Calorie intake.

"You're far too skinny"
They don't see the fat girl that
Lives in my mirror.

- p. winter
what if all the people in your life gone by could come to you in dreams
carry conversations like they did as though the moon induced no sleep
would you still embrace the things they said those nights or try to just forget
reason with your consciousness tonight because you're stuck inside your head  
is there something making all your thoughts collide you cannot seem to grasp
do you recognize the hands of time these days or do the hours pass
sand inside the glass is falling slowly now unlike it has before
giving you and I the space we begged it to and not a measure more
I can't help but wonder if I'm here and now or always somewhere else
I want to speak another language every day but if I can't, be well
What time is it?
there's nothing quite as beautiful as waking up to see
a day that beckons everything you thought could never be
for what does life inside the skin afford us but our death
a chance before we leave it to inhale another breath
but what if we were given able bodies somewhere else
a home made out of grace we used to carry in our cells
eternity unshaken by the aging hands of time
alive when there is nothing left, Truth cannot Truth deny
“If we are faithless, He remains faithful; He cannot deny Himself.”
‭‭II Timothy‬ ‭2:13‬ ‭NKJV
 May 2017 Herman Nucleosis
Waldo
Twas a ghost who wandered along the seaside
And each day she cried
With the rising of the tides.
A fitting metaphor
For her sorrows along the shore
Where she jumped to her death,
And exhaled her last breath.
She suffered alone in misery.
Drowning oh so pitifully,
Figuratively and literally.

She wasn't long for this world.
Even as a little girl,
She'd make herself hurl
And blame the Earth's twirl.
Her darkness wouldn't leave
So oh how she grieved
Over the reality she perceived,
Which was brighter than it seemed.

Her story haunted me
And her memory taunted me.
So I sought out the ghost
Who wanders along the coast.
I found her near the  rocky cliffside
Where her physical being died.
With gray clouds in the sky
And sorrow within her eyes.
I had to ask her why,
Why'd she leave me behind?  
In a world so bitter and unkind?  
She kissed me on the cheek
Said, "Sorry lover of mine.
I did not belong to you,
Nor this time.
Instead  I will wander for eternity,
Eternally a possession of the sea."
tonight I got to see him
oh, he was beautiful
his hair curved to shape his face
his smile perfectly placed

we laughed and smiled
we giggled and danced
all i wanted was to give a kiss
but his heart was a target I've already missed

the night was young and peaceful
happiness floating away into the darkness
he was happy there with me
but with another was where he wanted to be
a lot of my poems are about this boy lately and i'm sorry for that but i've just been so infatuated and i adore most everything about him
 May 2017 Herman Nucleosis
D
It was late and I was starving
So I gorged myself on you

Now you're gone and I'm still hungry
What am I to do?
The Last Day

When he comes for me
I will argue with the man in black
Open a bottle of wine.
When he tells me to hurry I will ignore him
I will open a tin of tunny fish
Never drink on empty stomach.
I will walk to my funeral
Criticise the flower arrangement  
Give the last orders burp and die.
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