Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Aug 2018 · 207
Mary Magdalene
Kyle Summer Aug 2018
Drown me in holy water
since you call yourself a God,
kiss me back to life
to prove you’re not a fraud,

undress me from this white gown,
baptize me in your lies.
You taunt me with your words,
my unholy demise.

Let me worship at your temples
and sooth your aching head,
Whisk me off to heaven
where you promise we’ll be wed.

You have worms in your veins
and I feel it when they crawl,
I chained you upon the cross
in hopes you wouldn’t fall.

My false prophet, I loved you,
you resurrect me from the dead;
but I cannot give my life to you,
I worship myself instead.
A letter to the man who was my Jesus.
Aug 2018 · 1.9k
Unopened Mail
Kyle Summer Aug 2018
Four feet, impeding on the sun,
yet only two of them are mine.

Time is rugged against the grain
of questions falling on white sand.
How come no one consciously believes in
anything except fractured light and filtered water?
He walks on broken heels and birttle bones,
but somehow always steps in time.

My only memory of Jesus
is in the aftermath of a forest fire.
We danced throughout destruction,
and her hollow laughter brought the rain.
She was the beginning of the rapture,
sometimes I think of her and pray.

I got lost six years ago,
on the way to change my name.
I wonder, how could I go missing
if I never locked the door?
Did anything really happen,
or does nothing ever change?

Four feet, impeding on the sun,
yet none of them are mine.
Jan 2018 · 94
Atrocity
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
I may not speak, but I still hear.
You cut like butter and taste like beer.
A rhyme against the sun and sky,
I am not yours to justify.
I hate him.
Jan 2018 · 137
I Think I Love You
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
I have spent hours perfecting the words
to tell you I want to spend the next eighty years
with you
in a stupid white minivan
that's supposedly heading north;
but I can't read maps,
and you can't stand the sound
of the British woman on my GPS...

So we navigate by road signs
and sundials,
somehow we find out way back home.
Jan 2018 · 147
5
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
5
I have no idea
who I am. My fingers bleed,
teach me to concede.
A haiku about dissociation
Jan 2018 · 115
Teenage Rebellion
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
Leather jackets,
black lace,
broken hearts,
a car chase -
“take a drag”
an open ended
offering of peace.
A poem about my first punk show.
Jan 2018 · 98
Breakfast for Dinner
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
She is hazy eyes
cooked over easy,
and I no longer want
to live, or die, alone.
Jan 2018 · 89
Sifting Through Ashes
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
Are you looking for something?
Digging dirt, red-handed,
like a snow so cold it burns.
Are you looking for someone
who’s not looking for you?
Who’s not looking at all?
Jan 2018 · 148
The Bellhops Baggage
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
I feel like clouds

(with you)

for once,

(I am)

weight(less)
Jan 2018 · 250
Classy
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
I hope you like boys who look like girls,
because I like boys who look like you;
but I won't sell my soul for alcohol
even if you begged me to.
Jan 2018 · 239
Underappreciated
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
one.
The first time you ugged me
I tried to trace the outline
of Orion
on your back.
But I messed up half way
and just left the sky black

two.
When your mother asked me
if I believed in god,
I lied.

three.
You are the best road map
I ever forgot to read.
For the love of my life, there are so many times when I should have given you more than I did, but you still stand by me anyways. Thank you.
Jan 2018 · 321
My Ghost
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
No poem
can
articulate
everything
you can
and will
become.
Jan 2018 · 1.1k
Lemons and Lace
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
I fell in love with a girl, she's lemon and lace,
we're spinning through corridors in outer space.

I am nothing but a city-slicker
with a bloodstream of liquor

asking this angelic being to dance.
I don't deserve that kind of chance.

So instead I sit and bob my head,
imagining her inside my bed...

sleeping by my side,
a thought I never tried.

Trust me, I don't want to ****
to know you're safe would be enough.

The ashes of my cigarette
scream the nothings I regret,

for she is made of morphing stars
and I'm brawling in dingy bars.

In my head, she’s just for me...
For her, I’d break reality.
I'm falling in love and I hate it.
Jan 2018 · 197
Loveless
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
we are doomed
to
d i e

we **** to
prolong
g o o d b y e
Jan 2018 · 981
Necks
Kyle Summer Jan 2018
She cracks her bones like whips,
augmenting her limbs and fingertips
like a demon i cannot satiate

Play with me, I hear her shout
and all I want is to get out,
an endless loop I must escape.

I never want to see these dreams again,
a distorted body, my dear friend,
I mourn the monster you've become.

It's time to end what I've begun.
Dec 2017 · 217
Twisted Eyes
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
I met the girl of twisted eyes,
her body scavenged by the flies;
they gasp beneath her ashen skin,
they're drowning in what's never been.
The only way I know how to say goodbye.
Dec 2017 · 130
3 & 4
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
"Good morning" he chirps
as I am mourning my lost
childhood stupor.

"Good night" he whispers
between kissing my cheek and
the door slamming shut.
Two haikus about the first time I thought I understood consent.
Dec 2017 · 327
Goodbye
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
too far,
too far,
the blood runs red.
too much,
too much,
take her instead.

i'll sacrifice her to the stars,
tear apart her beating heart,
i'll do anything for you -
I said this from the start.

too far,
too far,
the blood runs red.
too much,
too much,
take her instead.

she is dead and i am alive,
living wrapped beneath your side
i wish i could say i felt bad,
but she never knew what she never had.
This is based off a video game, I think.
Dec 2017 · 148
The Omnipotent Mortal
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
I am not afraid of anything
that man could ever touch,
I had the stance of warriors
and eyes that saw too much.

There is beauty in the downfall
of this violent tragedy;
I'm calling out your name now,
are you reaching down to me?
A poem for one of my abusers, though he'll never understand it.
Dec 2017 · 196
2
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
2
Bear me from your hip;
bleed me into existence
through the sharpest note.
Dec 2017 · 668
One Night Stand
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
Are we
fated
to fall
apart?
For love is
an eruption of
l a v a
and
s i l k
Dec 2017 · 355
Don't Flinch
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
"Don’t flinch, or else!"

She was born from the rib
of Jesus himself,
an angel’s light dancing
through cigarette smoke.

She nips at my shoulder.
I am older than I thought
I would ever live to be
by about a century and a half,
maybe more,
maybe less -
I second guess myself too much.

Her bedroom is royal blue,
with white lace to match
the thong strewn across the lampshade
like a barricade against the light;
flickering, flickering, flickering...
I can just make out her parents' bickering
in the salt on her lips.

I am younger than I thought
I would ever live to be;
she rejuvenates me,
and I hate every moment
I spend in her head.
Dec 2017 · 232
1
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
1
Why do you sing the
song of ravens, can't you see
I am but a crow?
Dec 2017 · 219
Fragile
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
Hand rolled cigarettes
help me to believe
that I am, in fragments,
an invincible boy
with a midnight grin.
I've been feeling a lot of dysphoria lately, particularly about wanting to be viewed as a boy instead of a girl, even though I don't feel like a boy. I guess I wrote this about my idealized boy self.
Dec 2017 · 1.0k
Mosh Pits
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
She could blow smoke rings,
and was on a first name basis
with all the local punk bands.
I was emptying my chest
to hide her away, because if
her parents came inside and saw
my face between her legs,
they might think anything other
than love, love, love.
An amalgamation of the girls I've loved and lost, as well as a testimony to dating someone who is in the closet.
Dec 2017 · 341
Mottephobia
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
I left the doors open,
and the moths came in
looking for a light
there has never been
in this run-down house.

I am sitting in the dark
while they melt the felt
of the dress I never wore,
to the dance I never saw,
in the life I never lived...
Mottephobia: the morbid and irrational fear of moths
Dec 2017 · 324
Merry Christmas
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
I do not care for these reparations,
or the consequences of creations
made by humanity's feeble mind;
turning clocks, winding time...

Small girls with empty palms,
begging for scraps, singing psalms
to a God who never replies,
to a man with vacant eyes.
This poem is about my feelings on modern Christianity, I guess
Dec 2017 · 340
The Mighty Monarch
Kyle Summer Dec 2017
She has butterflies for eyes
and candy corn for teeth,
rummaging through my innards
for anything she wants to keep;

like the omnipotent fingertips
of a sculptor with no name,
she sorts through my organs
like some twisted little game.
I wrote this poem about the time I spent with a particularly harmful therapist, and how it felt to be (at the time) a child sitting in her office.

— The End —