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Dominique Jun 2021
I bet you're #$@&%! other girls
who don't brush ***** out their curls
the type that rides santander bikes and
can't fall for people their mate likes, who
play piano when they say they will,  
and write about romantic things, like walking tightropes
blowing glass or #$@&%
! in your room in spring

I bet you read to them in Latin, bet
they think you're chatting... utter #$@!
and that there's fairy lights above their beds
where you've cuddled all their friends,
it's almost poly, am i wrong? platonic head, you all get on
yes, and they sing
and look like disney when they're close
they're milkmaids, pornstars, near divine
no plasters needed, they shave fine
I bet he'd love to #$@& them too,
because they're handy with their hands,
they have craft tables or play the bass in some punk band
and when they go to galleries they understand
why some artists are grouped with others when
to me it's all whatever, i'll see them all whatever

oh and bless! their kisses mean things
and mine are ill-thought-out and grime
they remind you of the time, with me it's always getting late...
i'm an r/truecrime date-  ​
i think that dahmer's in my teeth
not great for someone scared of meat...

and when you, when you, when when, when, um, i

i bet you're #$@&%*! them and more,
i bet he'd love to do it too,
his ice clear veins like Finnish waters
your endless thirst for Athens' daughters
but i don't really want to know,
don't need you randomers to call;
no cigar shops, sketchpad summer,
not the clash or prop-up vogues
what i really need is sunlight
and myself
i miss her most
this was a rant in poem form and i thought it'd be funny to use symbol swearing to make it look more interesting, use your imaginations (though it did turn some stuff italic aha)
i feel miles better
  Jun 2021 Dominique
With another.
Or perhaps something entirely different.
Don't you get tired of yourself?
The scabs on my knees and elbows crack at the feeling of despair.
They bleed out red and green thread, love and envy for the undead.
This is just an escape,
Another rusting coping mechanism thrown out to the pile.
Don't you ever get tired of yourself?
The routinical sequences living inside my head would agree,
She's exhausted
She's tired of me.
Dominique Jun 2021
shaving dry to set a spark
rub in soap and ride it out
the fingers are so clumsy but
talent brags foam up the mouth

is it the youthful face, or dress  
that clings like foil around the waist?
not self-awareness, but contempt
the true enlightened prophet makes

morality like marbles,
shining silly and misguided;  
never falling out of love, but  
finding better ways to hide it
love me love me love me

*could someone help me change the 4th line of the 1st stanza to make it mean the same thing but sound better? I want the gist of it to be that I boast about abilities despite being deeply insecure about whether they're good enough... you get it*
  Apr 2021 Dominique
Tattered edge.

Hacked leylandii flicker
needle-teeth and sequins.

When foxes cry
I dream - my rag doll baby.

When foxes cry, I hold her tight -
pinch together seams.

Try to feed her. Bleed instead. Flood
her small, sharp mouth with red -

then watch the blood soak in.

When foxes cry, she screams.

When foxes cry
I dream - my rag doll baby.
  Apr 2021 Dominique
Silence is now. The sun is risen 5 hours where you are. It is the deepest twilight here, traffic lights disrupting. My window is playing a videotape of an invisible sunrise. It was directed by viking film students. They included your paintings in the credits. i hate to spoil the ending, but i leave you. The soundtrack was going to be radiohead, but Yorke’s record label yanked it. So silent film. Silent students acting like they never learn for my benefit. If it isn’t already obvious, the film is me. And you’ll never read this letter, as i’m already loading it into the movie reel and projecting it into snowy pine trees somewhere in Canada that i’ve never been.

Previous Lover and Grateful Friend,
Dominique Apr 2021
then from the grimy floor
of the lavender fields' portaloo swells
an endless summer, and it creeps
up the blood orange walls;
each time i take a breath,
the plastic warbles like an underwater thing
we make little whooshes together  
it swells up and leaks out yellow

like i fear the girl's head will,
across the road,
all shaved and shiny like a soft boiled egg
fit to crack if the wrong car swerves
the wrong way...
at such a young age?

or the bees outside
springing up cushions,
decorative soaps, honey,
chocolate even out there from the earth
and i can't kick back and laugh
at how much they must be worth
because my god-

i'm scared of bees-

especially with the lavender
mingling with the sweat
in the soft part behind my knees
because what if they chose to stick there
and build empires from my flesh instead?

i'd be like that little girl;
as good as

sometimes my thighs conduct
like they're made of brass
and there's hail marys in the dust
tiny earthquakes caused by trucks
the tip of an ice cream cone
that isn't soggy

that's good enough

i stayed a little longer
than the trickle did
and you were sort of like the sun under a toilet door
and more importantly you get it

(this is partly meant as a joke- it's a stream of consciousness thing
although that moment really was some type of special)
Dominique Mar 2021
will you come up though?
will i ****
love the bones of you
bones is right

we were circumstance
and christ did we **** the fat
out of that
ripped through the tendons
pummelled the muscle  
gnawed through the marrow
even the cat wouldn't touch us
way we are now and she'll
eat about anything

well.. there's still my thigh
to pummel i mean
in biology until end of term
then summer  
you can watch me puke in bushes
yes summer
blind drunk i won't know you
that ways better
we kiss and act like strangers
so sweet then to each other

all this hatred at the end
they say that that's familiar
it's funny, that resentment
it's just love in a wig
pig, ex PM
that's us
that's us
we are far too similar
for our own good.
hasn't happened yet
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