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blushing prince Aug 2019
the callous on my fourth finger has disappeared
when I attempt a semblance of a sentence my
hands fist fight with each other and i'm left feeling wiped out
like I should probably put the words back into my mouth
but the fluttering movement of my bones working with joint
leaves me feeling exasperated to see what comes of it
the knuckles turn a peach white and I can suddenly see
that my scrawl on the paper is running around in loopy circles
sometimes they embrace to create something entirely new  
they grab their bodies like they're nothing without the other
foreign nonsense in between spaces
but there's always space
you need that distance to make sure there's room for the empty
and I have come to establish a rhythmic
nodding of head
bobbling of body
lulling of mind when I interact with the dialogue
my hands jump off my table and lament that the writer has become too conceptual this time
blushing prince Aug 2019
watching the same collage video on a loop of
leaves drying up
snow melting under the surface of a sweating floor
you leap up to grab me but there's only a cloud of moonlight coming through your window
you feel the arresting tackle of all the butterflies leaping out of your chest with rapid eye movement like the eyelash kisses you would give the mirror
the fluttering turning their wings into  heavy blades that leave a pinkish glow on your chest

my name was worn out that spring and you never learned to turn the light on at night
blushing prince Jul 2019
i was born on a Monday
all other details have been omitted for their irrelevance
unimportant in the way the morning dew could have clung to the humid trees crying impossibly from the heat
or that on that side of the world everything was brand new but ostensibly old to someone else
my nature doesn't allow me to believe in the mystical and even fate is a faraway dream that I only let myself cradle when I'm feeling particularly whimsical
like right after eating a suspiciously delicious fruit or the fizz from my carbonated drink still remaining even after two hours of sitting forgotten on my kitchen table
the stars do not dizzy me and the twirl that you tried so hard to perfect while spinning me did not sweep me off my feet
but it did garner a sort of appreciation for the way things are
the way they have always been and in that there are little instances of magic gone unnoticed
I was born on a Monday
a casual work day for anybody
routine and abundant
auspicious and careful even in the way I first opened my eyes to see those rays of sunlight I can't remember but know were there
behind a curtain or shrouded past a family of trees
permanent
something in the way things start
blushing prince Jul 2019
the magnitude of that enormous church bell tower swinging forever
under feverish sunsets
the mass of an empty stadium with all the lights on flickering waiting for you to break in after midnight
listening to the deafening of crickets come to a sudden hush as you walk the grass with ***** shoes and grimy fingernails
walking to an empty parking lot with only a couple of stray cars and stray cats
like lonesome entities
stranded in the same desert of hot concrete like you
under the moon you can be anybody
feeling the blanketed weight of a starry night drunk off little bottles of alcohol
when you come to reasoning the logic of why you were in such places bewilders you
waiting for the teen dream to end
blushing prince Jul 2019
there's mud on the front steps
the pools in other people's houses always seem much cleaner than yours to you
when you dip your toes into the chlorine water you think that only the extremely lucky can be devoid of dirt
the thought lurches away from you with each tide your body makes
and you forget what you're really arguing about in the first place
like a band-aid that unsticks when you're not looking
leaving an exposed scab and an embarrassing gravity when you think of whoever will find it next
when driving through houses that all look alike and the expanse is nothing but dry look-alike lawns in the middle of lush trees you can
imagine if you really try that at the end of one of those roads it will eventually lead you to the beginning of the ocean you admire so much
the gravel road kissing sand for miles until you can feel the salty breeze lick your eyes
and once again nothing can hurt you
and once again you're pure in your actions
summer reminds me of riding the public bus with a cd player to big to fit in the pocket of my sweater
blushing prince Jul 2019
i once saw on television a man taking a bath while a woman drew nearer and nearer with a hair dryer that she dropped into the water
there were wisps of lightning bolts and my fear of electrical sockets found footing
flourishing in the air pockets of a hypersensitivity that harbored phobias as I deemed fitting
that summer the thunderstorms seemed heavier than usual and when the power went out your nose instantly gained sweat and my stomach tightened at the idea of a tornado coming to sweep us away
into uncertainty
towards another state that didn't seem so heckled by natural disasters but those don't exist and the barren landscape can almost eat you until you disappear
you're afraid of aging and I'm afraid of not aging gracefully
everyone talks about how time is eternal but as I declutter my apartment I realize time can be found and that the ending comes when things leave a space
blushing prince Jul 2019
eating fast food as I watch you wear your old Hawaiian t shirt you adopted from the bottom of a bin at the local thrift shop because everything has always been comfort over style and you can't change now
a fry falls onto the lap of my thighs and you ask me when the last time was I used my kitchen floor for dancing instead of pacing around but my mind falls short into the drops of condensation sweating into a couch that I hate sometimes and admire for the sturdy way it always manages to **** up my back
I'm already what I want to be but I pretend that I throw around my identity like a knick-knack hacky sack and I'll always blame you for the aftershock effect of feeling like I've been spun in a tumbler and left to be drunk by the gnats you breed by never throwing old fruit away
a poem about laziness and the unbearable heat of july
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