Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
This is the part      where everything                         changes. This is the part          like an orchid                 requires patience. This is the part       where the universe                                     bends                       ¬                       and you fold                                                                the paper                                                         into                                            flowers. Cover me in chrysanthemums. This is the part         where our knees become inch worms      under the table. Cover me in dirt. This is the part       that   comes   on   slow   at   first       then       heavy       urgent       pulses       rush       through       us       adding       impulse       to       injury             manipulating     our insides               twisting        folding             contorting   every nerve             until they RIP. But the pieces don’t get rest. This is the part     where the lions roar     like violets showing their teeth     at the sun.     They nibble the flesh     without breaking     the skin.     It’s paper thin. This is the part     where I ball up my paper fists     and wrestle with the tiger lilies     while you remain at war with my tulips. This is the part     where we dig up the dirt     and we ruin us. This is the part     where the dandelions B U R S T     like supernovas     and suddenly ev-er-y     syll-a-ble            counts. You said     Everyone's b/ r/ o/ k/ e/ n in some way. You said     when you were young     you saw the miracle of birth for the first time     and you've been turned on     ever since. You saw life spring from the womb. I think I saw you mesmerized by the way things bloom. You tell me      about your birds and bees      like how getting your head rubbed      at the hair salon      turns you on. Well, this is the part        where I rub your head        and turn you on. This is the part      where I see your dark side      and learn the true meaning      of the blue in your eyes. This is the part      where you flip me over and tell me "Don't stop." I don't stop. Why would I stop? I can't stop. And     this          is           the              part                  where                         we                             fall   A        p           a         r            t. Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't want this    and I'll leave this bed of marigold and     change   my       form. Tell me you don't want this    and I'll never hold your gaze                                                           to¬o                     l   o    n      g                                        again. Tell me you don't want this      and I'll unfold myself from your side      along with the paper flowers.      You can take back the roses      **** the daises      but leave me the daffodils. Tell me you don’t want this      and our forget-me-nots      will forget us      and our bleeding hearts      will bleed us dry. Tell me you don't want this and I'll rewind the movie play it BACK from the beginning only this time we'll pay attention.      I'll silence the lions      and put them BACK in their cages.                                         I'll bend                       the universe          BACK into shape. But tell me you want this and this will be the part where we pick the paper petals                                                   off  the                                                            stem and                                                                       watch them                                                                                        fall like                                                                                                 cherry blossoms.                                                                  He loves me.                                                                                 He loves me not.                                                                      Forget me.                                                                                     Forget me not.
0
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:55 PM UTC
Origami
This is the part      where everything                         changes. This is the part          like an orchid                 requires patience. This is the part       where the universe                                     bends                       ¬                       and you fold                                                                the paper                                                         into                                            flowers. Cover me in chrysanthemums. This is the part         where our knees become inch worms      under the table. Cover me in dirt. This is the part       that   comes   on   slow   at   first       then       heavy       urgent       pulses       rush       through       us       adding       impulse       to       injury             manipulating     our insides               twisting        folding             contorting   every nerve             until they RIP. But the pieces don’t get rest. This is the part     where the lions roar     like violets showing their teeth     at the sun.     They nibble the flesh     without breaking     the skin.     It’s paper thin. This is the part     where I ball up my paper fists     and wrestle with the tiger lilies     while you remain at war with my tulips. This is the part     where we dig up the dirt     and we ruin us. This is the part     where the dandelions B U R S T     like supernovas     and suddenly ev-er-y     syll-a-ble            counts. You said     Everyone's b/ r/ o/ k/ e/ n in some way. You said     when you were young     you saw the miracle of birth for the first time     and you've been turned on     ever since. You saw life spring from the womb. I think I saw you mesmerized by the way things bloom. You tell me      about your birds and bees      like how getting your head rubbed      at the hair salon      turns you on. Well, this is the part        where I rub your head        and turn you on. This is the part      where I see your dark side      and learn the true meaning      of the blue in your eyes. This is the part      where you flip me over and tell me "Don't stop." I don't stop. Why would I stop? I can't stop. And     this          is           the              part                  where                         we                             fall   A        p           a         r            t. Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't want this    and I'll leave this bed of marigold and     change   my       form. Tell me you don't want this    and I'll never hold your gaze                                                           to¬o                     l   o    n      g                                        again. Tell me you don't want this      and I'll unfold myself from your side      along with the paper flowers.      You can take back the roses      **** the daises      but leave me the daffodils. Tell me you don’t want this      and our forget-me-nots      will forget us      and our bleeding hearts      will bleed us dry. Tell me you don't want this and I'll rewind the movie play it BACK from the beginning only this time we'll pay attention.      I'll silence the lions      and put them BACK in their cages.                                         I'll bend                       the universe          BACK into shape. But tell me you want this and this will be the part where we pick the paper petals                                                   off  the                                                            stem and                                                                       watch them                                                                                        fall like                                                                                                 cherry blossoms.                                                                  He loves me.                                                                                 He loves me not.                                                                      Forget me.                                                                                     Forget me not.
ashley-garreau
Written by
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:55 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem