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 Dec 2015 savanna lai
bucky
i can still see you there,
some delirious and shining thing
a beautiful ******* with your
lips puckered, your
cupids bow winking in and out of view
sweet for me, i
feel your mouth in my hair
some kind of ghost kiss
whispering something to me,
breath soft on my brow
i can't read as well as you,
darling
i can't read a thousand things and
still have room for more, my
belly distended with the words, my
heart bleeding for it
my golden swan, did i steal you?
did i break into the giant's home and whisk you away,
little bird? i
feel the sugar on your skin
steam rising from the crooks of your limbs
smiling, a gaping gorgeous maw
head pushed back, knees scraping against
the frozen wall
so pretty i might have dreamed you, maybe
is there any version of this where
i don't end up bleeding? (probably not;
but it'll be a lovely fall down)
 Dec 2015 savanna lai
bucky
it goes like this-
he pulls himself into himself, ribs
collapsing inward in an attempt to become smaller. smoke and mirrors and a jump from a high-rise
he never quite pulled it off, though
he says "brand new, baby
never been used"
holds my hand and tells me a lovesong that ends with:
"and the dust settled."
gripping at my fingers so the bones crack
it sounds more like a confession than a story
and he's never been able to stay still so
he doesnt,
fidgeting away and back, a restless tide
salt licking at his cheeks, and he tastes like a dream
like the ruined rotted boards of a shipwreck
and he smells like smoke all the ******* time. i wanna
romanticize him,
wanna breathe in his lungs and blow out a piece of art,
i wanna dress him up in angel wings
and ask him how close to the sun he can go without melting. split me open
wartime in monochromia, could do this for hours
if i didnt know that it would wreck me. he cant stop
******* open the holes in his jeans, says
he just wants to have control over something. says,
"this is what it feels like to be on fire"
and i believe him.
me: writes poems about people who don't even exist
 Mar 2015 savanna lai
bucky
a person on the metro, six stops from their destination
leafing through a brochure titled How
To Get Rich Quick -
sighing in disgust,
"I was never allowed to go on the metro
when I was young," boasts the woman
sitting beside them, an accessory of
The Scene. a prop
(voice is loud and nasally, and the person - five stops - considers moving)
quick smile, polite:
which means, go away. or, at the very least, don't talk quite
so loud
okay? okay?
a softcover Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary is under the seat, discarded,
Sharpie skidding through it (four stops) at every jolt
of the train.
this is normal, all trains are jerky sometimes, and the loud woman
expresses her concerns.
an old man, older than both people,
older than anything really - coughs.
wet coughs.
the person frowns, but quietly, so
the woman and man won't notice.
(they are well-practiced in the art of subtlety)
three stops. the woman leaves
but the smell lingers
and the dictionary, having slid back
one or two rows for effect
a flock of tourists board. kids in the seats
parents hanging tiredly to safety holds
(be still be quiet keep your hands to yourself, mandy
a little boy of six clinging to the person's jacket with
sticky warm fingers)
two stops, and the boy asks why they look so sad.
what they're reading.
they have perfected the art of silence
but little boys don't understand silence.
the mother hovers in the background
sneaking ***** looks at the person,
wax smudged smile going crooked at the edges
one stop,
the boy asks where they got their hair
(my head;
he is unimpressed)
he is kicking the lonely dictionary
providing it with company,
or maybe unaware.
they leave, and the mother hisses something at them as they pass -
clutches the boy's arm.
the dictionary has been stuck on the word spectral for three days,
and the train hums to life.
 Nov 2014 savanna lai
Caz
my mine
 Nov 2014 savanna lai
Caz
god, what would i give
what would i give just to kiss you again
“our combo move”
“our thing”
to kiss you
to kiss you and bite your lip til you groan
bite your tongue til you **** in that breath
**** in that breath and surge forward
push me into the mattress
kiss me til we’re both breathless
breathless on us

god, what would i give
what would i give to touch you again
touch your beautiful skin
trail my tanned fingers across your pality
kiss your chest
your stomach
anywhere i can reach,
                                    though you hate yourself
                                    though you think you’re chubby
                                                          ­                            (you’re not)

i just want to tug on your hair again
that blooming copper blush
my little male empusa
my charmander
my charizard
                     (better than a dragonite, no matter what you say)

im not one for changing opinions
but id do anything to have you back in my arms
to stretch my arms across your wide back, those muscles you work so hard for

god, you’re still mine

you’ll always be mine

“only if you want to
it’s a deal”

its a stupid deal
how dare you ask me that
how dare you

i want to **** on your neck like the first few times until the bruise blossoms
that tag
that label
“Mine.”

i am no poet
i am no artist like you
but one day i will write you
etch your name into the paper
as i wish you’d etch your love into my skin
as you used to
28th Nov 2014, shakespeare invented words ok so can i shut up
 Nov 2014 savanna lai
bucky
cough up yr misery lungs cough up whatever words u were spoonfed before u knew what words were
god,vermin,what have they done to u
u told me this is what chains feel like,tight bound against ******* silk
tell me,vermin,does it hurt to have yr eyes pecked out?does it hurt to be wrong,vermin?
yr a disgrace(is that what they told u?) but god u look nice tonight
i can see the bags underneath yr eyes outlined by every bad thing u've ever said
god u look beautiful
im waiting for a train.no,im waiting for ten trains,all going in the same direction
24-hour unrest system and all u can think to say is "dead birds
make good pets"
dead poets make good paper
 May 2014 savanna lai
bucky
your eyes are not oceans
and you are not a natural disaster
you are manmade and you will topple
and i will be the one to topple you
because you are a literal bag of human ****
and if you think that telling me
that i deserve ****
will impress your fellow man friends,
you had better watch the **** out
because i am coming for you with a taser
and a buzzsaw
your mra t-shirts can't help you now,
****
love, a very angry feminist.
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