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Caro Jun 2016
On the tip of my tongue you burned like hot coffee,
With a hit of my blunt you’ve undone my lofty, made me a softy,
I wont forget.
Denim jacket leaning down, you’ve got room in your throat,
You’ve got words in your coat,
Pockets full of notes,
Ink on your arms that wrap, wrap around me,
Words pushing on your teeth like braces,
Laces,
Up your shoes that walk all around me,
I won't forget.
Maybe whisper it now or tell me tomorrow,  
In the morning I’ll drink you up and you’ll drink me down.
Denim jacket leaning down, tippy toes to kiss your nose.
You’ve made me a softy,
I won’t forget.
Sweet and simply say it from behind those curtains,
Smoke in your nose from my fire lungs,
Stain my breath with your words,
Blessed syllables,
I won’t forget.
Jaycee  Apr 2015
Panic Attack
Jaycee Apr 2015
Panic attacks for me are shakey.
I start to think everyone's starring,
I wonder what they're thinking.
My resoloution is to get out.
Then the tears come pouring down.
As they do my body follows.
I sink to the ground and try to hide myself.
The sleeves of my jacket become soaked,
And then my heart feels like it'll explode.
Anxiety is a whole nother code.
zebra  Jul 19
How I Love You
zebra Jul 19
like cellophane wraps hard candy
like ink loves to dry
like hot sauce drenches noodles
like sunrise casts shadows
like band-aids sooth cut flesh
like irons crease linens
like origami folds paper
like water floats boats
like a tempest loves a teapot
like syrup and bananas drench waffles
like spoons love soup
like cats love fish
like french fries love ketchup
like wild girls dance
like a crow loves road kill
like eyes love beauty
like a circle loves a square
like buttered buns fit a bikini
like a kissed mouth hungers for wet lips
like moths love a flame
like dogs love assholes
and like panties hug butts

like howling orgasms pulse hearts
like vampires love blood and castles
like dark grapes ferment in bubbling cauldrons
like white loves rice
like madness loves a straight jacket
like a boner loves a cunt
and music gets you dancing

like suns fall through cobalt night all smashing diamonds
  
that's
how i love you
love
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breaths and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard, except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a shed and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, able to accept a momentary peace.

A possible misstep now turns this peace on end with the sharpness of broken leaves. The once relieved brow beckons their wild eyes towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, that formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole and pans over a sated forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.
The only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.
Just something I had fun writing, figured not posting it would be a waste despite it not being "poetry", just an experiment I guess. I feel like it would be good, in like, a high-school, short story competition. lmfao.
English Jam Jun 1
Lips a shade of red so deep it sucks all the attention in the room to her
Legs that trump the very air she breathes
Hair dangling in a fashionable mess
Jacket hanging on her shoulder in true rebel style, voice crackly and relatable
Eyes a window into her harlequin soul, coloured in glass-like turquoise as enriching as the foam of oceans
And when she smiles at me, she gives off the impression that I've  
made her day by looking at her
But she's made my day just by existing
She's chaos unfurling into beauty
I am but a humble star gazer, and she is as astronomical as a nebula on the verge of becoming a fierce star
Who knows when the cliche metaphors to describe her will end?
She's indescribable
A neat lil Beach Boys-e texture there, ey?
I run myself a bath, I put fluffy bubbles and soothing soaps in it, I light candles and turn down the lights, and make sure it's the perfect temperature
To cry in it

I drag myself out of bed, brush my teeth and get dressed, I tediousely organize my room, alphabetical, by colour, I get out my books, I dust the smooth pages
To cry on them

I pick out a fresh shirt, pants, shoes. I tie my hair and dry my face. I put on a nice jacket
Just to soak it with tears

Just to cry

It's seems most of my time these days, is spent on things that stray to sobs
Stray to crying
He Pa'amon Aug 17
"And in a funny way, the shaving of my, uh, head has been a liberation from, uh, a lot of, uh, stupid vanities really. Uh, it has simplified everything for me, it has opened a lot of doors maybe." - Stephen Malkmus, Jo Jo's Jacket

the first layer of skin i shed
was the bra

rid of the foreign metal sculptor producing a deep rift between skin
my third eye, swallowing gazes

rid of my tits , my boobs , my rack
replaced with sacks of fat and nerve and milk ducts
hanging, existing, for no one else
not even myself

the second layer of skin was the painting of the face
the concealing and erasing of imperfections, the lines of laughter of sorrow of life
redirecting attention and importance to the bow and symmetry of the lip

no longer did i have to put myself on in the morning
i woke up as i was, as i needed to be,
bare and uninhibited

my skin now breathed, and for no one else
not even myself

and then i grew another layer of skin,
made of dank tangles to protect my age,
i stopped shaving the years i'd walked this earth, shedding my womanhood

the skin grew to my armpits, little tufts of sweaty, odorous mother nature dozing in a fleshy convex nest

and to my legs, were the tangles wrapped around my ankles
preventing the spreading of the legs for every life
for not every life wanted what was not tame
and what was not tame no longer wanted to be.

my body did not conform,
for it was not brought into this world to be consumed for the pleasure of others

it exists for no one else,
not even myself

and as i was engulfed in this hairy wonder of my own body
i shed the last layer,
the shaving of the head

my brain, my being breathed
porous and exposed
vulnerable to weather and whispers

but i was all at once naked and calm,
having finally peeled away the layers of lusty over-sexualization and constrained femininity that had molded this meat sack that serves me,
a bundle of circuitry and solution balancing and bobbing on the neck

for i exist for no one else,
only myself
inspired by the song Jo Jo's Jacket by Stephen Malkmus
zebra  Jul 26
Burning Land
zebra Jul 26
there are women who love demons
you can see it in their eyes
like a sick hunger
silence in a straight jacket
smiling limbs on a pyre
starring entranced
whiskey blind
as if marveling
at a howling blood-spattered dingo in a crater
seduced to wander off half-naked into a bush of thorns
fingering barbed hooks for heroine kisses
women on fire who believe in nothing
except their atavistic compulsions


they are a burning land
beauty in ruin
ready for the slender whip
and black-toothed kisses
who giggle and then plunge into an abyss

i hold her like a jaw holds teeth
em  Nov 2015
Eden
em Nov 2015
Anger is a little boy in a ripped jacket
who plays tag with Stability too close to a cliff.

Confusion is a child with tangled hair and a purple shirt
who enjoys running circles around Content turning
her flower crowns into razor blades.

Depression is a pale girl with sad eyes who plays
red light green light with Happiness near that old garden
they called Eden who lately seems to be dying.
Hello lovely people! I hope you enjoy!!!
CK Baker Apr 2017
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets
through the green heaps and brown baggers
through the downtown whisperers
and sage solitude souls

Army bands prepare for march
their trench members filling packs with canister and cane
the high command and tricked militia head pinned
quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle

Traffic patterns change at the COP connect
camouflage bearers break formal stride
battle men slip between colorful floats
unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary)
grin in the second suite dying rooms

Twitching men and rubbernecks
sit discreetly on the corner wall
JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute
holy rollers raise a cheer (in a moment of silence)
chess men hold steady
with their ivory cues

Flames belt from the distant sanatorium
streets are alive with crackle and dust
members of the attic group glance down from their glorified perch
an elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now)
sits solemnly in a cold reflective stare

It’s not far from the steely mud holes
from the flying fragments and pierced broken dreams
from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the screw)
the ivy trellis
and flowing white gown
is a nocturne fit
for this elevated rolling highland
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