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Luke Gagnon  Apr 2013
Starving
Luke Gagnon Apr 2013
Sitting in labyrinths of cobblestone intestines
I’m learning to eat the entrails of sacrifice
only domestic, never hunted.
pick up spoon. put down
put down. put-down.
pick up. um . spoon.
um… putdown.
there are motions for eating and I do them.

soothsayer, look down
pay attention to positions, shapes
knife. butter. um…
bread. no. breadth.
better. no. butter-better.  focus.
knife. better. bread.
knife, knife of haruspex. knife breadth.
okay… deep breath.

I have divided the livers
and the watchers of victims.
I have written on
the anomalies in my bronze living,
what I should look for,
what they should allow for.
my protruding viscera,
my ancient autopsy of starving.

Starving made me easier to tie.
easier to lift. made me feel
gutted out like finished
ice-cream containers
but, starving made me
full of household gods.
made me divine. made sheeps fly.
made days disappear and made cold cold cold seem like
simmering. made staying out of sight a piece of cake.
cake. starving made me rich when I found little
boys betting quarters for eating bowels of
goats. made me small enough to fit through
playground gates so I could swing
swing in earthquakes, and portents.

now, I listen to Memor, a man
who knows nothing of starving
talk about how starving I am.
tomorrow I have to advise
tomorrow I have to weigh
tomorrow I have to swallow
tomorrow I have to
tomorrow I have
tomorrow I am half

and starving made me whole.
Frank DeRose Jan 2018
There are starving artists, yes.
But sometimes I think them more nourished,
Healthier,
Wealthier,
Than many with more dollars to their name,
And food to their claim.

Because at her worst, you see,
The starving artist still has this,
At least--
She has her ideas;
Her work;

Her art,
I mean.

The starving artist might be poor,
Losing in the box score
When all is quantified and qualified for measures of
'success'

But the starving artist is free.
He is alive,
He is allowed to be.

And he has his art,
His heart.

Because the worst kind of starving there can be,
You see,
Is to be stale out of ideas--
To be wallowing in writer's block
Staring at the blank canvas in shock
Holding the pen above the paper,
Cocked.

And unable to fire,
To release,
To express.

The worst kind of starving artist,
Instead,
Feels repressed.

The worst kind of starvation
Is malnourishment,
Not of the soul,
But of the heart--

Of art.
Elise Aug 2017
No romance tonight
Thinking that I lost the fight
Driving home drunk and
All I want is to give up
Can’t see my direction ahead
with these swollen eyes

I want to be on lockdown
I want to be locked down
Alone inside my bedroom
Alone inside my head
Starving while I think I’m safe
All alone but always safe

I want to be on lockdown
I want to be locked down
Alone inside my crazy head
Nothing to prevent these scars
Starving but I’m innocent

No Romance for a while
Knowing that I’m wrong again
Driving home drunk
All I want is my own bed
Can’t see my direction ahead
With these swollen eyes

I want to be on lockdown
I want to be locked down
Alone inside my bedroom
Alone inside my head
Starving while I think I’m safe
All alone but always safe

I want to be on lock down
I want to be locked down
Alone inside my crazy head
Nothing to prevent these scars
Starving but I’m innocent

There’s no romance
Between us
A dark sky
A dark, clouded mind
Nothing to stop losing control
Nothing to let me go
On lock down
All locked down

I want to be on lockdown
I want to be locked down
Alone inside my bedroom
Alone inside my head
Starving while I think I’m safe
All alone but always safe

I want to be on lock down
I want to be locked down
Alone inside my crazy head
Nothing to prevent these scars
Starving but I’m innocent

Starving in my bedroom again
Starving while I’m innocent
Not under the influences
I don't typically write lyrics, but this felt right in the time. I was driving home after a fight with my boyfriend. I wanted to go back to the time when I was very depressed and had nothing. I wanted to be alone again and trapped in darkness. I'm happy to not have gone back to those times. I may not be happy with this relationship right now, but I'm happy to have someone.
Megan H  Mar 2016
Starving
Megan H Mar 2016
I'm starving
For things I've never had.
I'm starving
For adventure
I'm starving
For love
I'm starving
For new experiences
I'm starving
For my own story
Bob B  Dec 2018
Children in Yemen
Bob B Dec 2018
While many people all over the world
Are busily running to and fro
Engaging in cheerful holiday
Festivities, one thing we know:
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.

While Saudi Arabia nonchalantly
Covers up its heinous act
Of butchering a journalist,
We cannot ignore the fact
That children are starving and dying in Yemen.

While Congress fails to intercede
And chooses instead to bicker and quarrel
Over whether America should
Keep supporting a war that's immoral,
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.

While the oppressive Houthi rebels
Backed by Iran dig in their heels
And Saudi Arabia bombs the cities,
Intensifying a clash of ideals,
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.

When ports are blocked and money is scarce,
And fishermen's boats can't leave the shore,
And food and medical equipment
Are cut off in a three-year war,
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.

A 12-year-old girl weighs 28 pounds;
An 8-year-old boy weighs about 30.
Chances are slim that they will survive.
Who dares to say that war isn't *****?
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.

The people caught in the middle are certain
What the fiendish fighting portends:
A huge, unimaginable
Catastrophe unless the war ends,
For children are starving and dying in Yemen.

-by Bob B (12-14-18)
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
I find myself sitting amongst those who I love
And I realize
That I'm alone
I can't properly explain the feeling I get when this hits me
But I can liken it to starving
Starving for company
Starving for a match
Starving for you
The throbbing is almost blinding
I’m up In pain starving & alone
It’s not the pain
I can even be happy alone
(some days)
It is the starving
Not for food

Not

Well not for just anything
Today would have
Would have been

Been
No
Is

Is 1 of those days
Where I’m starving
Because of you
Yes
You

It’s just the ideal
I tell myself
The easy
Oh so easy thing
Because of what I did
I do
Do to myself some nights

Thank someone
Anyone

Because it isn’t
Isn’t ever going to be
Fire knives guns & drugs
Any more
Try as I might
I am going to be
A statistic

Some place
They will have My box
And I will just
Check in

Just not like today
Not one of these days

When I’m starving
For you

When the gaunt look
Is rooted on my face

When my decisions
Have been poor

(“aren’t they all” you gently chime in my mind)

I prefer the old way
A lil’ salve & the
The fire knives & guns
Disappear


Ominously



Obviously





It is one of those 
   Days
Tark Wain Sep 2017
Hi.
I’m a starving artist.
But not for what you’re hungry for.
I want... more.
Fame and money is not for me
but neither is the
one big happy family
I'm a starving artist
and not because my belly's empty
although it is
and not because you don't know my name
although you don't
I'm starving because my body burns
happiness like my metabolism burnt fat
which caused the other girls to hate me
because I looked like what they wanted to look like
even though I didn't like what I looked like
so I'd starve myself or binge myself to fill a void that wasn't there.
I'm a starving artist
not because I'm not someone better
but because it's been so long
oh so long
since I've been
me.
Sarah Spang Jan 2016
Who knew that eyes could hunger?
Mine were starving,
Devouring the sight of you in
Darting, unblinking eyes.
Drawing you in like
Parched lips to a dewy glass.

— The End —