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I am tired of being a ****** property,
by the time I have grown into my skin
all I ought to be
is cloth of a million miles,
I become the sea.
Blamed for men and their poverty,
lack of shame and social precocity
- inspired by years of gulosity -
my sisters and me,
so eroded by eyes, we've reached our callosity.
Woman, with him at war, must reap the sorrows of the land.
Simple and pacing solution, I must reap the life from a man.
she remains anon Nov 2020
Pluck one from the skyline, high above my head
seems like all the sunflowers,
back from summer's heated dread.
I thumb those million petals, counting off and down the way
hoping to hear a "loves me not"
when all that yellow falls away.
He smiles on me with pleasantness, subtle blush along his jaw
and I, still, cannot forget her name,
her name the crows on call.
she remains anon Nov 2020
The way Easter grass felt on bare feet
like sadness in its melancholy dampness,
so sweet
reminds me of the tears that refused to leave your eyes.
Spring, in my mind, much taken a backstreet.
The girls that came only with the sun,
gone with the songbirds, with the nothing and none.
Flowers of pale and humble, simple hues.
You, standing still against a backwards sky searching for blues on blues, on blues.
That tree I’d climb until I could not find need to pluck a pear and fall to the ground
bones all split and worthless, blood gone brown.
By a certain height you start to feel so small,
wondering if to break would matter at all.
As long as May swept between our lips, to your scream, whispering lies.
I fall in love with an empty man,
Watch him through the years,
the fall and the rise.
Now, in your eyes, stolen land;
even the cornflowers have died.
she remains anon Nov 2020
Your words to me
like teeth plunge into a peach
the pink of gum and blood on tile, white.
Lately you have much to teach;
lonely, stone fox is not evil to be,
only when he tears at mouse does it not feel right.
Lets her live with muscles tight...
Trust has replaced the holy three,
made peace an enemy
in her robes of sweet and jasmine green.
And now your smile, by sunlight, bleached
curses the sun that raises East
and breaks the skin of a rotten peach.
Waits for the glory of ending's blinding light...
so glad it stole away my sight...
and I can only feel the dampness in my bed at night.
she remains anon Jul 2020
The aching burn in the stretch of my lung
pulsing Panama ***.
However furious you loved me much
youth is still a blinging hand; gilded blush.
Bring your hands closer, in my head
“Older than your age” he said, he said.
As true as I see growth so near
man of ***** and beard and broken sky
still nibbles, longingly, my ear.
Every tooth I smile, weak and kind,
begs me not to die another time.
Frees me from a waking mind,
breathing fantasies of cheeks, red like wine
and to have you between the sweat of thigh
part my lips, grace my hips, part the red sea; dry.
By tomorrow I'll be prim as the birch moon we loved by
don't remind me darling, darling mine.
she remains anon Jan 2020
There she lay
figure just beyond the rising turquoise spray
spooning sugar right out the jar.
******* her fingers like a babe, woe be to her, far.
Much akin to the salt in the pools by her bay
only so better loved upon the tongue.
So loved better, so tender and young.
There she was, pale feet to sand
in an even whiter dress, the lace to be flung.
Sugar, between the creases of my hand,
press her closer
flavor, the monotony of man.
Curls, red, like hills of strawberry blush
lips wide to such wolfish song.
Sweet fingers, mine to touch,
from still night to golden dawn.
And constellations, in her eyes, between her bones,
upon her nose,
sprinkling her thighs.
Anew with confiture was I, filled with her breath
to lose her would be cruelty, to lose her would be death.
Why - do I love her more than what I know to be?
I'm sorry I could only write of heaven
and not of what she see.
she remains anon Jan 2020
I know I can forgive you
as your eyes take in the view,
of a knife up to my throat.
Your eyes, in sweet loathing, they float.
The red truth on rings,
frantic in my ears
soft as butterfly wings.
Soft as butterfly wings.

Your voice, so near me, an ocean away
crashing and foaming
cursing my life, begging I stay.

Curled, unsure fingers
beneath the dark of my hair,
shadowed and lingers.
The day so forgotten, the moment so there,
forgiven, unfair.
Felt like an animal, fighting be tame,
and your hand - domestication, clutching my veins.

Thought of the clementines you so cherished much
as juice dripped down your boyish arm,
on and on, until crimson pulp, to touch.

Pulls at twin cords,
cold, practiced fear and warmer words.
Same pulse along the jaw.
Familiar flush of jade stroked wings.
The end, hopeless and raw
and the feeling your name, on brings.

Through all spite and longing,
days of sun forever dawning
I get fluttering creatures
still as a hand so seizures.
Deep in place unknown
between belly and throat.
Under gruffest tone
and nights alone.
They will never wish a wing to know
the hurt of hidden bones.
How it come, ever slow.

Your taste, your say, your meaner things,
soft as butterfly wings.
Soft as butterfly wings.

The angst of pain
is so foolish gone
when blade of gruesome lust and flushing hate,
is in your hands.
So, my heart, it stays.
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