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Feb 2018 · 669
a day
sweet ridicule Feb 2018
Blue Snoopy mugs and dark black coffee. You smile and I sip. I fling windows open to clean the inside air. It is negative degrees outside but in my bed we wake up sweaty. Bananas and pomegranate green tea, we read late into the night. Not unusually, I am alternating between euphoria and crises every few hours; the weight of existence is immeasurable. You explain the biology of monkeys and how we choose who our children become. I wonder about who I have become. We lay on the pink and the blue rugs and your body lowers slowly onto mine. You say you want a life centered around this; I say I agree. My head is too full of you to say anything more. I rub lavender and chamomile oil over my chest. I think of it when I walk outside and wonder if I am as much a part of the earth as I want to be. You kiss my neck from behind and bring me back. I am always coming and going.
I need to write more prose.
Feb 2018 · 364
sweet ridicule Feb 2018
I love you tenderly.
In the morning your peaceful
complexion soft and your
earth-brown hair tousled
against baby pink pillowcase.
My nose pressed against your
cheek, I try to breathe you in
(inhale the smell of sleep) (longing)
with you I can focus in
on controlling my pulse
The arches of your collarbones
make me ache
your entire self singing of
Feb 2018 · 259
up and down
sweet ridicule Feb 2018
Stand outside put your
hands in front of you catch
the snowflakes in your mittens
bittersweet like lemon green tea I take
these pieces of living and slip them
under my tongue like candies.
I **** on them throughout
the day and remain sane thanks to
the rays of sun twirling across my
dashboard and the wind squeezing my
fingertips till they are blue.
living is a lot
Feb 2018 · 372
sweet ridicule Feb 2018
giggling I am not being
facetious but the sight of you
flying towards me is exhilarating
and quite honestly I can say that
you are the happiest thing I have
ever witnessed.
Feb 2018 · 265
gosh darn physics lab
sweet ridicule Feb 2018
you smell sweaty (and honeyed,
like the Burt’s Bees soap you just
started using) I rest my
nose in the crook of your neck
and shoulder. I should like to
stay here while you do physics
(watching you write is
mesmerizing) but it is 1 AM
and my eyes hurt. I will
wake up eager at 3 AM when you
stumble into bed; pull you close
and mumble that I love you because
I do.
(the sweetest procrastinator)
i love the new soap
Feb 2018 · 263
sweet ridicule Feb 2018
waking up every morning
I roll towards you

sleepy and sweet you
hum softly like a bumblebee

and pull me into your chest
warm and bare; sugary earth smelling

I catch your cheeks in my hands
your bubblegum lips, soft

morning smells tired (patience)
so ideally we could just

stay here.
Dec 2017 · 333
sweet ridicule Dec 2017
swimming behind porcelain eyes
(I have always hated porcelain)
you are hard like ice
a cold arrangement of confusion
permeating the things you touch like
poison (ivy)
I am helpless when it comes
to this
an inside out a promise
clawing for something (but what is it)
Dec 2017 · 254
boy eyes
sweet ridicule Dec 2017
I ask her if she saw your eyes
She said she did that they are the
“boy eyes” but tripled and then
says but “have you seen your own eyes”
I said I hadn’t so I ran to the mirror
to see and started crying
at the way my dark eyes are full of peace
(giant wet pools of love) melting against my skin
through my pores
all because of
Dec 2017 · 599
minha garganta
sweet ridicule Dec 2017
you are splitting me open like
a ripe pomegranate
my back arching beneath you
I am nothing but you
(and come and go and here and upside down)
you say your chest feels like it is exploding
and smile at me half naked in a sweatshirt
sinking into nothingness (everything)
you are garganta do diabo
(my eight year old self feeling a breath of
endlessness for the first time)
and Utah Beach and Mumbai at night
where I am breathless (breathless)
(I am raw here)
twisting my throat splitting
me open like I have never closed up.
Dec 2017 · 211
sweet ridicule Dec 2017
fingers tapping on the seat and teeth
biting into the steering wheel
leaving angry marks (silent screams)
gazing at the fire trucks in front of me
blazing lights blinding and
I am furious
at the way my brain turns me
inside out.
A (un)kind ******* to
the those in the past
(the boys the men)
who have
broken me turned me twisted me
bent me until I fit them
until I could not remember myself
not feeling lonely.
tied until everything was tight
and knotted
(how wicked of you)

and now I am
unwinding (slowly so so slowly) and that is
all I can promise him for now.
(that I will slowly unwind)
Dec 2017 · 218
sweet ridicule Dec 2017
you don’t realize how much it hurts you when he
touches you for a moment and then begs for more
you say “no I don’t want to” and he pushes
(more) (more)
---says you are annoying and dramatic--
but you love him (so)
you grasp for straws you
gasp when he smiles and yet
your love is rotting and it is
filling your bones. All of the no no
I don’t want to” turns into
come back why are you leaving and then
you are clawing for air on the ground
calling your mom trying to tell her
how much you hurt without telling her why
because it might split her open
And that is the last thing you want to do.
Dec 2017 · 498
sweet ridicule Dec 2017
I imagine
Unwrapping you
slowly (softly) a gift that
I have dreamed of
Feeling your skin again (and again)
I am grasping for moments
(for you)
I want to cement in me the
softness of your (living)
the sharpness of your bones
sweet like sugarcane
below your surface.
I am here to catch
every breath between my
tingling fingers
caramel tongue
slowly unwrapping (me)
Nov 2017 · 557
next to wonder
sweet ridicule Nov 2017
furrowed eyebrows, dark brown like 80% dark chocolate
(and arching wind-blown tree trunks)
these songs are guttural
branching through my trachea like
sugar snap pea vines
erupting into my mouth
in the most untarnished manner you are
the grand canyon/the great barrier reef/mount everest
(natural wonders) and
nothing short of
Nov 2017 · 210
short hello
sweet ridicule Nov 2017
the fan whirring and
your eyes are like pools of melted honey.
your stories stir something inside of me and I
am always nothing but sweetness for you.
Nov 2017 · 324
sweet ridicule Nov 2017
In bed (2 am)
Your fingers curl around mine
and squeeze so hard my toes tingle
writing about you is hard
and makes my chest tight.
I want to capture the breathiness of you
and the down along your
firm / soft spine
(goosebumps and all)
Turning me inside out
I can only breathe out a
thank you
and hope that three moments ahead
is present enough.
sweet ridicule Nov 2017
Drops of red drip down my hand it
(looks like blood)
sweet red juice
the cold water is numbing my tingling
hands as I separate arils from peel
one popping bright red jewel at a time
I am learning to be patient with
(traffic and fruit peeling and anger)
this sink room smells like burnt
ramen and popcorn and my socks
stick to the ***** floor
sitting on the ground
against the wall
If this is all there is I swear
I will be happy
Nov 2017 · 315
saturday night
sweet ridicule Nov 2017
something sweet like
burning down my throat
absinthe makes me gag
blurry moments
fill my head like laughing gas
life is a cycle of
breaking chains that I didn't know were there
tearing them off
sobbing or standing in the wind until
your pores are clear of them


my face is numb
trickle down spin
my legs over his
(a gentle caress)
time is irrelevant sometimes
Nov 2017 · 442
round three
sweet ridicule Nov 2017
Fingers small this is the part of
Falling in Love that does not hurt
grab my hand for a second
(mine are cold as always)
tracing fingers I know you are
Because I am boiling
and there is nothing to be done other than to
and act unaware
you pretend to not see me dancing
the way I can dance when I am free
moving hips and legs and arms like melted sugar and heat
you pretend to look away
coffee dripping down my throat
all my books are stained and a bit torn
I am not gentle with books or bags or clothes

But oh
I am so gentle with living and you
here we go
Nov 2017 · 106
come and go
sweet ridicule Nov 2017
a subject of amusement
( the come and go of laughter pinches )
buried under fabric
I resent it all (no more)
pineapples and honeycomb
finding love in the pit
of my stomach
(for trees and cream and earth)
                             /   /
                          /     /
                        /      /
Nov 2017 · 184
sweet ridicule Nov 2017
(not a word in Spanish)
te quiero
with earth and arms
spinning like the words
mumbles in my head
poetry is inherently egotistical
as if reading what hurts
my heart.yourheart.hisheart.
will cure anything
Nov 2017 · 521
to a you
sweet ridicule Nov 2017
brown ringlets
we fall in love gently like raindrops
Love is not like I think but instead
calm and sweaters and hugs and I feel calm
(for moments here and there)
coconuts and socks I want to
remember the softness of you (your hands)
and the fire of you
the way you cry the way you are earth
I want only to tell you that the way you (are)
sing , dance
make me love you more (often)
to you for making me feel loved without a boy
Nov 2017 · 217
sweet ridicule Nov 2017
cookie dust and giggling
again again again
soft soft skin little hands and sour breath for
a moment we are the same and you
little and young and whole run to me and
I am also whole occasionally
Especially with little arms around my
still in shock at the way love and
selfishness coincide and simultaneously
we survive. I strive to be kind out I am selfish for
wanting more time with little you (and also) so
full of love
giving you all (everything) I can spare.
little loves
Sep 2017 · 205
sweet ridicule Sep 2017
I am angry that you took everything I gave you
I wish you had told me to stop and wash the love off of my hands
you could have told me to stop to stop putting my thoughts into your self
to stop painting you over my body over every curve every corner of my brain
maybe I could have been more prepared more empty of you by the time you decided to make me leave
Sep 2017 · 309
sweet ridicule Sep 2017
I wash my hands constantly, as the smell of anything unnatural makes me uneasy. I smell the tips of my fingers and the palms of my hands nervously; the smell of metal, carpet, and reluctance all trapped between my fingers nauseate me. I run to the sink and pump soap into my hands before frantically rubbing them together, forming as many bubbles as possible.

I only like my hands when they smell like soap or oranges or lavender.

I have nightmares about you during the day. I sit awake and wonder how much of you was real and how much is just sound that I created in a desperate leap for love. The leap I swore I would take over and over again.

There is paint on my arms and my hands right now and all I can think about is how i wish I were an artist
I wish i could draw myself into things the way I can push myself into things that hurt

My mom told me I am brave that I am fearless that I just do things
but I think I am reckless with myself
the way I run into pain face first and tear into it with my fists over
and over again
I have never been afraid of change
The way pain rolls over you and makes your stomach convulse
your whole body week and your sobs so huge that they don’t make sound beyond the frantic gasp for air at the end

I have always been to proud of being human
for some reason I think that the way I feel the way I live is somehow monumental
running into things over and over again
Sep 2017 · 174
sweet ridicule Sep 2017
I have been taught to remember everything to be scared of every man.

Riding the bus I was harassed six times today.
Six times.
The way men look at you before they make a comment you just look down like you’re bowing to them it feels like some sort of respect when really I am just terrified

Every time a man says
“well hey sweetie **** sweetie smile sweetie **** those legs sweetie”

I have visions of reaching through their putrid abdomens and ripping their guts from their bodies

their blood dripping from my hands I know I would sob but

I would like them to fall to their knees in pain so that I could scream that this is for the women this is for all the women and I would leave them to bleed and bleed and bleed

like all the women have for generations


instead of that I look down and they laugh because I am vulnerable and small


inside I am angry and big and the hair on my body and the knowledge in my brain are the biggest acts of rebellion I can give them
May 2017 · 593
self defense
sweet ridicule May 2017
I discovered freshman year that if you hit on the boys they
like you. They don’t call you a ***** or take pictures of your ***** or
stalk you in the hallway, trying to touch you for an instant
instead they give you gum and “teach” you how to do biology;
how to write a paper. they let you stroke their egos by saying
“Thank you I understand now” even if you already knew or
if they are wrong. they become not say “hello” and you flirt
because your sexuality is what makes you powerful

I learned to flaunt myself, to flaunt it all. bending  over a desk just a tad
Makes 16 year old boys kinder--more gentle--for a moment --you can share your opinions when they are distracted with your sexuality-

This is self defense.
angry boys angry men make my skin crawl
one two three ten boys
have you ever said no to an angry man?

“I want to *******” “why are you leading me on”
“your parents are control freaks, move in with me. I know what’s best for you”
“pay your dues” “show me your ***** or you aren’t a feminist”
“you’re so hot for being 14” “***** say hello back”

I tell him he *****, he says “no that is your job”
melting into the floor I cry. 15 and dissolving slowly into the system

18 year old men chasing me, taunting me, snapping my newly acquired bra straps
it is easiest to reciprocate. pretend I am happy I am flirty and young
SWOOn for it all. Turn around when someone whistles (smile)
it seems less threatening. then they will not corner you or
text you saying what a ***** or take you up somewhere dark
and wrap their hands around your waist press themselves against you SAYING
“Are you ticklish”
draw your hands to where they want them

stumbling into an apartment, I know he is safe and will not hurt me but
my heart is racing and my skin aches (I should not be this terrified)
I open my phone so I can dial 9-1-1 at any instant
--just  in   case--
Nothing happens. but I leave, running, and sob in my car

I find myself giggling and smiling more and more
The way a man looks at you changes if you
Giggle and smile  “oh sweetheart”
giggling is self defense. I learned early that giggling makes
you seem soft and small and cute and men
like that. waving back and laughing at
every unwanted approach. It is self defense. You feel powerful.

until it ends. and I am alone feeling empty and lonely
guilt charging through me.

I am working on smiling less.
Apr 2017 · 963
sweet ridicule Apr 2017
i have always loved You in black
anxiously tapping your foot on the floor
the one evening I was grateful for the bubbling alcohol in my brain
as You watched me and I watched you back.
the way you pulled against my hands as I tried to make you dance ("please dance with me baby") Your nerves making my heart
we all know i cannot dance.
the car was warm on the way home and you (angrily) chided me
again and again for being irresponsible as I caressed your skin
again and again. sighing.

i kissed You hard --two weeks left baby-- before running, dress flying behind me,
into my dark house. the grass was wet and my heart racing. i told you to
drive safely (promised that I was safe) (promising to be smart)

you fell asleep calmed down and I fell asleep breathless, imagining you dancing. the way You move, moves me more than adrenaline
ever will

I remember my fan whirring loudly with the occasional CLICk.... CLICK...cliCk ... like the random beating of my heart  


the way you take my hands now, "let's dance baby", I am breathless at the way you have grown
black socks and soft hands
You kiss me hard --two days left baby--
Apr 2017 · 419
may snow
sweet ridicule Apr 2017
I have not left her behind.

there is a way...etched within me I cannot separate myself. again
and again and again. the way you fall in love
with a step and a smell and a sandwich  
I am easily deterred from people

a good bye a leave me alone...placed gracefully between us.

it is almost May and there is snow on the ground
dusting the trees and baby leaves rebelliously
I dare myself to forget the warmth of
summer skin..again and again...
Oct 2016 · 735
sweet ridicule Oct 2016
i Keep rubbing my wrists and my forearms nervously anxiously and can
feel the tendons ache and the muscles on my left forearm snap back and forth: a (broken) guitar string slapping the frets every
time it is
strummed.  If i push on the muscles --or the string, perhaps there is no difference-- too hard my hand (goes numb) and the cord (chord)-like muscles seep exhaustion into my skin --forgive me for this. there is little i can do and big i can do but all i remember is everything
it starts small a little bit of pain but i know I will willingly take it for just

( a little bit of you )

infiltrating me I don't know why my legs ache and my skin fights against me I am grateful for You fighting for me grateful for me fighting for You

this has been full of change full of upside down i am proud of my START AGAIN abilities of my explore: drive anywhere you want GO GO mindset
but sometimes I ache. calling you nightly is
not enough but I promise to make it enough
to try to make everything you do
feel like more than enough

                                             i love when the sun is warm and it is cloudy and i get the opportunity to trip over you Accidentally or (not so accidentally). falling into tears every time I hear a symphony play-- perhaps there is no love in the world comparable to a
symphony or perhaps I am
sinfully biased due to my
experiences with symphonic beings

i Intend to live my life Running or dancinG with symphonies blossoming between my tender and temporarily not calloused
fingers and
with you and we
Constantly reinventing what it means to be Alive  
I will try my best ( for you and for Me) but
there is not
enough time
Apr 2016 · 1.3k
dancesong soul
sweet ridicule Apr 2016
Dancesong soul your
gentle yet competent –oh so competent—
fingers are mesmerizing with
chipped baby blue nail polish
adorning the clear keratin
you often forget exists.

you also quickly cease to remember that
You Exist.  kaleidoscopic and symphonious
tremors of life can break
you in violent waves or soft
eucalyptus scented embraces
oscillating between ecstasy and
euphonious melancholy
is Okay.

raging with life
stay vivacious and full of
sweet scented oils and soft yet strong
--oh so strong—
for my dearest friend
Feb 2016 · 1.1k
to be here
sweet ridicule Feb 2016
the ***** of your chin is
nothing will numb you more
than the epitome of nothingness
soft collared shirts and grey-scale jeans
I feel music in you
like water
abounding with reluctance
here I stand
gently begging you to
be deafening.

chanting silently
we are here we were here

with pale long dancing fingers I am
certain that the end is not near
nor will it ever be
for you
this is not what ur thinking
Feb 2016 · 1.4k
sweet ridicule Feb 2016
I can't walk in
flowered printed heels
I've watched you study yourself in
the mirror
steady neck leading down to
gentle shoulders and halcyon hands
sour ideas filling my brain I'm
imagining my hands
sweetening your concerned
soft-muscled legs
into certainty
bronze-brown strands of curly hair
on dark grey seats
I sense dancing trees behind me
and savor the beautiful bitterness
of abyssal secrets
on my saccharine tongue
your collar bones are silken
and veiled with Taurus-led
mine are always veiled with
uncertainty and
sporadically veiled with
this was nice to write
Jan 2016 · 424
this has no title
sweet ridicule Jan 2016
spinning the words 'there is no god' in-between my reluctance laced breaths.  black high tops walking up to me with shoulders bowed slightly I wish you would walk tall.  knowing the end is inevitable makes things difficult but also powerful  in a way that makes -2 degree weather feel warm
Dec 2015 · 569
sweet ridicule Dec 2015
happy ridiculous day to you and all of humankind.  I am confused at times to a level that I cannot always bear.  Death itself is mortifying.  Irony.  Laugh if you will but a full casket is emptier than a finished glass of water. I walked to the casket and I thanked her for her life.  "I'm sorry I never saw you.  But you never saw me either."

             sad that this death thing has ruined the us
funny: there is no god.  Goddess should capitalize automatically as well, but this male dominated society of humanity is ruled my a single perfect male.  Hey god hope your day is going well.

*an energy
you sing it wrong every time

I would like to give you a bouquet of flowers that I myself have created.         Drawn from the earth and filled with intense reasoning and reluctance, I would kiss myself into them.  Wrapped in a ribbon of black and left on your doorstep.  My mom shoveled dirt and was the only female THIS IS THE DIFFERENCE MAKING.  I was too weak this type of self-loathing is healthy. handing myself over to everything and nothing I know I will shatter.

    shattering for death unto death away from death.  stop writing about dying I'm still alive.  but how alive is alive?  

correct my grammar draw on my skin touch my bones until I am alive.  until the page is heavy with ink.
Dec 2015 · 2.4k
sweet ridicule Dec 2015
lying for freedom
is it acceptable to walk
my bare feet across the floor
is it acceptable to walk
my bare self up to you?

my pathetic mortality
etched into every groove of
my delicately built body
opiates dance around
my mind
take take take
choose your ****** I choose bare hands
on chests and
violin strings
for u
Dec 2015 · 626
sweet ridicule Dec 2015
transferring songs and
lemon drops from under my tongue
to the inside of my gums
until they reach the lines of your
soft palms
my beautiful Nihilist
sugar and heavy whipping cream and berries
shedding the skin
of my cherished pedagogues
incompetence catching
violently in my
Alto-voiced throat
feeling too much
is dangerous.
Dec 2015 · 935
sweet ridicule Dec 2015
clean your teeth
with a pink washcloth
your tongue
with saline water
hands behind my back
gently (or roughly) held
pacing back and forth
or sitting on my
uncertainly made
deliberate choices
I wonder if you like
the smell of clementine
on my fingers
stained orange from the
pungent peel
I would stain
my whole body with color
if I could
as if that would
freeze this superficial
line of seconds
Nov 2015 · 336
sweet ridicule Nov 2015
I am feeling gold
tactless Mozart: sacrilege
religious thunder
Oct 2015 · 6.0k
diet coke
sweet ridicule Oct 2015
it is 9:24
and the
insecurities of you haunt me
like gray skied-snowflakes
I wish I could crush them
in my yellow-white teeth
till they are powdery
turned into a powerless narcotic
diet soda tastes sweeter
than regular
spilling onto the seat of the car
I ordered it anyway
it's raining and there are
diet coke kisses on my
cloudy raindrops on
my forehead
dandelions in
my eyes
I really would crush them
Oct 2015 · 3.0k
sweet ridicule Oct 2015
freak of nature
"selfish" screaming in my ears
I digress violently now
Whitman bleeding out of
my ears
I cannot bow
seventeen and furious
I am the poet of the
human skin; of violins
and softly fingered clarinets
singing of the dirt under
my fingernails
self-loathing--the evil twin
of guilt--is blinding
I cannot read graphing
calculators or the
but both seem empty
like the box under my bed
that used to hold pieces of my
soul (or I thought it did)
now I am scattered
I would like to
hold onto your hand
(I will be less abrasive this way)
instead of purging myself
of every doubt that
has rudely accosted me
in the marrow of
my simple human
i wrote this in math :/
Oct 2015 · 352
sweet ridicule Oct 2015
happy happy one more year
11:01 hello life
it seems sacrilegious to cry tonight
spinning is okay.
thank you for being you

--with titanium in your brain and blood
of your innocence on your hands
the ultimate sacrifice
I thank you for your intense genius

--with faithful diligence in your back
pocket and continuous
I thank you for your patient impatience

--with peace under your tongue
and understanding in
your breath
I thank you for your acceptance

this is the love song
of yet another
bruising and healing year
Oct 2015 · 481
sweet ridicule Oct 2015
secret lingo of nothingness
rings on my fingers
my someone is playing with them.
I should remove one but
it is silver and stands for an ironic
10:12 this is the aggregation
of heartbreak and self-love
the desperation of my unforgivable
humanity pushed away
buried under my high-top clad feet
for 35 minutes
I want to cement in you
a love for your idiosyncrasies
repetitive and consuming
craving the word crave
is redundant but
there is nothing I would
hide from you
Oct 2015 · 1.2k
sweet ridicule Oct 2015
sitting in plastic blue seats
ignoring the catastrophic poisonous
element they’re breathing in and out
(oxygen takes an average of 80 years to
**** you)
it slowly sets you on fire
all of your molecules exhausting themselves
slowly burning up
in waves of passionate indifference
Oct 2015 · 531
take 2
sweet ridicule Oct 2015
sitting with my legs crossed
Van Gogh starry night pants on (just the star-part
so really it could be anybody's starry night)
the silver nail polish on my nails
is almost gone
I peeled most of it off
there are just a few round specks
in the middle of each nail
(like my waves of bravery)
weak and futile
the black wooden boards beneath
my feet my calloused fingers
I braided my hair --twice-- tonight
and didn't write my homework
like I should've
instead I was driving 10 miles
under the speed limit
realizing this was caused
by the lack
of aliveness
eating away at my enamel
I would've done it this time
van gogh
Oct 2015 · 1.1k
first of all
sweet ridicule Oct 2015
first of all I would like to apologize for my
loving demands of utter complicated simplicity
the extent of my complacent attitude can only
last a few minutes before it is over and there are veins in my brain coursing with salt water

apathetic towards nothing

after the rain fell
and all I could focus on were
my legs intertwined with magic
--funny isn't it, where you can find magic these days--
there were clouds behind my
telltale eyes (not rain clouds
but thunder)
in the purest form

secrets enveloped in my throat
bound to my fragile
but the tips of my fingers are tingling
like I am standing
on the wing of an airplane
and heights
don't scare me as much anymore
things  are happening
Sep 2015 · 660
something new
sweet ridicule Sep 2015
chest pressure like a wasted life
hiding from the possibility
of living I have never spilled these
few years into anything
except for everything
this is the unbeatable monster of
nothingness and robotic arrogance
of undeniable certainty
spilling over my cup runneth over with
disdain and my teeth are sour
from sleeping I hate the taste
of sleep
in my mouth like over-chewed mint gum
cliche stories have never
clicked with me
I would like to watch you smile for
a few hours before I believe
the pressure in my chest is
legitimate life will die
'***** u man in sky'
I believe that this will not
Sep 2015 · 1.3k
do u
sweet ridicule Sep 2015
do you remember sitting in the ER at 3 AM and seeing an x-ray of a head and a big white blank space in it and the warm white blankets on your 11 year old legs felt cold all of a sudden.  you were given a stuffed Beanie Baby frog and you ran around the hospital courtyard nervously taking the frog to Animal World with your 8 year old sister and her rainbow colored bear. and then you sat up and helped the nurse take your mom's blood pressure and he smiled at how clear her lungs were even with the asthma and told you that you could be a doctor if you wanted to because doctors save people they fix people.  

people can't be fixed.

there are so many different levels of mastery.  I have counted all of my fingers in rhythm backwards and forwards and I think I have mastered that there are 10 and only 10.  there are only 7 notes with little half steps increments in between them in the musical alphabet but the mastery of those? next to impossible.  who knew playing a violin could make you sweat down the nape of your neck while lining the rim of your forehead with frustration.  fingers become red and warm stop trying to play so quickly so much.  however, self-loathing is not healthy so maybe we should keep playing until I am red in the face and the loathing is cured.  

will it ever be?

you should stop doing the friggin peace sign at everyone you see but you won't and that's okay I suppose. I hope it's not true that people say what they really feel when they're angry...if it is I'm lost in contempt some of the time.

I am the most oblivious of the aware I hope salt skin is accepted here.
hahah idk
Sep 2015 · 797
sticky skin
sweet ridicule Sep 2015
I have sticky skin
it's too humid outside and
looking through the bathroom mirror
into myself I think my
veins are sticky too
and maybe the blood in them
is too
I'm not sure
does moving blood make
your heart rate faster

all you people
u r losing it mummies frick the mummies
spinning in circles in Beatles boots
     C     I
S            R
E      L    C
of throbbing pulses
brand new birthmarks on
necks of people
why so empty
vacillating back and forth like miniature
seconds seconds of time
time like
breath marks in a piece of music
BREATHE beFore YoU dIe and it is over
the 'it' has yet to find a definition
this is a rhetorical question
why did you leave?

for lacy clothes under cotton
pants bought somewhere on the beach
in MuMbAi covering
a gentle sloping navel
u ppl
feeling nothing
like a rubber band snapped
on a leg covered in jeans
snapping a rubber band against my wrist
until it is red

feeling things
lips are stained with coffee
and my teeth taste sour
of caffeine
this is the song of the
Lost oNe

my arteries burn less now and
breathing without
laying backwards on the carpet
comes easily
lOsT OnE hasn't changed
but I
sticky ones sticky ones sticky ones
Aug 2015 · 17.5k
try again
sweet ridicule Aug 2015
kiss me with mango sherbet
in your mouth and sticky
orange tinted lips
these car tires are growing old
but I am young with three
dimples on my face
callouses on my fingertips
of my left hand
stop with the
'you're scared'
in which century does
refusal amount to fear
liberation by the pen drawings
on my hand consumes me
individuality is not dead I
am here
with fiery intent occasionally lost in
a girly figure with a small
waist and awkward ankles
don't dance alone dance a soliloquy
like the bruise on my neck

(labors of love are not
merely towards humans)
good night
Aug 2015 · 403
sweet ridicule Aug 2015
so cold such purple toes I've never seen
smoke from your mouth but
I've seen other things and now
I see nothing at all not even your
bland brown eyes I only write
about beautiful people
turns out beauty lives temporarily in
crooked cursive letters
not half as long as I expected
abstaining from eye contact that dreadful 10
there are needles in my eyes
like the tips of silver icicles in winter dripping slowly down my spine
I love winter like gold
full on cleansing
running in the snow in a tank-top and snow boots and jeans
I believe there there is life hiding in me
sometimes I am ridiculously empty but

wasting time has never been my thing
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