Unravel me. Plunge your fingers into the depths of my anatomy- wade into my rufescent flesh, strum my fibers, find me in the fissures of my ivory bones--- then come back to the surface, cling to the brims of my clavicles, and tell me how beautiful I am.
My writing desk My chair A slap to the face Fingers running through my hair I will words Which refuse to appear I will That which I will always fear That only the quill knows how to be sincere Unbuttoned shirt A battered sternum Under the hurt The heart Blooms the poisonous laburnum Beating like a drum I insert the quill Holding in Until it's had its fill of yellow ink I do not think but write Numbed but the words appear alright I repeat until the flowers pass their bloom And blackened fill the room My throat is dry My writing desk is wet By my laburnum blood and sweat Time to rest To sew up my open chest To sleep and in the morning feel again Anatomical garden Quill pen
Let me look into your eyes. Sweet abyss of colors. Browns, blues and greens. Every color in between. A Terra of the unknown. For it is a planet of your soul. If you let your lids gently touch, a shroud of night. Beautiful abyss that is your eyes. Open lids so I may gaze like a God from the heavens. I soon forget that in those eyes, you are alive; and with a freight, I remember you can look back into mine.
Some of these poems have no titles. Also as per usual, the images have no reference to the poems, any relation is creation of your own design. They're old poems I found from high school - college. They're mostly terrible but I don't like keeping the old papers.
Four simultaneous calls unknown number familiar area code I clicked all the necessary buttons to block you yet still your voice penetrated my messages made my entire body contract into a fraction of myself I tried to delete them but they never stop
I pleaded with my mom over salted mall pretzels to help her understand why I wanted a restraining order against you without letting it slip that your hand had slipped across my face before but secret scars faded without photographic proof it was you 'there isn't enough evidence against him'
I did planks in thirty second intervals until I felt remnants of when you pushed me too hard into the freshly mopped floors wine splattered counters I lie awake listening for a motorcycle that I am almost certain will never come roaring around the corner I can't be sure if you ever watched me input the new garage code
I am suffocated by the thought of you I hardly remember which arm is tattooed with what you're a reoccurring tumor I can't get perfect margins on I beg myself to cut out the malignancies you have seeded once again but it doesn't work it never works.
The anatomy of ones heart seems complicated and intense. The valves and the tubes and the scars from time taking its toll. The blood and the veins helping to keep one alive. The memories it holds and the heartbreak it endures and thrives from over and over again.
But the anatomy of my heart is simple. It’s filled with trees billowing and waving in the wind. It has salt water from the bluest oceans flowing through the veins keeping me afloat with summer dreams. It has been slowly and faster in the throes of passion and in the woes of pain. It has shown me that through adventure and wonder I can keep myself alive.
So tell me... how does the anatomy of your heart look?