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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.
I take off my summer skin,
peel back bronzed afternoons
and cleave through
those muggy mornings
you were still here

but not for long.
Jade Oct 2020
left cup runneth over/

right cup half empty/

if I add my left cup size to my right cup size what will I get/ DD + D = DDD/I've never been great at math/but this is no/miscalculation/

I am 36 DD confined to a 36 D bra/

(D)Disgorges over the underwire/

D--you flaccid beach ball/I wish I could reinflate you/part my mouth around your ******/and/

no one can tell/unless I wear a tight bodice/then/you are/obnoxiously evident/

I am afraid of introducing you to my future boyfriend/will he still want to undress me/will he still want to make love to me/

will he still want to touch you/


sea urch/in/the palm of my hand/

even I am hesitant to hold you close to me/


strangulated bagpipe/

moulting pompom/ B-O-O-B/
what's that spell/
what's that spel/
what's that spe/
what's that sp/
what's that s/
what's that/

what is that/


who are you/


waning gibbous/

my metaphors wane, also/it turns out there are only so many euphemisms that can be assigned to an/ill-proportioned breast/

itsy bitsy titsy/

you make me/



teardrop defying the laws of gravity/

is it the laws of gravity that defy the teardrop/so that it never falls into/

I've noticed only/beautiful/things/

shooting stars/


my left *****
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Norman Crane Sep 2020
hold the match under your chin
unscrew your skull
and pack the kindling in
then strike a flame
inhale the light
your mind will burn so long and bright
Norman Crane Sep 2020
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
Fae Jun 2020
Let me look into your eyes.
Sweet abyss of colors.
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.
Nikki Mar 2020
i feel the first draw of blood on my lips when i've bitten down.
it's an uneasy feeling tasting your own blood.

teeth meets metal.
tongue meets regret.
throat meets gag reflex.
Allison Wolf Oct 2019
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.
June 24, 2019
12:00:09 AM
This heart is going to stop.

It may be a scarry sound next to a pub,
A silent scattershot in a shop to rob,
An exciting smell in a chemic lab,
Or a short nap in a taxi cab.

Only God knows how it will end,
Passing through that particular land.

But indeed this heart is about to cease.

It is the keen and slow pain that nobody sees,
The heavy carelessness bringing no ease,
The fast heart-beaten minutes I lose,
My non-existent ecography's hues.

Only God knows how it ends,
While I'm passing through all these lands.
Brianna Sep 2019
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?
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