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I woke up this morning with a sickness to my stomach.
A fire was raging in my belly
and for the first time since my mother died
I felt a twinge if pain.
It felt good to feel something other than uncertainty.

Lately my days have been clouded by black smoke
and I find myself falling back into old habits,
clinging to a chemical high refusing to come down.
I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t enjoy the moment I self destruct.
It’s only after you’ve lost everything that you’re free to do anything.

Now is the time to risk it all,
because nothing else actually matters.
I focused my attention on that feeling
I let hurt gain control.
Hurt turned to hate.
Hate to anger.

When the world takes the love that means most to you,
nothing after that hurts.
You can’t do anything to hurt a man who has nothing to lose.
I breathe in
and the universe
enters my body
stars and galaxies
falling down my throat,
filling up my empty belly,
re-igniting
my slow-beating heart,
breathing life
into my weary soul
girl gonzo Aug 15
i've hidden a note in an old library book that i never returned
i ripped the sleeve off and wrote my name in red permanent ink
it smells of oak wood and dust
i felt a warm guilt that i haven't felt since i was 8 years old
when my shoe slipped on dog ****
and i went into class with muddled shoes that smelled of underdeveloped intestines twisting
i think you would understand the embarrassment
the itching sting that my chest surrendered to when everyone asked where it was coming from
this particular note was written in a momentary relapse of admonition
an answer to a question that wasn't answered
will you look in the rubble, where i told myself to stop talking about *** all the time
the moon never replied to my letters so i drank my weight in wine
and when i woke up the sender's address was swindled between postmen whose hands were too crooked to open the mails slots
is it poetry to talk about dog **** on your shoe
That dormant feeling of insecurity arose,
when travel journal got ****** adjacent
     to my tattered (holey tattooed) clothes
while I knew with crossed eyes

     aroused anger from peaceful doze
my younger sister felt about her
     globe trotting exploits, an over expose
jour ever since voyaging out on her own

     after graduating top of her class
     where mine hatred glows
indirectly snidely sneering
     at ma dough less brother hoboes

(a 1979 Methacton High School alumni),
     unanimously chosen valedictorian
     dressed in Calvin Klein
     Harris tweed, couture

     and silk ***** hose
like me prolonging, promoting
     on par with quasi staff sergeant, who knows
artful disciplinarian gingerly launching
     Cider House rules,

     asper formerly commanding G.I. Joes
     and pronouncing, predilection
     exhaling natural highs no lows
traveling solo, with surviving Wilburys,

     or just mows
zing nonchalantly
     (though a foreigner) with swarthy skin color
     easily camouflaging as civilian
     all points on the compass,

     where minute needle doth nose
upon returning home (being honorably feted
     at once glorious estate of Glen Elm,
     where she did propose

to the Lord Taylor (swiftly), which location
     situated at 324 Level Road, Collegeville,
     Pennsylvania 19426),
     thence a great huzzah a rose

an immediate nauseousness welled
     within from me head tummy smelly toes
I did not want to here, or see any details,
     which would accentuate personal woes

popping, snapping, and smarting,
     and slapping skin raw tib bits,
     ache'n to yanked strings
     of mama's heirloom yo-yos!

Poet Script:

trials and tribulations,
     visited upon head of young
concocted ("FAKE") gusty and gutsy
     kid sister enterprising ingenue,

     christened easy on the tongue
Sharodd (not her real name),
     to top off talents sung
like a professional opera singer, which rung

a shiver along small hairs of spine did tingle
heard all the way to Lake Woebegone
where bachelor farmers did mingle

every Christmas, a decreasing
     number donned Kris Kringle
hit with blitzkrieg of yawping brats
     hoof pranced to bell weather jingle!
AFI
A fire in my heart,
A fire in my soul,
And I fire in my belly,
When I eat coal.
An alliterative poem on my physical feelings. Also, a dedication to my favourite band.
we remember
leaving the spread
of
my
mothers legs
life outside
the ****
consumes
she was
just
the
driver
we are sorry mom
how much was that
nine month taxi belly ride

we owe you
now we
remember
?













...
..
.
sorry for
the
...
..
.
the stars in the sky
pull feelings from my belly
they dance around at night,
sting my eyes
with the smoke from their fire;
but now I'm too tired to see them
they glow, but I can't feel their heat
like desert sands they shift around me
unwilling to reveal the secret water
buried underneath.
I still feel
the aspen breath of mountain breeze
combing through my eyelashes,
stroking across my cheek,
kissing my neck,
touching my soul
yes mother


just an pause
hold
on
to
your cord

don't speak
so loud
mother


feed me
love

she rubbed her belly
we
kick her

we are going
to
brush
her love
teach her
to brush love
we
love her



she feeds us


she feeds us

listen
her
lover


no no no
please
dont
tell
that story

she loves me more than you




















































shut-up
f­eel
me
scratching
?




















...
..
.
wrote this one
after reading
about
...
..
.
Smriti Ranabhat Nov 2017
Yes ! I am a girl
And I have a monthly guest
It comes without any messages ,without phone calls
Just with the flow of pain
Always endures me
I get lots of gifts
ache in bloatted belly
breaking back
Death hanging in the waist
pimples blush at the cheeks
Yeah ! I have periods
Red petals stain
in my beautiful white dress
like a bouquet of roses
These cease pains garden my ****
To be a  perfect clock
without tick tock and bell
But runs for  nine month
Just to change
****** ***** into a baby...
Being a girl is a bless with a free gift called pain .
Celeste Briefs Sep 2017
a voice cries out a name
in the depths of my belly
I feel its friction in the way
your eyes slip through my hands

a star points out the way
to a place of fertile silence
I know that I can't stay
in this world of barren sands

shooting stars
collide
shards of glass
explode in the sky
you tell me I should
enjoy the silence
but how can I
when my bones
just won't be quiet
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