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Dante Rocío Sep 2020
It is sharpening crimson steel in a knife as of that, with it fingers softly bleed like care and rise as a shuttered peach in
a sturdy piece of scarlet, paid in heed.

Your foreboding onthou my skin is no more truly nor less rigid unplugging of violin strings out of a guttural chords into a straight morbid fire, and a pain structure
hardens, straightens,
embeds them forever into every light’s riddance, this trial mended.
Welcomed fireflies in a
solstice. bonfire. forest. [stygian].

Love, my dearest Love, if your ever evanescent body or voice even exists:
if I ever dare to greet in my tears music it only may be to bleed with you in one common fluid, to have my ribs torn gently by
each your promise barely for my hand’s taking,
endure time to have my truer form by you,
a sensation, clad in lilac velvet that goes
under the name of “Paper Airplane” by
my thoughts.

To keep.
More than as rain we always are.

A child picked up a solitary chalk and sketching protruded some things by that hand & sight, some sun with injustice drawn, that elders’ words and acts
have not put up.

Some of the chalk simply lays everyday crushed.
With no human passage, luggage.
No matter how hard I’ll come to cry
Never shall I reject my waters.
My Love, you who kiss me further and further
Without lips or anything to align,
I wish for you to never earn a step or body,
And to marry my sand-sea plaited follies.
Be veritable Garden Song.
Strung Jun 2020
Orange flowers
Catching all the hills on fire
Just to see them burn, I take a breath.
Smoke and dust bind my righteous life underneath my eyelids.
Devin Lawrence Dec 2019
I write my words in cursive so they know how to.
The lines that bind us together can seem so thin,
like a dash of ink, it can be wiped away.

An island only knows water for the way it extends beyond the horizon.
The peaceful splashes of rippling waves can’t pacify the feeling of loneliness;
a passing bird squawks as it carries on its journey.
And the sun keeps rising day after day.

Have you ever felt the jolt of holding someone’s hand?
The spark of life that is embracing them in a hug?
We were made to connect,
yet so many of us sit aside

The singer on the stage begs us to sing along;
and for a moment, every stranger is bound by word and sound.
That post-concert depression hits hardest during that long drive home -
riding solo.

I write my words in cursive so that they know how to.
Because if they do, maybe you will too.
H A Vitatoe Jun 2019
The picture
that you drew
You said
give to him
I kept it
I'm the one
who seeked you
Not him
Binding us
My friend
From The Collection "A Work Of Art"
Mikey Barnes Jun 2019
I’ve got that new binder kinda feeling
That fresh out of the packet, still sorta smells like plastic kinda feeling
That stuck with my arms out trying to pull it all the way down kinda feeling
That are you sure it makes a difference? can you really see my **** less? kinda feeling
That posing side on in the mirror, new profile picture - hey look at me! I’m as flat as can be! kinda feeling
That finally belonging in my own skin kinda feeling
That blowing my reflection a kiss instead of pretending I don’t exist kinda feeling
That sun smiling out from behind a cloud kinda feeling
That five years down the line, I won’t even need to bind kinda feeling
That imagining a future with myself in it no longer feels like pushing my own limits kinda feeling
That skinny boy
too much noise
too-big shirt
stretched skin
wide smile
talks a mile a minute
can you tell there’s something different?
it’s my brand new binder!
kinda feeling
i can't believe i even have to say this but binding and fgm are in NO WAY the same, at all. binding has saved me, has given me confidence, is what allows me to leave the house every day. it is a choice that i make, and it is one that i don't ever regret.
Kaiden A Ward May 2019
The deepest depths of our lungs
have been deprived of oxygen
for so long
that we cannot remember what is like
to breathe,
deeply and unhindered by
this binder
as the constriction threatens to
collapse the cavity of our chest.

Willingly, we trade our breath
for the exquisite, piercing pain
that we quickly come to associate with
peace of mind
and freedom
because it means the reflection of our silhouette
finally matches the physique our
dysphoria has been telling us
we should have had
our whole lives.

In time, this addiction festers and
we bind longer and more often as
our bodies grow weaker and
our minds more chaotic until,
despite the destruction,
we cannot bear to take them off
and face the truth
written in our curves.

The pain is at one with us now.
We endure, if only to be able to
run our hands longingly down
our flattened chests
as we wait, hoping that,
one day,
we will finally be able to learn
what it is like to
breathe again.
My first attempt to capture what it is like to bind and my personal experience and thoughts on binding. Everyone's story is different.
Desire Dec 2018
P   I    E    C    E    S . . .
Six-word poetry challenge for the seasons.
David Abraham Nov 2018
A black snake coiled itself around him last night,
until it rolled him 'round and 'round with his legs kicking
and he nodded off into sleep with his eyes teary and his ribs aching from the fight.
The great serpent eased up around him,
but once more in the day and well into the next night,
it constricted his bones to the point of breaking,
and through the lies and false promises of the reptile
he cried and cursed his life, his birth, his body.
2313 November 19 2018
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