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Wants to fall in love.
He has plants in his kitchen.
He keeps a washcloth
On his bathroom sink
On it rests his comb,
His toothbrush,
And toothpaste,
All in a neat row.
He takes me to the lake
To look out at the water,
Because he knows
It makes me feel like I’m home.

Wants to conquer
And tame me.
He wants
To be the one I choose
Just to win.
He kisses me
At midnight in the rain
Out in the dark
On a hidden sidewalk,
Slips his hand
Down the front of my *******
And plays with my ****.
He says it’s the danger
Of being caught.

Wants to sleep with me,
But also doesn’t want
To feel guilty.
So he hides my messages
From his partner
And assures me
She knows he’s polyamorous.

What do I want?
What do I need?
Peace I won’t find
In any of them,
Only myself.
But I have to fight battle,
After battle,
To get there.
So exhausted,
I retreat into their distraction,
And I warn them all,
Of each other’s existence,
And that I don’t want anything real.

But I sing to Eddie,
As I lay on his chest.
I listen to Rob,
As I hold him in my bed.
I nurture James,
Help him cultivate his individuality.
So they think
Maybe they’re important.
And really,
They are.
I can’t help but have them be.

But I can’t handle important right now.

I can’t find comfort
In the thought of being squeezed
Into something I’m not
I won’t allow myself
To be contorted
Into a shape
That fits their desires.

Eddie wants
To fall in love.

Rob wants
To win me.

James wants
To have release.

And I...
I just want
To find me.
e Jun 18
all these places we leave;
all the lovely boys with kind hearts,
but cruel intentions;
all the bright places
between humid nights;
all of the sweet honey with warm bread; and
all of the comfort in midst of tragedy.
slowly beating hearts, fast beating hearts—
euphoria and adrenaline.
lush greens, effervescent blues;
all extending beyond the line of your arm.
i would give you prague, amsterdam, budapest;
i would give you stars, wine, dreams.
you don’t understand this, not yet;
this much i already know:
you have to depart soon, as i have.
thank you for the honey, the warmth, and the songs.
when the time comes for you rest
under your own fig tree,
may you understand:
you will always fit perfectly
in the spaces between my fingers.
rows of two!-three!-four!-boys-bloc-king-the-cor-rid-or
will soon be gone
and the RHYTH-mic-tick-tock-of-my-leg-BOUN-cing-on-the-floor
will be no more
it's fresh cadavers wrapped in string
it is a joyful gospel hymn
mourning the best and worst of youth
(those shiny kids who'd first walked in
with all the grace and all the poise
of hatched arachnids missing limbs)

but what of "her" – you know her name –
that overfed, reptilian thing
who shed her hair and scratched her skin,
cursing the odds at Him upstairs, demanding He re-shape her?

some say she cried herself into extinction
– sailed away on a crimson tide –
balking at the trauma of being seen
(enforced, cursed vulnerability
in being known to man).

the rest knew better;
they were voyeurs in this
fruit-carving tutorial
on 'how to grow up':

STEP 1) consider all other alternatives
2) take the scalpel and initiative
3) before adrenaline gives way to doubt,
turn the flesh-vessel inside out in a cocoon of your own creation!
while organs may rupture and it aches like you've skinned yourself alive (good for her, setting herself free!) you'll look cuter in the class photos and has you-know-who... finally... shifted the weight?
4) breathe through the blood loss and searing pain
5) notice
                     breathe again.
                     at this point, does it matter that it aches?
tribute to the worst years of my life so far. may it only get better from here.
Willard May 1
City cops, either
all pigs or all fathers,
break cement curbs with rubber
as the shin of a warm body
brushes a front bumper;
warning sign clearer than headlights.

I stand arrested across the highway.
An idle ghost, mouth agape, eyeballing
the Record Courier parking lot,
officers breaking cement
breaking kneecaps of a civilian.

Where he kisses the ground
I once analyzed the black of the sun,
diseasing slowly from time and the light.
I soaked the now with a present mind
and active heart, living for life

defined by want.
I recall Impressionist interpretations
of Carson Valley sitting on
the windowsill of the Courier,
a hand wrapped around my wrist

using its nails to pick off my skin
naively, so I’ll bleed out
through my scabs and my corpse
will be captured in that moment.
Handcuffed, legs pressed

between my shoulder blades,
but seconds still pass.
Divorced from a faded past,
I wait until three uniforms
shove a man into the backseat

and drive to the station.
We’re now shadows of
our former selves in
the lights of a cop car,
separated from when
our heartbeats were the loudest.
Marla Apr 13
Peering upside down
Hanging from a monkey bar
As laughter rings all around,
Both near and far.
I can't seem to stop missing that innocent bliss
That followed me everywhere before I turned six.
Now I'm kind of sad that all I have are memories,
But I guess that's to remind me happiness is still possible.
C James Mar 9
Praying undue forgiveness, I am numbed to fetal
in experience, birthed by prosaic desperation
to fathom life, or death, in this pill: Prozac
succubus, an offering of soothing bliss
too distant, quivering, to reach,
motherless fawn, stumbling
to my knees repenting
regrets repeatedly,
muttering God,
Feedback always welcome.
By the way

let me just say
I wake up every day
hopping i am that guy
that guy you can rely

But im glad I'm not
you left this to rot
made me feel like trash
finally out of your lash

It's a new day
and I wake up every day
thanking im not that guy
Its been a while since i wrote anything
lucav Nov 2018
reputable stigmata staining my hands like ink and bleeding through the paper back book of a story
on chapter fifteen
each word is made of blood
each page is just tears
writing out all of my deepest fears
fifteen she screams at the top of her lungs
the year when she refused to eat her birthday cake
afraid to gain back that weight
the year she sat in the back of the cop car
trying to run from home
the year her anorexia poked through the seams in her jeans
cutting and dicing her skin like elastic
stretching her mind out just like plastic
shes not a plastic toy
shes more like glass that cracked
Leslie Thielen Nov 2018
the realization overtook the delusion
not overnight, not like a light switch
but like a gradual suffocation,
liquid black spilling in
it’s a futile gasp for tainted air

i am the anti-hero of my own autobiography
the protagonist that gains nothing
and by the end of the 400-page novel
the reader understands, they’ve wasted their time

because the story was never about me to begin with
all wrapped up superficially in a soft cocoon
immersed in a pseudo-nobility that shielded me
and convinced me that there is a right answer
to every wrong thing

one of the most painful and crippling experiences
is forcing yourself to unlearn everything you thought you knew
and resigning yourself to the fact that
not everything makes sense
not everyone gets a happy ending–

and there’s beauty in nature, but devastation in ours
serendipity in our structure, but chaos in our hearts
nothing deals in absolutes, and pain does not subside
we hide behind small comforts, but these are often lies

humans aren’t built in black and white, so i’m drowning in the gray
flailing and failing to understand why certain people cannot stay
over two decades on this planet and i’m still trying to decide
if the tragedy is hiding elsewhere or somewhere trapped inside.
i just want answers
carlos varela Oct 2018
Flying Out
Climbing through stars
Now that I'm here, this far out
Can't seem to be knocked down

Don't want to climb down
When its you that you're higher
So high lights drown
I guess, I didn't grow any wiser
This is my first poem don't be afraid to give some feedback
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