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Jaxey May 2019
I showed you my art
expecting an "ew"
But then you rolled up your sleeve
and said "I draw too"
do you have unwanted art?
Sky Apr 2019
hair on me, felt vain.

hair on me, felt extravagant,
foolish. like a curtain of pearls
that i must s-weeeep

                   clink
    clink
                          clink
clink
                ­ .....clink

out of my eyes, what a bother.

hair on me, felt vain.
hair is for loving,
loved, to love, with
length,
and length to be pulled on,
be taut
be supple and silk between the fingers. to be stroked, to come in strokes, to spill
over and tumble and tangle and knot,
and in every which way. from billowy to willowy wisps,

hair on me, felt vain.

it made me expect. it made me crave.
it needed to be swept, it needed to be maintained. it needed to be slept with, it needed to be played. it needed to be loved. and i had no love to spare, and especially no love to be gained.

hair on me, felt vain.

glimmering, shimmering, even when wet in the sullen rain. there was a yearning. a yearning to be made. a yearning to be touched. a yearning to become--

yes, you were beautiful. even wet, in the sullen rain

--something else, something more

beyond me
in that sullen rain. i turned, expecting nothing, perhaps even worse.

but there I saw, in the puddle,

you framed my face.
subtle, like petal. my cheek
rested in the crook of your
arm like perfect.

all
too
perfect.

I had to let you go
and so

snip
        snip
                 snip
snip
           snip
                     ....snip

i cut you away
piece by piece
like an unsatisfied lover

(we loved, we loved, it wasn't, enough)

each snip resounding,
each snip more definite

(we loved, we loved, but it wasn't, enough)

you fell away
the way winter falls away into spring,
spring falls away into summer,
summer falls away,

you fell away and i almost despised
how beautiful you looked,
there on the floor

in death, in defeat.

but that made me all the more certain,

you were not for me. even in death.
even in defeat.

hair on me, felt vain.
hair on me, felt extravagant.

hair on me, demanded love
and i would have none of it.
Isaac Spencer Apr 2019
Cut
****** wrists-
Are better than ***,
At least then-
I feel something.
Pyrrha Apr 2019
Abusing his kindness
Is like giving a child a kite
Then cutting the string
Poetic T Apr 2019
You tried
          to cut
            Me with words.

But not one
            Drop fell..

For your knife was
                    Blunt.

And your words were
      Nothing but air.
Izzy Apr 2019
my skin is so fragile that taunts can cut it

the crimson is so pretty
ogdiddynash Sep 2019
the permanent shaving cut (why god made humans cut)

~for my father~

in the class of men
who need a scrubbing shave
I am, a twice a day him-hymnal

to keep the face pliant,
the cheeks smoothied,
in case some young children
come visiting, needing kissing,
by a funny-foolish Poppy

hell, I shave before I go to bed
cause I sleep shirtless,
my chin’s scruff cuts my shoulder
that badly, that here I am, awoken,
writing ******* poetry at 5:09am

but the specific cut requesting a poem
all for its lonesome is actually a newlywed pinch,
where the straying, whirring blades grabbed ahold
of the soft tissue flesh beneath the eyes,
where the no-sleep, permanently black stained “circles” live,
those tree rings of the human body

shaving cuts...what’s the big deal!

this one painful, sending out a weather alert to the brain, saying:

“Hello old friend, this red busted blood cell,
that’s me, is now a permanent resident,
a red badge of stupidity (yours),
a forever face fixture that will be
a pallbearer at your funeral,
jump into your grave with you,
for one last final deep dive drive-by screaming”

so now when I shave,
this perfect red light signal of a cautionary tale,
smiling remindingly to stick to the round and fleshy fat parts,,
pale red cheekiness where the only natural indentation are
two **** dimples - the ones no longer visible,
under the stubble of a life now measured in
too many decades

why do we cut ourselves?

(now grow serious)

not for fashion,
a scratcher beards an even greater skin-ny irritant,
this human gesture, this marker of the
daily changing leaves coloring,
this forced to mirror-address
who is that person vision we’ve never before met,
with ridged furrowed forehead,
and every day older markings appliqués,
summarizing a race to some ending,
that pulling weeds from the ground
or the **** grounds of your face,
is endlessly pointless but necessary,
a god given way to say fool!
you’ve been given a mo’ day,
and another night, wake up,
do something useful


kiss those babies too much,
write many short poems,
do a goodun,
remember,
this day,

for when you see that red dot mark of living,
it’s just another signage of closer to dying,
no use in denying, use this memory well
to make yourself attractively useful and

maybe,
some other human apparition might
come along and you’ll be reminded
smooth is better n’ gruff,
and thus shaving
helps perpetuate
the species.

Ogdiddynash
5:51am two days after they came for my moneystream in two naught nineteen
oggdiddynash
Poetic T Apr 2019
When would a thorn and petal,
                 look so unavailable.
One sharper than any wit,
that would make you laugh
                at even the saddest moment.


Smooth like sandpaper always saying
               the mostly badly timed
                                                    replies...
Yet her voice was scented and smooth.
              No matter what her words
                                             wrapped around,
no offence could be taken.


I offered her a rice crispy cake when we
                                                               first met..
As she struggled for breath I started the
                            kiss of life..

Then she grabbed her pen stabbing it in my arm
                                 not hers..
                                the blood and all I remember

was lips on mine.. she'd managed to pen herself.
I didn't realise she had a nut allergy.
         but as I awoke her lips breathing into me.
I thought id repay the favour.

                        I've never been kissed so passionately
                                                     before death she said.

I was her petal and she was the thorn.

                           she'd giggle at a funeral,
  

I'd cry thoughts of the past of what was cut short.

               but in her eyes, it wasn't sadness but joy,

that so many had turned up to see you
             this last time. And the dreadful outfit
                        you'd picked to spend eternity in.
Poetic T Apr 2019
They thought she was  loves venture
but instead she was less than belief.
                           Her arrows weren't as others thought.

                     Poisoned shards of lovers



worst contemplations of what love meant,
                            infatuation contorted within the head.

Where love meant a beating within,
                 she was a rose that wanted to
                 beat the thorns till flesh bleed...


They thought she was unhinged,
                                  but she  wanted trust..

              until she bleed it from you.


She enjoyed the double barrel within
              your mouth.
        One for the heart, one for the mind..


Would you pull both, suffer the pain of
         a crazy love that tore your emotions,
            and then threw them in the air ablaze...

She knew that you could take the pain,
           and then  she drew blood deeper

as every blade in the heart
                 cut deeper but you let her bled
                    you out..



             and the last thing you did was smile...
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