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Thighs, hips
Dogs, tricks
Bruises from your
Angry fists

Lies kiss
Your sinful lips
Her ribs a friend
Of your kicks

Forever be her
Mind’s eclipse
The mirror lies
Her stomach dips

Hands shaking
She needs a fix
Miles away
Invisible bricks

Carlo C Gomez Aug 15
Subterranean paresthesia
Has begun to pry (again)
The roots of which
Come out of this ground
As an isolated tree
Withered and dry
Surrounded by useless waters
And grawlix signs
Hanging from ropes
Like guns in the sky
Maria Monte Sep 12
What is in a name?
An identifier. Christine. Paul. Bernard.
A sense of uniqueness. Foxy. The Rock. Buddy.
A personality. John. Chad. Karen.
A name is something to hold onto.

What is my name?
A label to keep me concrete when people forget
A phrase to pull me back down when I drift
An identity so that I don't mold into everyone else
My name keeps me together

But what does my name sound like?
I forgot where I placed my strengths
I forgot the way it was shaped to my body
My person slips away from the letters as they form into your mouth
and get lost in the bottomless sea of identifiers

Who am I?
Billboards and signs that paint "fragile" across a face like mine
Small, petite, figures that whisper "prey" and warn me of the big bad wolves
Unfamiliar faces that tell me that I am "too much" as my bones grind against them and their hands try to cup me smaller
there is nothing to keep me from vanishing

Who am I?
Worker # 187, making a dime as they make a dollar?
A father's daughter, a person to be handed and never to stand on it's own?
Am I my weakest moments?
Am I my triumphs?

Who am I?
My own mocking voice screaming, giggling, obscenities before I catch myself
My own motherly tone re-directing me from the bad roots in my childhood
I am this thing and then I am another
We are so inconsistent, as people

We forget to keep our names close to our hearts
To choose our own identities,
let ourselves remind each other that we are
who we choose to be.

My name, it echoes against the cages of my body
and it wraps around me
reassuring me, reminding me, piecing me back together
breathing life back into me.
Ryan Aug 2
I’ve been starving since I was fourteen.
Please just let me scream.
Rusting like a machine,
Oil is hard to swallow.

I’m tired of passing out on the floor.
An underdose, lying by the door.
An absence in my core,
A gag when I try to fix it.

Putting on shirts, worried about how wide they make me seem.
Too self-conscious to wear something tight around the seams.
Pretending my future is only a dream,
I’m becoming dusty on the internal.

Withering away, I feel my soul leaving.
Blowing with the wind, I am still grieving.
I’m more used to the sound of heaving,
Than the sound of myself eating.
Beth Bayliss Jul 30
my ribs look like fingers pressing against fine silk
I should not be okay with this
I should not be okay with this
I should not be okay with this
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