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kat victoria Mar 24
black lighters
chipped fingernails
i got rid of the old me
and i miss her like hell.
short hair
no cares
no trace
of what used to be there.
i turned into everything you hated
thinking somehow
that that would erase you from me.
transform into someone you never touched.
someone you never loved.
but now i’m just that
someone you never loved
someone you never could have.
and i’m sorry to say
that it didn’t work.
now there is no turning back
this is who i am now
and i have to live with that.
Sumaira Asghar Dec 2018
Years ago,
I had built
walls around me,
made of loneliness, anger-
and agony.
My remorse, my grief failed
to traverse these walls.
I might have knocked them down
as i run madly after clouds,
or do they run after me?
In this autumn evening,
my fingernails still can trace
walls built by you, invisible,
invincible.
KM Hanslik Apr 2018
I don't think there are road maps
for these things;
I think the naivety of childhood has taken this long to uncover
blank stares and clenched fists, I think the nights
weren't so long when you got more than 6 hours
to rest your eyes.

I am slowly just molding
myself into different versions of who I want to be,
but my hands fumble and put the pieces in all
the wrong places before they get it right.
I softly take the thought of forever out of its box, wondering
if it will ever ring true or if it is simply another
of those lies that are spoon-fed to you until you can't
base your own experiences on fiction or reality anymore.

Do you want to know what we do in the dark?

This is different; the way secrets spill
from open mouths and the way our eyes are hazy from
drugs or tiredness /lowered inhibitions/,
in these moments we tell each other everything and forget about
spiked armor and the sound of death chasing
at our heels. We scrape our fingernails against
half-truths and discover the way honesty melts on our tongues,
warm, like we've forgotten what it feels like and are only just
welcoming it back into our bodies.

I want our dreams to realize the timing that clouds
our psyches with shared bliss, can you take a moment
and spell that out for me? What do your eyes see when we strip
the dusty fabric away,
are you closer to knowing
who I am? Are you closer to knowing
why we could never bee what we thought we should, because
reality is not born out of story-books, and picket fences don't
distill the truth enough to make it palatable?

We've had to learn ourselves to covet
all the places we've found to pour our hearts into, we've had to shield
any possible innocence and sharpen our teeth to guard it.
But now that these things are done and
there's dirt under our nails from burying those dreams,
take a shovel and tear them out of the ground, because it is never going to get easier, and you have to learn
this before it gets much worse.
Tear those half-hopes from the womb and force
them to breathe, they must choke on this polluted air before they are able
to claw their way into the light.

Stop burying what is meant to fly and don't turn your demons too soft, they have to go
through hell before this passes. But it will.
And when the sun comes up again and the ache sinks so deep through your bones
that your body collapses,
you will learn that these pains are a part of teaching you
how to exist, and your words
won't sink like stones anymore, you will learn
to deepen roots within yourself and to take these realities
with you, twisted through with your own hopeful fictions -

each in turn, will come to fruition and each in turn will both ruin
and create you - at once the struggle
and the passion
of becoming
human.
have i
to
be
flown

eyes through seas
salt through sands sees
trying me through this
through
through
through
fabricated trees

my finger tips
brushing
tips

her hips watching me
wanting
me

in between


circle ing over canyons
here
we
breathe

from the cave
she calms
to me
listen
to
her
sing
what wings
?






















...
..
.
feather
tips
...
..
.
chaziyer Oct 2017
I will be a window
and the secrets you tell with your lips.
The sighs you blanket with the softest care
and the breaths you unknowingly count.

I will be the reminder of every second spent
and every moment felt.
A contradiction of your judgement
and a compliment of your beliefs.

I will be the ink of each unwritten imitation
of every mediocre song.
The scent of orange peel that trails on the
extravagant curves of your fingernails.

(3.19.09)
Zero Nine Jun 2017
The breath of the wind raises hairs on her neck.
She breathes out a clouded breath of whiskey fire.
Outside the venue, she kicks her shoes, waiting.
Where's the loser on the drum kit?
She knows she blows the set with her absence, but she can't
Stop tapping her heel at the wall, measuring splits in bricks
With her nicotine fingernails.
Where's She? She's such a *****.
The whole day closes in, in an instant, night descends.
Her twentieth cigarette dances in a rush to end it,
But her eyes catch sight of the mauve and indigo sky through
Buildings over bridges. Twilight ignites her quarter candlestick.
Outside the venue she kicks her shoes, waiting.
Outside her lonely lungs drink carcinogen
to an eager death with smokers. Cough.
Cough cough cough
Cool as ice.
Three

Love you all.
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch?

KuppingMyBoschMaegMyF­eldSafF...

The nur-see tain't weetchin'

Shh, don't look around
they don't see if you don't look around...

SCRATCH EARS!

That one,
is okay, he's mowin' the lawN with his hands,
and smiling...

NO PILLS! NO PILLS!

wait a, no, wait, no, wait, no, wait...

EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch?

KuppingMyBo­schMaegMyFeldSafF...

I've got to cup my *****, cupping my ***** makes me feel safe.

wait, no, wait, no, wait, no wait...

iF i bITe MY FINGeRNaILS THEe TaStE LIKE WAx




wax
Cody Henatt Nov 2015
You can learn a lot about a person just by looking at their hands.

Is the skin picked off, do scabs and blood surround the nails?

Are their fingernails bitten down so much that small slivers of blood show atop each one, where nail should be?

These small indicators can point toward anxiety, and troubling lives. You should always remain respectful, because you don't know what a person is going through.
dazmb May 2015
A white poem
A pure poem
A poem that reaches the dirt
underneath your fingernails.
camps Apr 2015
She ate peanut butter and the crumbs her thoughts left behind
And saved her pennies for the playground.
Her hair was slick,
And she hung with the hooligans.

I drew circles in the ground,
Tracing over the truths
She didn’t even know.

You’re ******* poison.

She had those fake fingernails too,
The type to you make you wonder
And think about how rich her daddy is.

Caught in the magic of her plastic
And her polka-dot dreams,
I barely noticed her,
Looking my way.

And I couldn’t bring myself to tell her
What she’d known all along:
The world around her was made of paper
So she’d best be careful with matches.
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