If I am to drown,
I hope to march headfirst
into the sea, disappearing
under the waves in a lure of
golden fish scales,
crushed to the bottom
by bullet-shaped weights.

I want a death by mystery,
to wash ashore one April morning,
bloated & violet, fingernails stained
with yellow seaweed.

I was once rainwater clutched in
the milk-white teeth of a crashing wave,
black storm clouds crackling with
lightning bolts of who I was and
who I could never be.

I wake with seawater in my mouth,
a cruel simulacrum of
living water, staining my lips & neck
in the color of overripe plums.

I am water immobile,
molecules frozen in crystalline figures,
waiting for the warmth of choice, of
knowing that my fate can be more than
dead at twenty-seven to thaw my
aching limbs.
i think about water a lot...
So many words
In the English language
But still not enough for you
Which words could I choose?
Gah, none of them could be enough
It just feels like stupid fluff
Maybe just for now
"I love you"
Will do.
Ring the bell
A teller steps up to the counter
"How may I help you today?"
You could calm my doubts
You could ease my worries
You could tell me why
I feel always in a hurry
You could explain,
Why I hate my own name
You could give me a mirror,
That shows me who I really am

If you could, please, just direct me to the isle with the discounted ham.
Another expirement in not hitting backspace while writing.
Ben May 19
What does one write when the feeling flows through them
But the words keep getting sifted out?

A blank canvas
Is a blank canvas
Is a blank canvas

It's hard to write something that
Really means anything
It sounds cliche
Because it is

"Buy into my creative work
Because I lack the creativity
To make it genuine"

But really
Sometimes I feel the current of
Rip through me
Just under the skin and
I can't find the words that can make it
Mean something to anyone else

So here is to all the unwritten words
Hidden grins and
Bitten tongues
For those that feel the wave
But can't figure out
How to ride it.
Ben May 19
Yeah, it can get rough sometimes
But one day
You'll learn to piss on
Your own stings
And you'll swim uninterrupted
Named after an excellent Napalm Death 7"
Ann May 17
dream of me as I dreamt of you
let my image float through your sight
I, the star commands it to be
you cannot escape my might
please do not think of me badly
do I not also deserve love?
you are bound to me
as I decree
the star, her lover, the night?
Meg May 4
i’ve been sewing love into daisy chains
and i’m willing you to pull off each petal
ask them
and they will spell




in your palm
its a love letter written in botany
this is how i love you in spring
the same way the sun sends rays of gold
hurtling to the earth
to me
this is how i love you in spring
the same way the ocean hosts voyagers
you hold me
this is how i love you in spring
with each intake of air
with each new blossom, the bluebird that lives in my chest grows
and its funny
i never saw the beauty in the world
not like this
i never saw the earth glow
with such intensity
heard it hum
until i was able to watch flowers bloom
in the reflection cast in your eyes
that is a beauty i will never fully articulate
this is how i love you in spring
so i am very much in love, with the most incredible woman. poetry will never fully express how deep she runs within me, but theres never any harm in trying, right?
Ben May 3
There are few people I enjoy beating
Quite like myself

A missed period at the end of a sentence
A different data point on a graph
The wrong email to send
The incorrect setting on whatever it may be

It all hits you suddenly like
A putrid wind and lodges
Deep in your chest
Where it forms a solid mass that
Breaks into jagged pieces that
Permeate through every
Pore of your being

But don't worry
The wind will pass and
Jagged pieces will meld into

You will learn from your mistakes

The path to change
And in effect learning
Is hard and rigorous
And the victories at the end of each path
Will be brief

But they are necessary

And then
When you finally get it all
It will all be over


Hopefully you will
Have spent some of your time
Leaving trail markers for others
Bright paint on a trunk
A stack of rocks
A brightly colored piece of fabric
As they traverse the same paths.
Meg May 1
there is fire in a woman
in the words she utters, spilling like a river from lips that know pain and hurting and still curl into a smile that reaches further than her cheeks
there is fire in a woman
in her art
and ‘art washes away from the soul the dust of life’
and often i wonder what it would feel like
to make her body my canvas
let my lips write words on her skin that they could never speak
into the small spaces that lie in-between what i envision our twisted limbs would look like
there is fire in a woman
in her touch, at least i’ve dreamed it so
spent nights, half asleep envisioning what her fingertips would feel like against my skin
or twisted amongst my hair.
i dream of cups of coffee in the morning
that she’ll make me
only to go cold and sit half drank upon the table beside us
because they will never be as caffeinated as her
i’ve spent countless nights alone
with my palm placed heavy upon my chest
checking that the dull thud of my heart still exists
and i wonder what it would feel like
to have the fire that is a woman next to me
and i wonder if i wouldn’t need my palm to check i existed
i wonder if it would feel like dreaming
or if i’d finally feel alive.
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