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Lee 1d
My momma hates fruit
She always said
She’d never take a bite
She’d rather be dead

But since she had medicine
A serotonin pill,
She said she likes the berries
That she always had and will
Ken Pepiton Jul 14
will you, won't you
will you, won't you
will you, won't you xchange

reality, we believe, we take agency
we agree aggressive will to cohere,

be here,
on point, first respondent, codefendant,

mental, pause and reflect, what can matter,
what remains unexplained, mere must be there,

dark materials essential for the data we share,
all knowing humans never in history have known,

just, what,
justice, instantiated, on the cross,

wait, face reality, what one man doubts,
another testifies, was what we all must just

believe, like tov ra means nothing more than
good, and evil

and any child can tell the difference,

as if, in reality as made aware we are, among stars,
incredibly arranged in patterns appearing, to us,

as more than any before us could imagine, and we,
first live Earthian sapient writing species, wrote we
lieve be the faith of the ruling majority among us,
as the good books makes many believe, we do, too,
believe that whatsoever and whosover are general
artfully designated pre posed ever what or who
may once upon this very time feel drawn into

the greatest story ever told, on earth, unbeknownst
to any mind let be in Jesus, the fixer of Judaic flaws,

mostly along exceptionalist matters of archeological

reasonings remains from the prophets sawn asunder,
for reasons all Pharisee degrees deny worth under
standing

as if the actual lines attested
to as literal interpretations,
of genuine wisdom manifestations, sought
by the loser, found
by the browser
in ancient cesspits, pearls shat
and left un re discovered
for someday,
someday,
some
day

but likely not this one, this is sleep, not death,
I shut my eyes and think a thanks, truth prevails.
Words wished artful unartful, officially mentally abnormalized... you realize, you did discern some ality re thunk in hunks of burning love. Or not.
g Jun 25
he didn’t peel my orange,
I let tears shed down my face,
I’m not supposed to be sad,
after all, it’s just an orange.

a sweet and sour fruit,
the color of a prison jumpsuit,
I think I need a parachute,
to rescue me into absolute.

I don’t notice anything else,
just the fact that he refused,
but I stop to think and realise,
that maybe I need to be defused.

all these problems climbing up,
rushing in from the *****,
when a sweet turns to sour,
and something snaps inside.

Why am I filled with smoke,
Why do I feel this way,
Why am I so dependent,
It’s just an orange anyway.

so I start slowly,
taking the skin off,
piece by piece it falls,
and it reveals something sweet.

suddenly I understand.
To peel someones orange,
means I have to peel mine first.
Gabs T Jun 18
Lavender and Lysol
I hope you’re excited!
guidance in the form of secrets
Coming out of your shell (I see the old me in you)

Goblin Market
Tales of trysts with a silk tie
under an amnesiac glow (ggp)
A pre-roll keeps doing a disappearing act

Eucalyptus, sweat, steam
You sat there with me for what felt like hours
Two minutes
Sipped electrolytes

Mexican chocolate is back!
They’re zero waste now
Reminiscing (talking ****)
Helping me fill in the gaps

Part 2, 3, 4
Sour wax crunches when frozen
You don’t know how much I needed this laugh
You guys keep me honest

Now more than a day alone feels like solitary confinement
I’ve shed my introvert childhood
I crave companionship
I know how sweet it can be

People say we die alone - get used to it
But I think I’ll end up somewhere
A mango tree
Arms outstretched
Friends as far as the eye can see
As per my last poem, working on gratitude
Damocles Jun 9
Splayed halve
Spread wide,
Honey pooled within a pitless center
Pinkish flesh glistened in wet;
The perfuming scent of her glistening nectar.

I’m drawn in,
Like a magnetic force,
Adrenaline rushed through my blue-green ravines
As eyes affix to the soft fuzz,
As lips press to the hooded split
Giving it just a simple kiss,
Hot breath over cooling droplets
Mix with perspiring anticipation.

My tongue escapes, traces her shape,
Lines of lapped lashes lapping lavishly
Tasting the sweet fruity juice mixed with honey
Sweetly savory, delightfully sticky
I’m always famished, she feeds me when I’m hungry.

I circle the center,
Invade the pool like Normandy
Blitzing my ballerina tendril
Water polo sports, diving deep
To drown my maw in decadence.

I growl, as my stomach grumbles
Needing more, no longer humble
Succumb by glutinous greed
Imperative to life, as if without this sweet treat
I would be famished,
A third-world denizen in desperate need

She is everything to me,
As my tongue dances like an ice skater
Tripling twirls and gliding circles
Lines of perpendicular or
More in particular designing shapes and letters
*** emojis are written linguistically
Like braille for the unseeing eyes
In languages, only the deaf can prescribe
As nectar waterfalls sweat from her fleshy ripeness
And honey pools like placid lakes.
Face wasted, beard slaked
I looked at my plate and then I ate.
TW: This is an ****** piece meant for adults 18+

Honestly, I just had half a peach and honey...but I couldn't resist writing this...because...well because. lol.
The kitchen smells like a secret I forgot to bury.
A peach gone soft, skin splitting like a bad promise.
The fruit flies know something I don’t;
they’re the last priests of a dying faith,
and they’re waiting for me to leak.

I tell myself I’m healing,
but last night I dreamt I had to eat your heart to survive.
It tasted like burnt sugar and nail polish remover.
I woke up gasping,
your name soldered to the roof of my mouth
like a curse I didn’t mean to cast.

I call it the trick of wanting:
how I keep looking for your fingerprints in places you never touched,
how I flinch when someone says my name in the dark,
how I let the mirror watch me shatter
and pretend I’m a stained glass window.

Here’s the part I shouldn’t post:
I liked it when you lied to me.
I liked it when you said this isn’t about love
and I let you mean it’s about power.

The fruit flies keep coming.
I pretend they’re a sign from God.
I pretend they’re angels. Or demons.
Never both.
I pretend they’re a reminder that sweetness
is just another word for rot.
I pretend the buzzing is the sound of my name-
fermenting in your guts,
putrefying in your chest,
decomposing in your memory like abandoned fruit.

I know I shouldn’t write this.
But I do.
Because I want you to see it.
Because I want you to flinch.

Because I want you to know:
I am the girl who would eat your heart if I could.
I would peel it open with my teeth,
lick the blood off my lips,
smile like a god in a red dress,
and call it love.

And you’d believe me.
Emery Feine May 27
i was born and on fire. my skin, open flesh words that bled onto anyone in a close vicinity. my face, a cloud of black dust. i knew that i had love in my heart to share with the world, but no one could see past the mold on my skin that would spread to them if they got too close. i was born into two things: a fruit that appeared ripe on the outside but leaked out a decayed, rotten mess, and the hands that opened said fruit with blood that held on. i watch the destruction i've made, that i didn't mean to make, but i believed that it was justified. i wait for someone to understand these words, not to pity me, but to find a part of themselves in me. i have found nobody. i fear that as of now, i am a walking, moldy model of decaying flesh and raw meat. i did not want to be this way. i did not want to be the black sheep. i did not want to be bad. i am a sculpture of wet clay that they could mold with their pure hands, and despite all that creativity in their alive and well minds, they have carved the word "rotten" in my flesh.

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7 a to h
I S A A C May 12
causes to cry for
underwhelmed and unsure
kept option open but what for?
my ego is bruised and buried
the fruits of my labour vary
some are prey to predators
some merely didn’t deliver
i should’ve invested in my vigor
not invested in my triggers
causes to try for
Nastia May 9
I take an icy,
Velvety peach
With bruises
From the refrigerator.
It smells
Sweet and refreshing,
Like someone hugging
In the rain.
I carefully bite off.
Bite by piece.
Sour coolness
Remains in the mouth.
Now it is a release for him.
After all, he lay alone
Among five white apples.
Steve Page May 1
Banners of blossom
Hardy perennials
One big metaphor
Words that featured when praying with friends this morning
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