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Amaris Jul 2019
You gave me silken scarves and solitude
To weave my own bindings
You gave me surpluses of satin
Bandages for skin you broke
You gave me Swarovski accessories
As if it excused your absences
You gave me smooth apologies
A salve to my twisted fingers
stranger Jul 2019
Skin
Too much skin.
Too much space.
Too many flashing lights.
Epilepsy.
Too much skin.
Carnal wishes without discretion.
Killing me.
Too much skin around me.
Too much skin for me too see.
Smoothly.
Lights pulsating under the layers.
I want to feel skin other than mine.
I've gotten tired of wasting time.
Coliding and condoning myself for not looking better.
For not making other layers of skin want mine the way I want them.
No-one particularly.
Tonight I just want to feel loved and I just ain't enough.
Skin.
Kilometers that my fingers want to run over.
Skin stretching over structured bones, taking the hues of the blood passing through.
How does it feel you fool?
To have someone love you thoroughly?
From your veins to nose cartilages ?
How does it feel tell me?
Incoherently I'm thinking if I can find love in my own skin.
Too used to it so negative.
Tell me how does it feel?
To have skin touch yours that is not evil?
How does it feel to not hate the skin you're touching?
How does it feel to love feeling?
Skin.
Too much skin.
Too much space.
Epilepsy.
How would  one's skin ever survive loving me?
Skin haunting me
Riya Jul 2019
Your eyes are fading.
Your smile is cracking.
Your face is doubting.
Your mouth is running.
Your ears are hunting.
Your heart is just breaking

And you can't do anything
But just watch and wait for nothing.
Vic Jul 2019
What
-            Even
    .     Is
a                  poem
A "poem" every day
Celia Rose Jul 2019
You are the Titan of Tears,
Sobbing to the unforgiving milkman
Who breaks your ***** bottles
And feeds you curdled milk
From withering cattle.
He crunches around broken glass
With his scuffed leather boots on your front porch
As you watch from a hole in your bedroom wall,
Losing your first piece of dignity
And the last of the sanity carrying you since age ten.
You are the Titan of Tears,
Crying to the cutthroat poetess
Who refuses to send your estranged sister
A collection of misery soaked poetry.
She burns your insincere words in front of the mailbox;
Stanza by stanza the ash coats your mouth
Like lipstick for the ******.
Spiraling into smoke as she walks away
Fast enough to lose her in the midst of your fit.
The Titan of Tears—
You whimper in torn apart doorways
To block out strangers who will never appear.
You, Titan,
Who only feels clean when flossing
In the harshest of summer storms
Because you believe your great God is washing
Sins out of your matted hair.
You, Titan,
Whose childhood feels never-ending like evening traffic.
Childhood is the milky smoke you witness
Seeping from your dying neighbor’s chimney;
Childhood stares at you
Like glassy eyed pigeons outside of your office window
As you weep into your cold black coffee, Titan.
Your lacking adulthood is full of sloppy attempts to silence
Barking dogs in your slush brain,
Pushing down the bile that rises in your flaking throat,
As water floods your eyes like a basement during Katrina
And feeding worms writhe out of your flared nostrils,
Covered in snot and blackened discharge.
You are the Titan of Tears;
Your weeping rivals Mother Mary’s ****** streaks.
i am proud of this one.
Amaris Jul 2019
Starts with a burst of pure light
Flares up and away like a laugh
Coalesce into one, a sphere perfectly rounded
Essence of one captured in crystal form
I watch mine flicker, a candle in an open window
Darker like the clouds hiding the sun
Pray to the world I’ll flare up again or
I’ll slowly be consumed by my sins
hillary litberg Jul 2019
pressed strawberries into my skin
to have a permanent bite of a younger me
who plucked sweetness from vines under coastal suns
and wore freckles far from faded —
still hot from the burn that drew them

poked asymmetry into my face
dressed it in tiny, shiny silver spheres
like ornaments on a christmas tree mid-january
a sharp contrast to the dying pine that no ones thrown out yet
that no longer carries the same cheery scent

painted orange through these tangled locks
to revive a youth with shortcake hair and not a single qualm
before it all faded to ***** blonde
the cheap dye smelled like nostalgia:
grape otter pops at waterparks in summers

put on colors with turned up saturation
a palette like that one july — before he drained the flush in my cheeks
and made rainbows look like oz before technicolor
all grayscale and dull when i was promised magic
and music and marvel and memories — the good kind

peered at the lightning bolts on my hips and thighs
that i know i should appreciate — how they’re a symbol for growth
how they’re like little paths that lead to a better me
but i can’t help but hate the way they remind me of earthquake aftermath
no one likes to think about that or see that

played around with pretty eyes
needed something to cover what’s broken behind mine
but he couldn't find any value
in trading his clear blue ponds for these sunken
deep polluted seas

so i

pulled what little i had left in me
and put it on my callous skin
salvaged an old scrapbook full of visions
and said i’d turn them into deja vu
a shapeshifter that shook those who followed along

rewriting everything that was wrong
Luna Egbert Jun 2019
tired
no,
tired won’t justify this

my heart is hollow
i help my friends to be who they are
to feel good inside,
but i’m left with nothing
no thank you’s , no ‘are you okay’
no.. anything.
and when they do ask is out of sympathy. they don’t really care
they just want to ask back because when you ask how are you to someone, don’t you feel like they have to say it back?
when my friends cry, i cry, when they fear, i fear and when they feel love, i feel love
but do they ever express gratitude?
they use me like a toy
once you’re happy you leave me behind
you don’t even bother to ask how i am.
the feeling of being disappointed is reaching every where within my body and i just want everything to stop
you might think i’m selfish. for wanting credit for your happiness
i just want to feel like i’m needed, appreciated, loved.
to feel like a friend and not just a paper you write your feelings on.

tired
no,
tired won’t justify this.
yea I don’t know.
Empire Jun 2019
I was in a mood
So I made myself some tea
I think I’ve calmed down
Yikes... I’ve got to stop all the caffeine...
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