Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nik Bland May 2020
My brain is a middle school notebook
Every day I write your name inside
With random sketches the cover holds in
For emotions I can’t easily hide

My heart is a jelly pen
A schoolyard craze, of that there’s no doubt
It pins my last name to you in my middle school notebook
And as costly as it is, I pray it won’t run out
undermyfeet Dec 2019
Your hands are cream
They rub into me
Filling my skin with content

Your eyes are chocolate
They melt my gaze
My mouth goes dry with want

Your heart is jelly
I wish to take a bite
Would you let me,
even if my teeth leave a mark?
I wrote this in my stage of manic. I wondered about the kind of love that I wish to have, and I reached a conclusion; that I want to leave something behind, so that they won't forget me.
Emma Nov 2019
no, don’t keep me within the framework,
I’ll come out of them anyway, because I’m jelly, I’m just jelly.
Colm Apr 2019
How they float and fray and sting at random
A serious catch they are not in any specific way
Sporty or otherwise, directional
You jelly?
You should be
At least the bending spine know it's own winding way
With a dorsal not carried by every tide
Or captivated by the time of day
You jelly?
You should be, hahaha!
Laughing profusely
so there I saw,
in this group of a society
hell-bound on publicity
this young maiden, a year or so younger
Ill be honest I took a liking to her.
And we newly admitted members of this musical cult,
were placed upon the podium to present our next approach
I tried my best to project a good impression
On her and others,
on her most of all.
And I came prepared, freshly dressed,
a make-do cologne,
generously lent by a friend
to hide that hideous musk of cigarettes id spent smoking
Id say I handled things well.
With the meeting adjourned,
we all went our own ways,
surely, we'll cross paths again.
alas, a week or two later,
they gave us a duty, placing us together
and while I knew it was a task for one,
id take my chance to get her input,
work with her,
so the next time we meet,
we may converse abit more.
Was it my shyness,
a hesitation to not go out of bounds,
or just a mechanism developed from past failures,
that I made sure to stay professional.
And ive just got this wierd feeling in my chest,
and i cant tell it from one or the other,
but I guess Ive taken more than a liking
So I pause,
considering perhaps knowing more,
and so I use the magical bits in my pocket
to show me what she had shown herself to be
awaiting disappointment,
I think im more than happy,
I should be glad
i think my liking grows,
I found she writes, she sings
oh..she writes
this beautiful combination of words
molding the environment to her needs
projecting it how she likes
and that just hits...
but with each discovery my chances just...
And i painfully strangle my interest,
dimming that spark in the chest
controlling my dreams, or thoughts
whatever they may be
I know i may be reaching for a branch
higher than I can jump
and I know, the more I know
the more it grows
I think its just been too long since ive felt this way
I may as well be experiencing,
more than a feeling
but I feel as though im only craving
its just a feeling, it'll go away
atleast thats what they all say
Pyrrha Oct 2018
She was like a loaf of bread
Unexpecting and unafraid
She didn't expect him to cut into her
Severing her from the feeling of being whole

She also didn't expect for him
To plaster her with sweet honey and jam
He filled her with so much sugar,
But his sweetness was a simple distraction

How could she have known he would consume
The delicious treat he made of her
Only to tire of the taste
And allow the rest to go to waste ?

Though there is such tragedy do not fret,
There is still beauty there in every crumb
He may have taken her apart
But now her next love will have room to overflow

She is the most desired pastry of all
She turns her crumbs into cake
The delicious treat she makes of herself
Will never go to waste
The flowers may bloom

but your sting is painfully,

preventing the view.
Sienna Luna Jan 2017
Back to the whirlwind of starting from scratch.
Alone in I sit and watch
as the world moves beneath me, around me, surrounding me and blanketing me with coolness.
Winter months are the best because they make me wonder and think clearer.
I'm waking to a fresh kind of birth where I can leave behind my struggles and venture forth into the great unknown.
And the white starkness of sky that was once bright blue awakens my true frozen heart, deep in slumber,
to pulse a red  purplish bruise that hurts, then soothes.
That's what this season is all about.

Preservation, hibernation, incubation, proclamation, prioritization.

It is the Root Cellar holding all that is dear.
It preserves the best parts of me so so I won't mold and crumble away.
I sit, soaked in vinegar, ripening.
I sleep, preserved in thick viscous jelly, not solid, but swishy.
I guess winter lets me breath as I try to wriggle out of the glass jar encasing my body.
It's hard, and a little slippery.
I am soaked in purplish red blood.
I am born to the rain soaked land, wishing it would snow.
But alas, it only welcomes me to a season so familiar that tears start to form in my eye corners.
Wet and shivering, I open the Root Cellar's door with a creak, and step into guerdon.
When I sit down
At the table
I get excited
To read your label

Peeling back
Your foil cover
A small square of joy
I discover

Strawberry or grape
Jelly or jam
I don't really
Give a ****

I use a few
On my toast
That's the way
I like it most

I think I'm hooked
Don't try and knock it
I put a couple
In my pocket

When no one is looking
Into my pocket I reach
Slowly I pull one out
Man I hope it's peach

Always thinking about it
That sticky substance I crave
Won't someone help me
I'm becoming it's slave

In the fall
It's homemade preserve
On a Ritz *******
I like to serve

I can't stop
No matter how I try
I'll be a slave to the jelly
Till the day I die
I am a Jellyfish
colorful yet pain-inflicitng
I remind myself to forget the bad things.
**I keep on floating.
Next page