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Bhill 7d
Stretch it out

Your internal time clock says it time
You feel your self waking up...
Yawn, open your eyes just a bit to see if it's light
Remember where you are
Stretch out those sleeping legs
Throw your arms over your head and...
Stretch till you feel the muscles wake up
Wow...  Wow that feels good
Are you ready?
Let's go
Forget that, I'm going back to sleep....

Stretch it out...

Brian Hill - 2019 # 250
Wake up, get out of bed...
Terry Collett Aug 17
The artificial legs seem
like appendages,
and I feel
both sickened,
and yet pleased at last
to be able to get about again
without being
in the wheelchair.

They are attached
and then I am balanced,
a nurse either side.

I imagined
it would be easier,
but it is strange,
like being attached to objects
which move if I lift
and move I leg stumps.

I walk forward slowly,
the nurses at my side,
encouraging me on,
knowing I am blind.

This is it; this is how
it will always be now
if I want to walk.

It is learning
to walk again,
as I learnt
as  a little girl,
with the falls
and missteps
which came then.

I walk onward,
one step at a time,
learning to throw
the leg stump,
balancing as I go.

Philip will be pleased
when he comes,
seeing me walk,
seeing me eye to eye,
not looking down
at the wheelchair.

After a while
the nurses
suggest I rest;
I want to keep on,
but I sit,
not an easy task,
and try to accept
the legs will
be there now;
no longer promises,
but attached,
new limbs;
how it always will be,
my old legs,
damaged beyond repair,
no longer there.
Jo Barber Jun 17
My body twists in reverse,
Each foot perched above me
In an arch on the couch.
A bottle of gin lies to the side,
And a book flutters open
To a dog-eared page of a poem
That’s often been reread.
My eyes droop
Under the weight
Of another day done.
The work is over,
The money is made,
But it must be made again

For now,
We sleep.
I fell of the stairs for the 2nd time today.

(This is a joke ssshhh)
(I did fall off the stairs though)
A poem every day.
x Jun 7
i wonder if you see the fear in my eyes
when you show me your love
in hopes that i will compromise,
but i know i am not enough.
so instead i shove your face between my thighs
in hopes that, that will be enough.
because you see my dear,
no love lives here
can you smell the fear?
can you taste it?
as i open my legs for you?
as i lie in a bed for you you?
as my body begs for you?
Anastasia Jun 4
she was thinking again
about the seams in her legs
the stitches
and weeping.
it terrified her
the blood gushing out
torn skin
the flavor of pain
her eyes were locked open
and she stared at the seams
tears pouring from her sewed-open eyes
she sits on her pile of ashes
her blood mixing
making a muddy paste
that crusts on her eyelashes
her bruised cuts growing on her flesh
and reopening
maggots gnawing on her body
eating the remnants of flesh
and she stares.
don't follow them
today love looks like
closing out a chapter
and starting brand new.

love looks like dancing into happy
and taking the necessary
deep breaths to get there,
like leaving you beautiful,
but knowing there is more than that
waiting for me.
knowing that I am more than that and I am waiting for me.

love today looks like legs for days
gracing this earth.
vocals for miles hitting all the wrong notes in the worst way.

but nothing is more freeing than dancing in t-shirt and *******
singing songs with words both made for feeling high and simply feeling.

i’m singing through this chapter and i won’t come back to wait for you.
today love looks like
a full body scrub.
and face included.
all traces of anything not alive being removed.
all traces of anything not meant to be here gone.
feeling softer,
more free,
but no closer to ridding this body of you.
these lips
of you,
these legs
of you.
I’d clean this heart of you
if there were something made for messes there.
The march
never tells true
stories of weary legs.
Through great jungles of green and steel,

Press on,
we urge against
the ground dragging beneath.
Unconquerable, every day
they walk
#7 in my Year One collection, from notes on 11/16
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