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Pen touches paper’s silent stripes,
Women struck by ******’s vice.
Each etching their nails to scar—
One verse more sharp by far.

We trade their wounds for cadence,
Their silence for a rhyme.
Our ink absolves no bodies,
Just stains the frame in mind.

Is every poet a criminal,
Who can’t resist or cease?
Shall we erase this hunger,
Or name it as disease?
This poem delves into the complex relationship between the artist and their subject, questioning whether the act of transforming any human experience into art, driven by the artist's emotions, risks turning it into a kind of caricature
AC Apr 21
painting my nails seems so unproductive
when i could be studying for math or german or history
but i'm thinking about you.

i don't know your favorite color, or i would have painted them that shade.
though, unless your favorite color is
pink
purple
silver
crusty blue or
clear
then i guess i couldn't anyway because those are the only colors i have.
You got your nails done yesterday,
They look so pretty.
Black with white swirls,
Sleek shiny paint.
They're kind of blurry,
Maybe if you held my hand,
I could see them better.
I'm still waiting for her to notice me. . .
Jamesb Sep 2024
I keep saying I carried
Us alone for a year,
In the face of
Abhorrence - derision and rage,
In truth some of each with
Much good reason,

I keep saying,
As you did,
That my love is not enough,
Keep saying that now
It's your time to shine and that Indeed now you must,

And yet even as you
Reach out in a way
I am supposed to honour,
Your tone is dipped
In censure and rebuke,
Accusation and deep ire,

What you seem not
To understand is you
Are in fact,
For all your vaunted effort,
Merely nailing our coffin lid,
Firmly,

Shut.
There is a frustration within this poem I scarce can name
Caosín Jul 2023
Cos when I bite my nails with no light to see,
I wake up in the morning to them screaming at me,
Broken, torn, and fraying at the seams.
And I think
****, why do I do this to me?
LC Mar 2022
a frosting-filled slice
eaten one day is a treat -
fluffy, sweet, luxurious.

eaten every day -
nails encrusted with frosting,
cloying, drained, decayed.
These are my reflections on social media - in two haikus.
Raven Feels Jul 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I hate this color:)

from the couldn't write to the couldn't sleep
almost questioned the revenge from the read
to have the crumbled skin kiss the red
the lost bitten nails got teared and fed
pastel in capital letters on sand
the cruel wave washes in no clock hand
an orange flee for your life
leave a trail to follow and strive


                                                                                  -----ravenfeels
Nikita May 2021
Tight in my grip
I feel your nails slip
Digging deep
Digging hard
She says to me
He left me a card
Long and lithe fingers,
comfort moulded into cones,
is where art kisses geometry
and meets one of its own.

Her hands are to touch
manicured and glazed,
you feel home and lost
a Pharaoh now, and next a waif

The nails, you find and wonder
filed for a student and trimmed.
Not a wisp of colour
bare as a bone, naked and skinned.

Snug in a life song,
a pallbearer of untold griefs,
they are a stark sight
of colourless coral reefs.  

On but a blue moon,
they’re a savoury rare,
when hungry eyes feast
on the riotous fair.

Why, one day, I ask thee?
She would smile and wouldn’t tell.
‘Never felt like’,
is her No Comment.
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