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cait-cait Jan 2017
Step one starts with forgetting/

you begin by tearing
yourself from the skin they took home in,
disconnecting your arms from their seams,
eating their hearts
and hoping that they forget you,
too

Step two means burning all
ties,
dissolving each memory like the pills
your mother took at breakfast,
how could you have let this happen?

so you pull
their
veins from yours and
untangle what they gave you,
choke down a penny
and hope
that they don't think of
you

Step three is the
detox,
cut yourself open and scrub yourself
shiny:::
unchain your wrists from that dinner table
and hope that his nightlight doesn't bleed
through
that
doorway,

orange was never a pretty color
anyway

Step four is the hardest,
.
when you take a knife to your palm,
and make slits down to your wrist,

when you ignore the beck and call
of memories you forgot you had,
people you realize never cared,
so you take
a drink for those you know you've
long forgotten,

and come clean
to three different people, all the
same and hope the next girl
doesn't know step one....

it never seemed to hurt when you
played it all out in your head.
this has been in my phone's notes for a really long time and i finally wrote step four. right as he forgets and replaces me...:.. ....ok
Are trees late turning
Autumnal disappointments,
Failing to burn with the colors of fall,
Or are they the victors,
Standing sentinel in their shades of summer
Just a second longer?
You can find more of my poetry at caitlincacciatore.wordpress.com
Elioinai Sep 2016
My God is living color
a translucent Fire
the traces of Your fingers drip like Gold
Your face blood Ruby red
split with veins of Garnet orange
Carnelian swirls ascending from Your feet
Revelation 4:3
Lady Bird Sep 2016
satisfying, slightly sweet
an orange spindle shape
something enjoyable to eat  
very good for your health
crunchy in every bite
yet full of robust wealth
to improve your eyesight
with a hard and rough texture
it's green bloomed leafy top
helps balance out its flavor
such a great nutrient to savor
diced, grated, wild or raw
shredded even sliced when fresh
in any cookbook there are so may
ways to prepare this delicious and
enjoyable golden orange vegetable
mark john junor Sep 2016
Elephants and donkeys
fighting it out in the trenches
My blue coat stained with the entrails
of orange trolls iv slain
in fierce hand to hand combat
fighting to keep us safe from the
filthy madman with no soul

Here in our trench
we bluecoats share a meal
and laugh among ourselves
strong hearts of brave
men and women
good people with a righteous cause
we tell tales of our exploits
slaying the never ending
lies that spew from the
despicable orange horde

A flash of light and explosion shatters
the night as the enemy releases some
photo-op or soundbite meant to destroy us
we all laugh
and shoot it full of holes
such weak lies are easily destroyed

We are Hillary Clinton's army
sent to do battle with the weak minded
and insane orange trolls
they fight in the name of evil
they fight in the name of the orange beast

We will win
there is no doubt in my heart
i look around me
proud comradeship
bluecoats defending the world
from the small minds of evil orange men
fight on brothers and sisters fight on
with Hillary leading us we will prevail

© 2016 mark john junor all rights reserved
Sophia Chang Jun 2016
A life of blues and greens
with a small gleam
of purples and reds
all life is dead
with blacks and browns
all we see are their frowns
and yellows and oranges*
on their pale sickly faces
{23.06.16}
Toby Lucas May 2016
A waxy, dimpled orb in my hand,
A tiny sunrise, sweet and sharp.

One nail-blade incision and the
Peel tears away when you find the foothold,
Then coursing acid fires through your cuts and bruises,
Burning and tasting wounds with sharp recoil taste,
An acerbic spark.

Pith lodges under my nails,
Tang cloys beneath my nose.
The fruit now pulled apart, the ceremony over,
Segments of the sun lie exposed.
Eat half and half a year you'll remain.

The stringy web of white
Latticing the fruit-flesh
Is a pain to unentwine
What with the juice.

An explosion when you pierce the pocket,
And the gamble of what the burst will be.
Hedge your bets by eating the tasteless ones too.
Then the bathos of a pip
(the pebble inside the fruit, too small to be a stone)
Punctuates the sweetness you'd been enjoying.
Now the fumbling spat to get it out.

And after all the effort it's flavourless,
And you ask was it worth it?
Wasn't even really orange.
'Nothing rhymes with orange.'
'No, it doesn't.'
Summer 2016
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