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I lay on my back and I opened up to you,
Like a book lying on its spine.
It’s pages spread apart,
You rubbed the coarse paper in between your fingers,
Sliding down the edges even though you knew you would get a paper cut.
You turned the pages ever so softly,
Careful as to not let a crease happen.
My soul danced around your fingers,
My body shook beneath the words you whispered to me,
I spilled my secrets like the jumbled words on white sheets of spilled ink.
I was your novel and I couldn’t be more happy to let you construct the sentences of our slow,
600 page book.
Can I be the protagonist of your story?
elle jaxsun Nov 22
emerald linen edged with jade
a book titled with my name

and it’s heavy.

i flip through the pages
but they’re blank.

or maybe they’re written
in a way i cannot see

or maybe it was never written at all.

or maybe it’s a reflection,
an empty book, an empty me.

& maybe I’ll write it someday.
I had the pleasure of working with Boi again! This time I shared my poem and he gave me some awesome ideas for adding more concrete images into the poem. If you'd like to check out Boi's awesome work, you can find it here: https://hellopoetry.com/swoopingevil/

Thank you, Boi!

Original (11/19):

a book with my name on it.
i flip through the pages.

but they're blank

or maybe i just can't read them
or maybe it was never written
and maybe i'll write it one day.
Jasmine dryer Nov 17
they say we all have a story
but mine feels like someone dipped the pages in a gasoline
threw it into a fire
and watched it burn
burn into nothing
but ash

and then burned that too
Jenny Gordon Nov 11
Yes, snow.  Mebbe take my face in your hands and shake me?


It's...snowing.  Hug yourself within the pale
Eye of these ***** hours whose ghastly sense
Of Winter sits triumphant oer pretense,
As tiny flakes 'non filter down t'avail
The soul of that keen silence--cherished bail
We relished in forgotten days like thence
Twas fit to sanctify us, wandring hence
To finger cotton-candy whiteness' tale.
Don't ask me why my heart sank in a poor
'Scuse when my owly eyes first caught the view.
Nor if I loved morn's cuppa like twas fer
My soul's recure, Assam just what we knew
It should be if you taste it, no.  We were
Too fond of lies, I think, was't?  I miss YOU.

Jenny Gordon Nov 8
...say--whatever, nor how to say "ghastly" with another word.


O how the gutter drools in morning's pale
And ghastly eye, leaves fluttring down from hence
In lonely ones or twos, so yellow, whence
Look how November lays a carpet, hale
Aye golden, thick and musty, whose detail
Glows dimly under grey racks' twilight, dense
Calm is't? mair bitter than our souls fr'intents
Like, while Death stares us in the face sans bail.
Trees' ***** boughs stretch upward as winds stir
The fallen with a careless hand.  We do
Not look, but with faint shivring as it were,
Pull sweaters closer, hang up lights to woo
Warm feelings as the strands blink through this poor
Light, and rain weeps sans consolation, blue.

*lifts brows inquisitively* Hmm?  Was there something else to add?  I forget what....
zb Nov 7
open textbooks like broken promises,
pages creased and corners frayed,
sticky notes smudged;
my eyes blur over the words
the words in black and white and blue;
my fingers in blue spots and red tint
fumble with the edges of the paper,
cold and clumsy -
it's hard to stay awake.
life on LSD Oct 15
It’s easy to say;
He stole my heart away

He didn’t

That’s not what he did
That’s not what he stole

I would recognize it if I could
just lay my eyes upon it

With every part of my being

       I know I would

If I could just hear what is
calling for me ever since

I would translate each shiver
that runs trough my body

       I know I would

Then maybe if I close my eyes
I can feel what is missing

With every heartbeat that
keeps skipping

       I know I would

Like I said;
He didn’t steal my heart away

That’s not what he did
That’s not what he stole
life on LSD Oct 14
“It’s you,
who’s whispers still carry
hidden messages that brings my soul to life.”

“They keep me awake at night”

                                       “They set fire to the whole **** place.”
Arcassin B Oct 12
by Arcassin Burnham

I hope you use to feel,
I hope you use to feel like I did.
But you never did,
Cause the things that I surpassed were surreal, too vivid.

Sketches and the drawings I would do would look just like you now.
Ripping pages had to do with rage, I couldn’t stop thinking of you now, now.
I just knew that my dreams weren't real when I would dream of you now ,now.
You had better things to do than to be friends with me , but I loved you now, now.

I hope you use to feel,
I hope you use to feel clarity.
But you said need,
Cause the things you use to have then , now you don't need,
Which was my love.

life on LSD Sep 30
I long for the day I wake up
without the bitter taste

I plead for the day I wake up
without the sweet taste

and I beg for the day I wake up
without the taste
                                                               of your name still on my tongue.
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