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fray narte Jul 15
my idea of love
is diving headfirst
into the corners of your mind.
Tommy Randell Aug 2018
Hands up all those of you for whom
Not carrying a line across a page
Is a clear signal Poetry is presumed
Not Prose...

Take a bow all of you who read
With rhymes in your eyes not on the tongue
Poetry being in the heart not the head
Is supposed...

And for all of you who smile
Having come thus far to be beguiled
I lit this candle only to last a while
Just to celebrate, Hello...
serpentinium Jul 2018
i. there’s a girl. narrow-*****, wild hair like a lion’s mane, sprawled underneath the shade of a looming fig tree. her teeth are all that’s sharp about her. soft curves, soft lips, a soft paradox in the Garden. in this lost land, there she is, subtle and tinged with the same stardust you once believed could save us all.

angelic, you’d call her, if she looked more grotesque. more like the cherubim of ol’, dressed in flames, impaled on swords, screeching the name “hosanna, hosanna” without mouths. but there are no wings, no heavenly trumpets, just the afterimage of divinity– something laced with hope, but already rotting. she spits out seven seeds and you don’t know if this is a land of God or gods anymore.

ii. she smiles and it feels like death.

you are unable to solve the riddle sprung from the lion’s ribcage– but the roof of your mouth tastes like honey and blood and you don’t mind. there’s no linearity, no familiar whine of a donkey, nor the sound of sand against gravel or sandaled feet marred by sunburns and blisters.

there is simply you and her and an eternity of possibilities that whisper in a forked tongue, “adam, oh adam,” and your heart drops. is this the end? but it tastes so sweet and you are alright to die like this, cradled between what was once in your womb and a creature of scales.

you do not expect the guilt that drips down your chin with each rivulet of juice.

iii. they call it love.
you call it divine absolution.
she calls it the beginning of humanity.
idk sometimes i think about eve like a lot
zody rose wang Mar 2016
the floor is icier than the last time i crumbled down here. i'm enclosed within the walls of eerie silence, blackness all around me, enveloping my terror, releasing my pain. tears seem to find their own way down to the floor, first dancing with delight, then solidifying and morphing into dark crystals. what is more comforting than the fetal position? the escape that has been written repeatedly into my screenplay of a life.
Sarah Kersey Dec 2015
When I was 10, we lived in a neighborhood that was always under construction
My parents installed an alarm just in case anything were to ever go awry
They set up the defenses that should have been indestructible
But there was this one day that I ended my walk from the bus stop to my place of safety by entering a house that didn’t sound an alarm to footsteps in the doorway
The batteries were just dead
Before I allowed myself to indulge in an hour of mind-rotting after school specials, I checked every room in the house for intruders
I have always been cautious like that
I told my parents the alarm batteries needed replacement but I never told them about how I checked the room we kept our water softener in to make sure there wasn’t anyone dwelling where they shouldn’t have been

I tried to write an essay one time comparing the ****** assault I endured last august to my house getting broken into
I talked about being brave in the aftermath of a tragedy
After pouring all my blood and half-assed tears into that paper, I received a C- and a try again
It didn’t connect, it didn’t make sense, and my metaphors were confusing
I think I tried too hard to make the trauma a metaphor instead of emphasizing the reality:
my own personal home that I had been inhabiting for seventeen years had genuinely been broken into
And the alarm didn’t sound
And that didn’t feel brave

I think all I did in that sham of an essay was convince my teacher I was a coward
I talked to her about it once
I think she may have suspected that my batteries were dead

Either they were dead the evening I endured my attack or I had just chosen to brush off the persistent ringing of panic that was sounding in the air because it sounded too much like my anxiety
I’d always pushed my gut feelings away so I could continue to live without fear of going outside
Some instincts you just had to choose to ignore
I chose to ignore the wrong one
I chalked up the burrowing feeling that had made its home in my stomach that night in the glow of that artificial light to simply being nervous
So I turned off the alarm and I let him kiss me

There’s two glaring repercussions that being sexually assaulted has produced
I can’t look at lava lamps
And I can’t end poems about you
Lava lamps remind me of your bedroom
I can’t end poems because that would mean that I have closure
That you’re gone
That the alarms are intact
But I still have a creeping suspicion that you could be hiding behind my water softener
I can't seem to get my thoughts in order anymore. I'm trying.
Sarah Kersey Sep 2015
I think if you were cremated right here and now, your ashes would burst into flames
You are like wildfire
Unstoppable and hypnotic
My lungs pour out smoke as your eyes light up when the sun goes down
Your temper is like a flare gun against the red of the sky
Fading faster than I am
I make you sound like a crime scene
but you are so much more
You are interlaced fingers as the lights chase us out of town
When I look at you, I see the hue of police sirens
The burning fire of the strands that erupt out of your skull contrast with the pharmaceutical waves of your eyes
The essence of you narcotizes my system
A piece I wrote for a friend's video project that I'm actually quite fond of.
Sarah Kersey Aug 2015
I took your words like antidepressants
I thought that I could find happiness in your words,
Your synthetic,
**** words
Instead I began choking on your capsuled lies
when they started tasting like hate and rocks
in my throat
I shoved my own fist down my esophagus
in an attempt to grab back all the words
I wish I never said

I didn’t get my words back
but I did lay in bed for three days straight
while occasionally vomiting up your lies

I switched to Prozac after that.
Sarah Kersey Aug 2015
He held the newspaper above his head like it would somehow protect the water from cracking his scalp open

The words fell off the pages and soaked into the bald surface of his head

3 killed and 12 injured in a car collision on I-90 drips past his forehead and made a home in his old and gray eyebrows where things went to slowly rot


The advice columns made a home in his eyes because he could see the point, but he couldn’t process it in his mind

The obituaries come to life in his ears like all the words these skeletons once heard but are now lying with the red roses settled upon the graves

The words and rain continued to pour until his tears became ink and each drop was a letter of the article he always wanted to write but never got the chance to
Sarah Kersey Aug 2015
I thought that if I was your punching bag
then you’d have a reason to keep me around
So I didn’t bat an eyelash
when your monstrous hands
locked around my throat
You whispered words like “beautiful”
and contradicted them with words like “worthless”
Because even though
I couldn’t breathe
at least you found me desirable

You find me repulsive now
So I didn’t flinch
when you kicked me in the shins
with the force
of a wrecking ball
because you told me
that you were fascinated
by my skin when it bruised
Because even though
I couldn’t walk
at least you found me
something worth looking at

You don’t look me in the eye anymore
Eventually your punching bag here
took one too many hits
and started to look a little too broken
for your taste
Now this broken *******
lies in a dusty corner of your mind,
another addition to the collection of items
you could no longer find a way to love
after they broke
Sarah Kersey Aug 2015
You are not ruined,
you are just beginning
No matter how many homes
you coat in gasoline
and watch ignite
You will never be the ashes of your failures
The smoke may taint your clothes
and wrap itself in your hair
But it’ll never taint your heart
That will always remain golden

— The End —