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Man May 20
i've laid out a pail
maybe you'll fill
my bucket

from your high-rise
in ivory
do i look like an ant?

i wish i was porcelain
fairer skinned
and richer

i wish had a strength
to stir the world awake
from it's slumber

all those times
we spent shouting
they faded to echoes
Dee Mar 2
It can be difficult,
The attempt at being someone I'm not.
I feel the cracks in the porcelain mask I wear,
Each crevice cutting deeper,
Until a shattered mess is left behind.
My smile is starting to wain and dim,
The edges paining me in their effort,
To stay upright.
Please tell me my mask was not in vain.
That my attempt to conceal my agony,
Made your burdens lighter.
Made you whole.
James Dec 2020
my mother once had a porcelain teapot
gilded with flowers and leaves,
on my 12th birthday, i dropped it to the ground,
and it shattered as it hit the floor

some days i feel like that teapot
glued back together but still missing some pieces
weaker than i began
but stronger than i ever will be again.
Lane O Aug 2020
a tea bag steeping
diffusing in porcelain
drink and be happy
Lane O Aug 2020
Skin like porcelain
Ivory, milk and honey
Your kiss pacifies
-elixir- Jul 2020
The porcelain shell of his,
Hid his vulnerabilities
As he went on to only find
Cracks that expose him
To the storms that
Rage over the cracks.
While the devil plays
His trill with glee.
He then realised the shell wasn't enough for his mind.
Anastasia Jun 2020
dancing on a moonless night
the air is cold
stars the only light
a lacy white dress
flowing with her movement
is she porcelain
or is she human
a music box plays
while she slowly spins
her limbs held together
with staples and pins
sweet tinklings and chimes
while she closes her eyes
trapped in a hell
a soft gentle demise
winding down
the music slows
to staccato notes
there is no flow
just jerky beats
eventually

silence

my hands reach for the key
basil Jun 2020
i'm falling porcelain:
okay for now.
Dante Rocío Jun 2020
Do you see, grasp in the nowhere and nowhen
the whole picture?
Register the tedious highs, lows, widths and breadths
before your private, iridologic rainbows?
Like grasping the rims of “allness” on the path of a forest,
letting yourself grow a vertigo, fragile and docile.
Every, every time you meet up with a person,
do you encompass in your grasp, mind’s eye, all they are, all they are,
at that one very time?
My vision dims out into dependence, when glasses leave, when the forest my attendance seeks
in utter loneliness without my harmony with it weaved.
I no longer have in survival advantage
but it feels more than right to fall, give over,
I give myself fragile, more just, and fit.
In that vulnerability I can see more than
a healthy eye can: Van Gogh’s work on my trees’ leaves.
That is what all presences, forms and life’s skies are for:
fragileness, undoneness, nothingness, reasonlessness
Bo widzę i bez okularów.
Mniej, a jednak więcej.
Maha May 2020
in my father's home
tucked into a closet
stands a lovely doll
a dress that spilled over the edge of the armoire that she perched upon
dimming light cast a soft twinkle in her eyes,
a shimmer in her hair
I yearned to be like her
until her façade cracked
and she looked like me
About Me
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