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Кардиган и Коверкот
Гладили малыху в рот.
Лапсердак сидел, вопил,
Смаковал кайфовый чил.
Гройсе Гликовая Шикс
Пожирала жадно Твикс,
Согревала и строчила
Леопардовая Сила.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2021 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power.

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem is a neon fable where each figure speaks in their own dialect of flesh and ritual. Everything’s weird, glitched, and personal. Cardigan, Covercot, Glikova Shiksa — they’re not characters, they’re urban archetypes. To be yourself means not explaining — just vibrating as you are. That’s individuality: not being what’s expected, but being what can’t be avoided.
I didn’t plan to make it this far.
the road was long, and I was tired.
Life never promised me softness,
but then there was you ~
folding sunlight into my hours
like it had always belonged there.

You, who can fit
a decade of joy into a single day,
whose laugh pulls the dust from old corners
and leaves something living in its place.
Your eyes ~
they undress more than skin.
They peel back the years I wore like armor,
and somehow,
I do not mind being seen.

You say you don’t like your greys.
But I ~
I never thought I’d wear time like this,
like a shared jacket
slung across the backs of two souls
sitting on a porch too small for regret.
Each silver strand a mile we’ve wandered,
each wrinkle a map I get to trace
with grateful hands.

If this is what age can look like;
soft, surprising,
filled with the kind of joy
that hums low in the bones,
then let time come.
Let it etch you deeper into me.
Let it bring more of your quiet magic,
the kind that rewrites endings
before they’re written.

Whatever waits for us next,
I will greet it smiling.
Because somehow,
you made forever feel
less like a promise,
and more like a present.
I didn’t write this for the version of me who was trying to escape life - I wrote it for the version who stayed. For the kind of love that makes survival feel like an offering instead of a sentence. Aging isn’t always decay. Sometimes, it’s a second beginning. And sometimes, someone arrives and makes the rest of the story feel worth writing.
Oka 6d
Broad shoulders, round belly
Thighs rock-hard standing steady
Torso full of honor, prestige and glory
Black shut eyes, and a head too weary
Clothed in oliver green, pride or envy?

Slimming waist, a gentle core
Pirouettes with grace, never a sore
Chest for embrace not for war
Satin, silk, velvet floors
This world of yours, mine for sure?

Colour spectrums echo within vision
Jealousy magnified on each selection
Rainbows and prisms radiate complexion
Building loops of personal perception
Toys to dolls, should be a simple question?
There is a spider in the corner of my room,
and I’m deathly scared of spiders.
But I won’t **** her,
because aren’t spiders deathly afraid of humans too?
They should.
We ****** them, choke them, torture them to death.
We scream and break their eardrums at the mere sight of them,
we insult them.

I would.
If I was a spider, I’d be deathly scared of humans.
But no spiders **** humans and all humans **** spiders.
(Still, spiders are the monsters in every tale)
Why do we try to make everything we’re afraid of
disappear?,
instead of learning to cope
with the fear.

There is a spider in the corner of my room,
and I’m deathly scared of spiders,
but I won’t **** her.

She didn’t choose to be born that way.
:) *insert pride flag*
It doesn't ask.
It never knocks.
It just shows up-
mid-sentence,
mid-step,
mid-me.

My body remembers
things I don't want to.
Fluorescent lights,
locked doors,
her voice like venom,
his hands,
the smoke thick enough
to erase a home.

I'm split between moments.
One version of me
is pouring coffee.
The other is back
in a room I begged to leave,
screaming behind my eyes
while my face stays still.

And people say
"but you're safe now."
Like my nervous system
understands logic.
Like my skin
doesn't still flinch at kindness,
like safety is a thing
I've ever known for sure.

I carry too many names.
******. Liar. *****. Crazy.
He. She. It.
I carry too many versions of myself
that other people made
without asking.

And I'm so ******* angry.
At her.
At them.
At the system that locked me up
when all I needed
was to be held without harm.
At the fact that I'm still here
trying to make something soft
out of what they left jagged.

Sometimes I wish
I could go back-
whisper to the kid
who hid under blankets
trying to disappear.
Tell him: you were right.
Tell them: it wasn't your fault.
Tell me
I'd get out.

And I did.
But sometimes,
parts of me still don't know that.
They shake,
they shut down,
they show up uninvited.

And I breathe,
even when it burns.
And I stay,
even when I want to run.
And I write,
because it's the one place
I get to be the one
telling the story.
josef Jul 15
and as i walk along the brick road,
i look back and He’s there.
catching up beside me, He asked me
‘why do you abandon hope, and your
love.’ i say that he will never feel the same
and i’ve come to accept it.

He went on to say, ‘blessed are those
who are pure in heart - and you, my child
gave him the purest form of love you could
the same agape that I give you’

my soul rejoiced for His words, and
i’m reminded of how he suffered so I
may feel for anyone without sin

i love god more then him, but i
show them the same type of love.
one reciprocated in action, the other didn’t.
Everyday lately feels like  
I'm becoming more aware

That as a kid I felt more than human
I felt more like an animal full of fight
I feel like the ocean and the sun's rays
that reflects off of it
I feel like i'm not tethered to a body
I am just visiting in this form
For now
until I am screaming out in agony for truth
As I stretch the limits of my physical vessel
to test the edges on the daily

What we consider
Two "ends" of a spectrum
May overlap more like
A Natural Continuum

I feel fluid and limitless

Never understanding why people assign themselves
so willingly to the confines of a check box

Like if gender was a target
Then I've been missing the mark
for as long as I can remember

Hopeless shooting at a different target
Far beyond
#nonbinary #beyond the binary #nonconforming #genderfluid
Ria Jul 5
When she laughs I smile
When we lock eyes I forget my name
She catches me staring and walks over
My cheeks burn when she talks to me
I know what's happening
I think I love her
Lux Jul 1
What are you?
They asked.
I am who I am.
I answered.

But you are very difference from us.
They pointed out.
Yes, I know.
I admitted.

You are queer and weird.
They said.
Yes, I am queer, and I am weird  but nothing wrong with me!
I shouted back.

They were kids and so was I.
Why the world is so cruel to me?

I am different.
I am queer.
But nothing wrong with that.

NOTHING WRONG WITH ME  
FOR BEING WHO I AM

I am not what they defined me.  
I am who I am, and I am queer.
The Existence Of Queer and May All Of Us Never Cower In Fear.
star Jun 30
untitled 6.29.25 (6:34 pm / 18:34)
i'll listen when you talk
when you laugh
scream
cry

i want to listen to your words i want to hear you
i don't want you to be forgotten
i can't even bear the idea

when you're sad i want to hold you
tell you it'll be okay
tell you you can trust me

tell you i'd never leave

you are just so beautiful
the kind where i keep stealing glances at you
when i think you won't notice
because of course i don't have a chance

i can't imagine how i lived twelve years without you
maybe i didn't

i could go on and on and on
sweetheart
i wanted to say i love you
falling in love with ur best friend lwk be really frustrating aint no way she likes me back hasgca hkjv.r sfldbmvjrs lgkszcx jchkl;asdfghjkl girls are so pretty
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