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astraea 6d
the dreams fall from the sky,
into the children’s hands
a small child reaches her open and filthy palms to the sky,
a girl sets aside her books,
cradles a spider web of rain droplets
tucking in her heart,
the deepest corners of her brain, they’re one in the same.

love is so good when love is young
she knows this herself,
a sweet taste so different to the fires she knew
snatched away from her by her own hands
her own hands -broken as a scholar’s, as a child’s,
but never as the youth
never broken as a youth.

she breathes life into her spiderweb,
wrapped around her back
lacing itself around her
up her neck and behind her eyes
with each ****** of her pencil
each late night
each missed night
she sets her web free and begins to climb it as it grows inside her.

all her laughs,
shared with her spiders,
are we spiders or are we girls?
making our own webs, climbing them
-we look like girls
we look like girls as we wield our weapons,
watch our love die.
we are red widows,
hands dripping with blood.
short piece about school (bit personal and not as good but it's nice to see people like you)
Sarah Feb 13
A spider crawled into my life
And frightened for my own
I squished it underneath my hands
This was its final tomb

Its corpse remains wilting away
I am a ****** to its decay
Too afraid bury it, yet
Too scared to let it stay

Perhaps this spider was no good
But who was I to say?
For I know not the things it's done
And only pain remains
Spider on the wall in a shower stall
Immobilized

Skeleton to the end, a somber mule
Beast of burden

Each successive time I claim
I'm in a balanced state

Surprise!
Psychoses.
Lilywhite Jan 19
What do I feel, if I even feel at all?
I'm ashamed and quite frankly, I'm confused.

No longer would I want to question
what is already known to be true. . .
yet where is thy confirmation?
'tis an ode past due

there are glimpses
of which I can't quite catch
where I linger
and now find
caught in this beautiful,  
intricately woven web of loneliness—

m̷y̷s̷e̷l̷f̷
May 29, 2012

pacing on the pavement outfront, I conjured this
scoot Jan 16
What does he do but spin me up with sunshine?
batting away
the baddies
with a broom
because beautiful
bashful women
should not belong
where they´re blushed
black and blue
beaten through
and through t
hen blessed
to do it again
Sally says she loves him
Steven says me too
****** Sally
said this much too soon
sliding down a spiders nest down its slippery silk
dark and warm a home away
spiders do lurk here
don´t focus on those consequences
sleep
Floo Dec 2018
I open the front door to a blizzard;
Welcome - bone aching air- into my (now your) warm home!
You've expelled the warmth.
I had spent so long accumulating that.

The chill came in
Slight as a spider's silk
Effortlessly tieing down my limbs
Pneumonia induced coma
Ground bound fly
That is I
We're going nowhere

Strength withers and erodes,
Like long forgotten cobwebs beneath porcelain bathtubs and I know you take showers but the point still stands
I'm rendered useless below the surface
But abandoned in whole

I'm faucets rusted shut,
Realeasing but a useless slither of
Thick brick
Orange
Sedimented liquid
Your negligence made using me a disappointment
But we've been in this house forever
And all our broken faucets are staying here.

Your breathless whisper was a hurricane,
And my door would tear from the hinges before I could try to run from
the damage that I foresaw

A conscious paralysis,
Being only somewhat entirely aware
Of your needfulness
And my helplessness
And our restlessness
In all that we could never control

"Come in," I say
"I'm sorry" you reply
As you enter
Danila Mokhonko Dec 2018
I’ve made friends
with the half-dead
spider
in my bathroom;

we watch each other’s
attempts at crawling
every morning-

him, in any
general direction,
and me,
to ease my stomach
into the toilet bowl.

he cheers for me
as I retch
and retch
and throw up
a little
stomach bile,

spit,
wipe my mouth,
thank my audience;

he’s my
best friend,
but he
doesn’t drink
unfortunately.
K Balachandran Dec 2018
Spider weaves a net,
Bumblebee waits till finished;
Karma’s thread decides!
Star BG Nov 2018
They call me a spider-like poet
spinning a web of poetic threads.
Each golden fiber becomes a phase.
Each finger like spinneret weaves
gracefully cross keyboard floor.

They call me a spider-like poet.
Each poem from hub of heart.
Each woven vision calls to readers eyes.
But worry not, my creative lattice of poem
will not end your life.
Just get you stuck for a while
as you sway inside poetic song.
Inspired by Cisco James Haiku Fatal Traps Thanks
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