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Kirsten Hunt Mar 28
I never wanted to love anyone
Love got me nowhere
Love still gets me nowhere
Then
I
Met
You
My little starfish
Leocardo Reis Aug 2021
The starfish
must throw out
its stomach
to digest
its food.

In this sense,
the starfish and I
are similar.

To learn,
I must
throw out my brain;
it is only through
foolishness
that I truly
begin to understand.
But how many lessons,
once learned,
can be used?
Payton Feb 2021
Sea
He stared down
                into the dark, twisting waves, as if
a voice spoke to him from
                                                         the watery depths
                             below.

                                            It seemed to pull him in and
                                                                                              pool in him.
It swam circles
          in his curiosity.

The Sun stabbed at the waves, washing rainbows     over
glimmering abalone.
                Translucent bubbles danced
in its light.
Fishbones lay quietly on the ocean floor, forgotten.
                                                                                   Starfish whispered to him, tales
of how they had lost their arms to the
                      creatures that walk in the sun.

                                                        Urchins complained about the oil pooling in their waters.
Sharks gave him the silent treatment.
And despite the fact that he too had legs and walked in the sunlight,

                               he knew he was not made for the sun,
                      but for the sea.
                                                            And the waves whispered his name with
salt and foam.
This poem was written in 2016.
"Sea" was published in Rose State College's Pegasus 2016.
Zack Ripley Oct 2020
Physical death is permanent.
But emotional death,
(numbness, "feeling dead inside)
Is a starfish.
It can grow back
through a process called support
Leia Spencer Apr 2019
I’m burning the candle
But not at both ends
No, for in fact I have five
I’m like an old star
Ready to explode
Plain sick of being alive
Helping her and helping him
Ignoring myself for the sake of them
Some days I wonder
“Will I ever be true?”
When that day comes
Boy, will that feeling be new
It starts in my toes
Weary from walking
Igniting my fingers
Busy writing and talking
Then it gets to my head
As it makes its way down
Warming my heart
Burning my frown
I’m not saying that I want to die
But I’m spread so thin
I think “why shouldn’t I”
-A five-wicked candle
Nis Dec 2018
Cut and gone.
It was easy.

Why?
you would ask.
Cut and gone.
It was easy.


You see,
for some trans folk,
most I dare say,
it's not cut and gone.
Your name,
the way people used to call you,
to know you
to be with you.
It's not easy.

That's why,
many of us
grow multiple heads.
One for my family who wouldn't love me,
one for my closest friend, whom I trust;
one for the random person who reads my poetry online...
I'm fed up with it.
I don't want to keep having multiple heads,
I want my family to know me for who I am,
not the head I made out of their memories.
I want to be me,
and I'm Nis.
That's why I came out on twitter,
that's why I'm erasing this pen name
and letting my true head speak,
that's why I will be soon cutting contact
with those that refuse to see me for who I am.

This is the end of Headless Starfish,
but I'm not gone,
so be it.
I cut it,
and it is gone.
Yep, I'm removing my mask and putting my real (and not so far from legal) name on my poems. I have to group together all of this identities I've been developing trying to hide the fact that I'm trans, that I express like one, and pull through as my true self; be it in my poems, the Internet or the real world.
Emma Nov 2018
the starfish embodies
shape on clear moon and flops to
the marked and old sand
I think my next couple of poems will be haikus. This is...I guess about how you can imprinting your creativity unto a blank canvas as well as one that's already been started to be painted? After all, many things have been made based on or as a spinoff as an older, already established thing.
E McNamara Mar 2018
I wish I was there again.
I wish everything that’s in my head got lost at sea,
that all I could taste was salty air.
I wish I was walking in the little shops
that all sold seashells and starfish.
I wish everywhere I was I could hear the crashing tide;
calling me back to the cold, fresh, water.
I wish my feet were buried in warm sand,
hiding from the chilling breeze.
I wish I was where time slowed to a stop,
where I had all the time in the world.
I wish I was staring into a never ending horizon,
where I wasn’t always running to catch up.
Where all I had to do was breathe in and breathe out.
I can't stop dreaming of the Oregon Coast.
Elioinai Sep 2017
there's a little starfish gem
hanging from my crystal Moti dish
You brushed it as you entered the room
and even though I told it
whispered no
it twisted farther down
with each calm glance I gave you
Energy
Lightness I hadn't known I lacked
suddenly filled my countenance
*like a charm
I made the word Moti as romantic derivative of the word Emotion. Moti also happens to mean "pearl" in Hindi and Urdu.
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