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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.
Anne J 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.
Cecil Miller Oct 2016
A star in  water
Washed upon the sunny shore;
Once wet, became dry.
'Cause he don't drink that ***** no mo!
Rebecca Gismondi Oct 2016
king of the sea,
with a rigorous exoskeleton peeling away
moulting causes such distress,
exposed to the thrashing undertow of the sea
and enemies

who protects you?
a callow arthropod poised on fractured shells

it isn’t your father,
balancing a bottle of brandy between his lips
or your confidant,
skidding his tires across your mind

a starfish tried,
she threw her arms round your shell
as you added new muscles underneath
she stuck her tube feet in her claws
as you brittled her skin
she said I love you
and you retreated

when you are 70
and clamouring the floor
put your arms behind your back to beckon her to you
try –
she is the sea and no one owns her.
unwritten Jul 2016
grow back what he took from you;

you lie at depths he will never be able to fully reach.

(a.m.)
very short, i know, but it's nice to write something short for a change. written june 29, 2016. hope you enjoy.
Lorna Lornelia Dec 2015
When a soul dreams upon a sleepless star,
it unfolds through the seas twinkling of its eye.

On the night upon the star's last plight,
it's frail old soul morphs into Starfish,
amid sand, shells and violet light.
Why is it

we look to the sky every night

and wish upon a star

that is millions of miles away

when yet we have ones right here

that we can touch?
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