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they are invisible
there are always bridges
across the chasm,
N Apr 15
I do not want to exist in front of anyone's eyes anymore.
Lunar Mar 24
don't settle for less.
don't be subtle to want more.
I deserve those annual leaves and they deserve not to be wasted any longer.

(j.m.)
Chad Young Jan 29
I am the salivic twinkle in the eye.
I am the loss of vision when I look at a light.
I am the placement of a thing now, only put in my past, and played in my future.
I am the thing there now, that I placed in the past, and will leave there for the future.
I am too many to count
I am too dark to describe.
I am the colorful shades and lines of the inner eye perceiving my physical body.
Physical isn't quite right.
More like eternal-like being.
More like eternal-like spleen.
"Me" is so far out,
I don't know what this body is here before me.
What do these clothes cover?
Asymmetric from the center out.
Saying this like I gave humans life, made them walk upright.
I am the multichrome of closed eyes in a lit room.
I am faux wood.
I am that thing from the past, placed in the now, and still doesn't understand it's creator.
I am the question "why" which was never meant to be answered.
I am realizing those who are sanctified in their breath.
I am nerve meets bone meets skin meets hair.
But all in one form, I can't see how it happens.
I am what my eye looks like without seeing it, just imagining it.
"I am what I am" when I ask this question.
Sort of a mix of shape, mind, and hue.
Or is it head, line, and imagined body?
Does my hand touch my skull? Then is the hair and skin something unknown or forgotten?
What comes of the thought that is unrecognized during contemplation?
Are these really the bait for the goldfish in the mind's pool?
"Oh no, what am I going to do?" as a "bad" trip shortens my view.
The bone dry feeling of the fear of God, crushing every tendril and way that once carried me along merrily.
"What if I lose God by taking too much nutmeg?"
"You can't (or shouldn't) do that" a voice whispers to both losing God parts and taking too much nutmeg.
Now I'm contented and thoughts will no longer emerge from the pool.
So I must dive into sleep.
Good night.
Subtle thoughts after 2 tblspns of Nutmeg 4 to 6 hours later
Spriha Kant Dec 2020
The infinite flambeaux guards inside me daily haunt the subtle led through which the darknesses enter inside me and bully me.
sundial iris Aug 2020
Subtle

~for Sally~

there is no escaping it.

to write of subtle,

one must be blunt,

forthright,

direct,

write with no subtlety.

there is no way, impossible, to capture the fine single threads required
to weave a tapestry of bold and delicate intertwined, of depth and
surface, of a droplet of water shining outstanding in a sea of harsh
blather.

there is bold, there is pale. they can coexist, perhaps even
heighten each other.

but subtle is a delicacy, a single thread, a standard rarely achieved.

which is why this poem makes no pretense at subtlety.




Aug 21~22
2020
John McCafferty May 2020
Soft subtle touch
clutches from back to front
About face switched place
in role reversals
Airways are open
Feel a rawer version
of your person
Entrust this thoughtful lust
sought from top to bottom
Moving in sync as your
yearning burns
Deep frictionless sin
lived within bare skin
Born below the belly line
Sing as bells ring
Breathe in the aftermath
This beauty won't last
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
let me know
when you break
through the shallow
dreamlike mist
the memory breathes
down my neck
like fire
but THAT skin
no longer who i am
is scaled
numb to touch
yet i sense your essence
contemplating
perhaps wishing
from distance

the search continues
for the one who does not play

BACK AWAY
Thou-shalt-not                          
        deceive,
              break
                       or
                         repent.
So please,
             handle
                    with care.

As your beloved
               lustrous
              diamond
                             or
                                 a noxious
                                       fission
                               time-bomb.
( _me_ )
Angela Rose Jan 2020
your words slide through my veins like honey
and they
              d
                       r
                               i
                                        p

their way straight into my heart
and they
                    w
                                    e
    ­         a
                                                v
             ­                 e

a scribbled track all the way to my mind
and I just can't ******* breathe when you talk to me
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