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I have been suffering from sunburns.
Sunburns that I call "missing you" syndrome.
I have been feeling the scorching heat of the Sun
and the burning sensation on my skin.
It's not the kind of warmth that I miss.

I could not reach the Sun.
He is far. He is vibrant, fiery and hot.
I could not gaze at him on his blazing peak.
I looked down in tears.

I miss him, I am trying to say it,
but all I can do is to swallow my words and get burned with my own longing.

Sunburn, sometimes it's on my skin.
Most of the time, it's the Sun that I am missing. ☀️
My skin peels
and in the places reborn
I apply products that charge me for beauty and self-esteem.
This isn't really what I need.

My skin peels
the salicylic acid burns my flesh,
but it whispers, “I am not the pains
of my father,”
and I believe it.

I stand in the mirror
and lock eyes to skin.
You are not the pains of your father.
You are not the pains of your father.

My eyes refocus, and I realize
I've been talking to myself again.

My skin peels,
and in the places reborn
what's underneath is revealed:
Raw flesh and parental issues.
When will my showers clean me instead?
Renn Powell Mar 30
every time i see you, it's like looking into the sun
- it hurts
KateKarl Jan 15
scratchy and damp do not harmonize underfoot
and fear and the ocean should not coexist
but like this elevator missing the thirteenth button, my comfort sinks with tantalizing, lethargic anxiety.

the boards are a smokeless fire underfoot,
grit rolling between me and chipped brown paint,
as i beg for cold, thirst for salt, but do not run to the provocative, promising body beyond the dunes.

and my clothes are underfoot,
and this lemonade pink towel whose corner grabs at the sand,
and the hot dry fades into something that is sturdy and packed down by bounds like mine.

carbon slices at my underfoot,
the sharp home of a long-dead thing,
as my heel strikes the iron, water-pat shore, and the shock of it stuns my bones.

shock! cold underfoot
lace between my toes, smoking from wood and run
and then my face is in the sea, because who needs air when life is the sun trapping itself in the pink of my shoulder blades?
I haven't written poetry in a very long time, but am putting together a small portfolio for a writing class assignment. Any and all advice is more than welcome, even if you're the type who can't say it nicely!
Chris Neilson Sep 2018
I visited my local garden centre
into the cake filled cafe I popped
bought a coffee and muffin
but with both hands full they nearly dropped

The server asked if I wanted a tray
told her I had enough to carry
the drink spilled a wee bit
I wasn't as happy as Larry

Never know who that Larry is
but he must be ****** annoying
he makes a joke out of everything
bound to become soul destroying

Anyway I wander from my anecdote
from the tangent I will return
to me sitting in the cafe garden
sheltering from fair skin sunburn

I photographed my drink and treat
and posted it on instagram
yer see my life is boring and sad
I watch paint dry on a webcam

10 seconds later a fly divebombed
into my coffee, drowned and sank
clearly a winged hater of social media
it went too far if it was a prank

I ate the muffin but ditched the drink
kamikaze coffee fly gave me the blues
to turn this mundane non event
to become a rhyming muse
A true tale of woe
jünø May 2018
i feel the heat of the sun
beating my body
like a whip.

all over me, it cuts gashes
and wounds
that sting from the sweat
flowing into them.

i fall, unable to take any more.
but still, i am whipped
until my body is so cut and ******
that i cannot recognise myself.

the whip has changed me.
the sun is too hot.
Haley Tyler Mar 2018
I dare you to peel away my skin,
dig in my flesh and pull me out
of this ******* shell I’m in.
Leave me raw and pink,
A sunburn from your soul,
that righteous light, the missing link.
Fill a hollow heart that doesn’t beat
but you’ll find in a corpse,
it just won’t keep
I was pronounced dead on arrival | h.t
TD Feb 2018
Lounging on the poolside
like some die cast model for hopeful artificiality,
sweat-slick and ignorant
a shy lobster cooking in her dreams
it was... fate.

Fateful really.

Scuttling up the mirror
the underside tender.
And peering wistfully
at a storming sea
from one precarious perch.

I thought in shades of red.
and I was blue.

Fantasies leave sunburn
in the worst places.
A bit of wry self-deprecating humor for you. lol
Carlisle Jan 2018
The Sun
beats upon my
a drunk
Father stinging me;
Your face
red and peeling,
grins past
your straw.

A hot day
spent dunked
in the ice
Green and
slow moving with
inspired by William Carlos Williams, a poet after my own heart. particularly inspired by This Is Just To Say
James Leggett Jul 2016
the edges of my fingertips
swell up as they lack their magic
exposure to red disdain
covering delicate skin with danger

the walls protecting a heart
slowly die in their place
and accept the consistent rush
of an old air conditioner doing its best
to persuade heat to leave

so my empty body can feel at home
in my empty room
away from the indulgence
of July's freedom
where destiny forms between lips
and summer dresses paint the day
with vibrancy

where the borders of dawn and dusk
slip terror into the comfort
once safe enough to spend a lifetime with

so perfect it should only belong
in a Photoshop picture
where you simply take the flaws
and eradicate them

if I could take these burns
which burn brightest outside
and quietly kiss them away
like all the other things which can't
come back
leaving loose strands in dark subconscious
waiting for their moment to shine
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