Anahata, Vishuddha
bestow me your peace.
Let me open so that heaven, spirit,
and earth move wholly through me.
Let all of eternity flow smoothly
through this conduit of trembling form.

Radiate warmly your green and blue.
Bless and imbue me with your earthly hues.
Let me accept - not reject - this painful flesh.
Let me rest, oh let me rest
throughout this ancient precession
of primal blood trial and primordial lessons --
these difficult blessings that come to me
in waves of pounding, drowning heartbeats,
and looming canyons of fissuring grief,
or these weak, doubtful longings
to be physically released.

Let me handle bereavement with absolute grace.
Let the tears be welcomed gifts
as they rain as jewels upon my face.
Let me break and break and break again
until there is no solid in me for the light to end.
Let it shine right through me and forever mend
my mind’s resistance to physical death.
Allow the rivers of life force to manifest
a power that flowers beyond this plane.
Let me split and bloom and shed this name.
Burn through me until I am once again the flame
that ignites from sentient emptiness.

Anahata, Vishuddha
coalesce.
Undress me of my shame.
Leave me naked and powerful and unafraid
to tenderly embrace this human pain.
Open your gates.
I await and I bow down to love.
I kiss the feet of everything that is to come.
I absolve myself of all grudge and drop
the immense weight of those stones
and in reverence I ascend upon this throne
as a mere feather in the hallowed wind.
I accept, honor, nurture and revere
the imperfect hearts of everything.
I forgive myself within every being.

Anahata, Vishuddha
you are free.
Open your arms and fall against me.
Transmit through me this rhapsody
while time immaculately ticks
the unfolding of this immeasurable bliss.
Like a magnificent wave flooding a gift
out into the rifts of empty space --
help make weightless what lays on all minds.

J.M. 2017

I have a blockage of heart and throat, which has been building tremendous pain. I am done feeling this way. Let it all flow. I let it all go.
Melisa Bernards Feb 25

The lies choke me,
constricting my throat with their icy tentacles.
Vines riddled with thorns,
twist and scrape inside my airway.
Blood running down my trachea
pools in my lungs,
Each burbling breath
a disturbing reminder of the webs I've woven.

Alasia Jan 29

I was a stranger to closeness. To entangled arms and whispered conversations. To tracing lines in my palms like a map, to fingers drawing down my back. Exposed but not uncomfortable. I had never been held. And the thought bewildered me as I realized that my companion thus far was loneliness. Loneliness like a pill I could not swallow so I learned to breath around and wait out. How do I explain this loneliness? It gutted me until empty was normal and the dull ache was a regular occurrence. Like the desperate need to cry out all the water lingering in my body but having nothing to give. Shaking and fighting against the vile feeling in my throat that would never move. I was accustomed to loneliness but how could I not be when I'd never been held, or touched, or felt like I was worthy of love? I blamed my body, adopted silence, fuelled with anger as time passed and I waited, I waited, I waited, and waited - for nothing.
Nothing could ease what I had never known but somehow always desired. And here it was, real, and it felt right, why would I say no to the feeling I begged to taste. It didn't leave my tongue numb, it didn't let me down. It wasn't what they told me it would be. It didn't feel like I was giving anything away. It felt like being held, being whole, my numbness subsided as I just felt. Felt my loneliness melt away, felt my skin being brushed and caressed, not loved but not alone. It wasn't beautiful but it was more than I had before and I clung to it until I couldn't anymore and in my car the loneliness buckled itself in and I drive it home where it helped me wash my face clean and wrapped itself around me like my blankets as I caved into the hollowness of its home. I realized I don't have to drown with my anchor heavy heart. I could find closeness in a stranger.

A box
A breath
A quiet murmur
A panicked yell

When we forget these
Words are also said
In heaven and hell

Nothing seems to be
As what it is until
You speak the words
Any words to change

The scene

Next act in the play
Another chapter in a book
Words all change the thing
The time, the space

Anything you taste ends
When there is no more

Wine, tea, coffee,

There's only no more words
If you stop tasting them
On the tip of your tongue
And coating your mouth

All the hot breath and
Tart tastes are for nothing
If you just quit

All the horrible words
Are only horrible if
You stop saying them

No good words are recognized
If you don't ever tell
Them they are

No fear is so quenched
As the fear of running out
Of literary delights

Food to the fire
Tastes for all to
Acquire when they
Comminucate or wait

For the next scene to change
When all along
It was the words always
Laying in wait

To be consumed
To be taken in
Understood

Some starve and some die
When their buffet ends
And the words no longer
Leave their mouths
Often like breath

No one knows what it's
Like
Not until the tartness
Ends

Its balance of sour
Sweet
Savory
And sense in between

The experience
Of living

No one knows until
They run out

In a set with Everybody Else and New Blood.
Glass Jan 2

iridescent poetry
my tongue is unrelenting encrusted silver
gleaming grotesque breath
that my throat grasps tightly around my own neck
recklessly fraying scratched vocabulary
because my lungs are not sprinkled with blush
or shaded with smoky charcoal
like a sweet cherry kiss
violently resplendently flares
of skin

poetry you are stitched onto me
Sasha Nov 2016

Have you ever wished your hands didn't belong to you?
That they weren't connected to your heavy arms,
That your knuckles weren't red from punching the wall.

Have you ever wished your throat wasn't yours?
That your voice didn't burn through your vocal chords,
That your croaking scream wasn't tearing you up, inside and out.

Fuck you for making me feel this way...
Morgan Kelly Oct 2016

A dry desert feeling creeps up my throat
I can almost feel the bright,
Red color lining the soft tissue.
Body aches starting at all twenty digits,
Eventually make their way throughout the body.
Sickness.

To some an excuse for rest,
"So why does sickness make me so upset?"
I try to scream,
But, alas, my voice is lost.

Ah, the voice,
What a silly instrument,
"Silly how," you may ask.
Well, it's weak.

Why can't my two flaps of vibrating tissue,
Stay healthy?
I need to use those stubborn chords,
My voice should not be diminished,
It should be strong.
This is a major problem,
That, to others, may seem minor.

Sing the notes,
Finish the chord,
Don't be flat,
That doesn't mean go sharp.
ENOUGH!
I can't even sing.

Unable to participate in a pleasurable passion,
All because of a
Damn
Weak
Immune System.

cait-cait Sep 2016

Balloon head girl...
With eggs for eyes and
Sharpie lips,,
Don't cry your egg white tears
For me, or let
the yolk leak from holes in
Your diabetic fingers...

Snap your blouse back on, with
The buttons right up
to your neck, a throat with
3 imprints, but
2 hands and  
1 threat

maybe balloon head girl was abused??? maybe she lives a perfect life?? the world may never know!!
cait-cait Sep 2016

Sadness grew
        a flower in my heart,
With big blooming petals and
A long winding
                         Stem,

And as your fingers
        reached down my throat
                                                  to tug at
It's roots,
it regressed into a n g e r,
and
shriveled (all) away

I FEEL SICK WHENEVER I EAT I CANT LIVE LIKE THIS also this poem kinda sucks lmao I hate my life
Addison René Aug 2016

inspiration is
a fucking waste
i just liked the way
your tounge tasted,
you called me "baby"
and carried my limbs when
my ligaments felt achy

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