#cleave - Hello Poetry

the trees branch as they grow, the wind cuts through the forest, the sea breaks into itself eternally— this is cleaving, this is creation. cells split, shadows stretch long and thin over trimmed grass as the light returns to the other side. and now the moon floats in ghostly meditation, hinting at what’s hidden and how close it all seems sometimes. I was never far from myself, except when I was, and writing this doesn't make any sense— why should it? who’s keeping score? who’s the grand cosmic judge of all artistic expression everywhere across all dimensions and time? nobody. that's who. nobody cares. that’s the point. it doesn't matter what I say on this page, even if it's terrible, even if it’s rotten, even if no one reads it. it felt right to let it flow freely in the moment, to spill it all out. that’s what matters— the spilling of it. there’s a sweetness in that. in the clean slice of the razor and the blood it draws— quiet, quick and true. *drip, drip, drip,* all over the page.

0

May 11, 2025

May 11, 2025 at 9:40 PM UTC

Laokos

honeycut

the trees branch as they grow, the wind cuts through the forest, the sea breaks into itself eternally— this is cleaving, this is creation. cells split, shadows stretch long and thin over trimmed grass as the light returns to the other side. and now the moon floats in ghostly meditation, hinting at what’s hidden and how close it all seems sometimes. I was never far from myself, except when I was, and writing this doesn't make any sense— why should it? who’s keeping score? who’s the grand cosmic judge of all artistic expression everywhere across all dimensions and time? nobody. that's who. nobody cares. that’s the point. it doesn't matter what I say on this page, even if it's terrible, even if it’s rotten, even if no one reads it. it felt right to let it flow freely in the moment, to spill it all out. that’s what matters— the spilling of it. there’s a sweetness in that. in the clean slice of the razor and the blood it draws— quiet, quick and true. *drip, drip, drip,* all over the page.

49

born from a splitting ache in the back-left of my head like a drill bit whirring in an empty paint can. i'd give you pearls for hands my love, ever-winter washing over our foaming cerulean eyescapes. inside your drums I hear a pulse that cries for hips and thorns entangled under your navel. one more summer breath from lung to lung exchanged under moonlight for the promise of elevation. you are not who you say you are my dear - you are a future memory stalking sweetly today under the guise of novel pleasure , but time will reveal your skin to me under the electric lavender of my eyelids. you are wood grain and strata - born too, it seems, from a splitting.

0

Jul 22, 2019

Jul 22, 2019 at 10:17 AM UTC

Laokos

mind to cleave

born from a splitting ache in the back-left of my head like a drill bit whirring in an empty paint can. i'd give you pearls for hands my love, ever-winter washing over our foaming cerulean eyescapes. inside your drums I hear a pulse that cries for hips and thorns entangled under your navel. one more summer breath from lung to lung exchanged under moonlight for the promise of elevation. you are not who you say you are my dear - you are a future memory stalking sweetly today under the guise of novel pleasure , but time will reveal your skin to me under the electric lavender of my eyelids. you are wood grain and strata - born too, it seems, from a splitting.

26

The devil rides the tomb of our thoughts, only to hold us back from intentions that cleave even at his morality. "*We are always much darker that the devil on our shoulder, he holds us back*,

0

Apr 27, 2018

Apr 27, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC

poetic-t

The Devil Digs Upon Our Thoughts

The devil rides the tomb of our thoughts, only to hold us back from intentions that cleave even at his morality. "*We are always much darker that the devil on our shoulder, he holds us back*,

5

When do petals lose their gentle sway? When do they detach And begin to float away? What sort of pressures Cause it's smoothness to fray? Dryed and roughened, Weakened and flayed. When do petals begin to fall? Into a world of dirt and decay... Soon after, when is it, That they crumble and break? Laying on a horizon strewn, With vague silhouettes and Unfamiliarity. And if after, the petal gathers itself, When is it, that it is raised into the sky, Into a familiar unfamiliar atmosphere? When is it that the petal loses itself, And in its emptiness, Tears at its own soul profusely? Elevated high Into the expansive, empty sky Away and away From any natural warmth And cleaved apart from any stability. Because... The petal, When it lays back against the wind, The image of freedom it always imagined, Was actually A prison.

0

Jun 11, 2017

Jun 11, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC

Yanamari

Petal skys

When do petals lose their gentle sway? When do they detach And begin to float away? What sort of pressures Cause it's smoothness to fray? Dryed and roughened, Weakened and flayed. When do petals begin to fall? Into a world of dirt and decay... Soon after, when is it, That they crumble and break? Laying on a horizon strewn, With vague silhouettes and Unfamiliarity. And if after, the petal gathers itself, When is it, that it is raised into the sky, Into a familiar unfamiliar atmosphere? When is it that the petal loses itself, And in its emptiness, Tears at its own soul profusely? Elevated high Into the expansive, empty sky Away and away From any natural warmth And cleaved apart from any stability. Because... The petal, When it lays back against the wind, The image of freedom it always imagined, Was actually A prison.

31

The Hadid in weekend plans this plane that'll easily shake takeoff as they'll break the news and flash zesty Yolanda that only her celebs were finally gathered in the Paparazzi will trump West Hollywood.

0

Jun 21, 2016

Jun 21, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC

poetman

Hadid

The Hadid in weekend plans this plane that'll easily shake takeoff as they'll break the news and flash zesty Yolanda that only her celebs were finally gathered in the Paparazzi will trump West Hollywood.

17