#knuckles
I saw my knuckles in sunlight.
Seems I’m doing alright,
in that their crocodilian terrain
showed survival
I recall a science class
where they asked us to pinch skin
on the back of our hand
to see how quickly it returned
now, it appears
I’m learned
#age #skin #morphology #longevity #content #knuckles
Apr 23, 2022
Apr 23, 2022 at 11:13 AM UTC
Anger clutching at my mind
Nails scraping through layers of flesh
Fingers balled into fists
Nose ******
Lip split
Bruised knucles
Black eye
Anger gasps for release
Coiled fist
Shot out like a piston
Knucles in searing pain
****** faces
Broken bones
ANGER
Dec 14, 2021
Dec 14, 2021 at 12:37 PM UTC
The wall is my punching bag
and your face is my inspiration.
Even when my knuckles sag,
there is no hesitation.
I have bruises on my fingers
but it is not the wall's fault.
It is the surge of my anger's
and they make my fists stronger.
The poison you poured in me
is overflowing the bottle.
Every punch the wall meets
is every sip of my struggle.
The pain is sinking in
and it feels worse than the bruises.
It's buried deeper within
so I dig but it refuses.
The wall is nothing
to what festers inside.
My punches do nothing
and there is nowhere to hide.
The disease is within me
and it is thriving in my mind.
The only way out is nowhere in sight.
I looked to my fists to set myself free
but my fists have no eyes
so I cannot see.
Now, my arms deserve to rest.
I'll even bid them a good night
because today won't be the worst
and I'll need them another time.
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 12:30 PM UTC
Take your favourite lipstick!
Now, quick!
Use maroon, vermillion, or desire,
But it -must- be red.
Take your favourite lipstick.
Do you have it?
Good.
Write nuance on your knuckles.
And kiss the world hello.
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 9:19 PM UTC
knock and the door
shall be opened
my knuckles are ******
what is felt but
not spoken
my knuckles are ******
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 5:46 PM UTC
my knuckles are a sandpaper
stained with cherry wine
a muddied grape metacarpal
as talented as the devil,
yet naive like a child
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 8:07 PM UTC
Her hair messy, plastered over her face by tears.
Her eyes red and puffy.
Her mouth open and screaming.
Her voice raw with pain.
Her throat dry and on fire.
Her arms feel anchored to her sides.
Her knuckles are ****** and swollen.
Her heart and her mind are bleeding with hope.
Her stomach feels like a can that's been crushed.
Her legs--think they're still there, she can't feel them.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC
i
fell
in
love
with your hands before they ever touched me
i want to kiss your knuckles and thank them for their strength
i'll hold your fingers for the art that they create
i'll ask so kindly for them to press against mine
you'll look at me as if i were crazy
but i'll kiss them all the same
because hands tell a lot about a person
and yours told me enough to make
me
fall
in
love
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
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.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
Cold crusted on the outside
Boiling agony folded in
Twisting, turning and squirming
On the verge of spitting flames
Withholding the hunger for demolition
To raze the idols of perfection
Fuming with each punishing breath
Throwing up the grey smoke in skies
Ashening the way to thoughts
That red heart is on fire
The hard knuckle are pale
Soft lips caging venomous eruption
Eyes searing suns of combustion
Virulent brain going haywire
Grumbling of the lethal unsaid words
Fervid fluid of darkness filling the veins
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC
I have a secret, something sour, and something
deep, deep, and deeper that I try to keep from you –
The fury that I can’t rid nor come “real,”
real me, the “he,” who stands not more than an
arms-length your side.
I may smile, wink, and speak of sunny days,
but there are the hours, sometimes,
where I can taste the, “vicious,”
the blood of both survival,
and all that’d threatened prior –
the “red” that flows from the past and
meanders “now,” the “red” of a
thousand yesterdays wrought dust,
wrangled bruise,
the “red” born in back-alleys
and buried in whiskey,
the “red” that never seems to rest.
This war-drum, I can feel It” climbing up
and crawling out through my nostrils
singing songs for –
Split teeth on split knuckles, breathing,
steady and suddenly, uphill,
the flare of the maddened bull,
an eye for only anger and beyond tether –
Destructive.
I dare not tell my newest friends that a part of
“Him” is still in “Me.”
He’s always “there,” hunting, haunting,
and will always be.
They’d surely run if they knew,
and I’d run too, if I could, but wouldn’t get far,
as he’d be running right there and with me;
Like the shadow always yearned for
and the same that’d scare come the movement not my own.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
If I could steal another's words,
I swear I would have said,
"Be sure to kiss your knuckles,
before you punch me in the face."
If I would have had the guts,
I would have long before said stop.
I swear I would have said,
"Please stop your words
before they reach my ears."
I'd rather you have punched me in the face
Because I can forget the knuckle prints
But I can't let go of the word fits.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
Sinking in bed,
Can’t quite find the floor
And my right foot’s
Still covered sheet,
With lonely, “lefty,”
Somewhere south a star.
I’d swallowed my tooth,
Earlier, an added topping,
And down went the slice –
To ever remember the,
“CRUNCH!” of pepperoni, so
Reminded, a right hook’s sting.
And she’d left the ice bucket
Atop counter,
The tenth time this week,
But I’d only smelled her, “note,”
The last I guessed
And the last it ever’d be.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
I speak you
(portuguese, spanish, english aside)
I speak you almost fluently
and now I wear shiny lip-gloss more often
since I'm speaking you without touch
for now. and
distance is beautiful
--like your knuckles
and the back of your taught ankles--
which are not noticed enough
(they hold everything together)
much like distance.
I think both are beautiful on you.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
I Like music
I like my music like I like my *** loud, hard, and angry.
I like to stab people with needles and call it art
I like to rip open my soul and call it poetry
I like boys with weird hair and piercings
I like people who aren't afraid to say what’s on their mind
I like people with broken souls and broken knuckles to match
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
I woke up with ****** knuckles again
And I think it's my body's way of saying
What my pride won't let me.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
my knuckles are bruised,
the colour of sunsets and
irony, because they say i'd
never hurt a fly yet i'd
throw my fist into a window
as a fatal act of defiance.
hasn't the world
taken enough from me?
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
While relaxing in an open field
Carving thoughts out of scenic jumble
I bore witness to a king of sights
And afterwords I lay there humbled.
For the briefest of moments
(Although relative, looking back it possessed no time)
I was not in a mere field anymore
And I was quite sure it wasn't my mind.
The clouds danced and swirled for display
Looping through an ever-blue sky.
And out of that beautiful, blasted way
Arrived something riding a north winds sigh.
It revealed itself, beautiful, splendid!
Towers of marble! Azure cascades!
Mountains tall, Emerald Halls,
Amber forests beside Evergreen glades!
And flying astride the floating island,
Were winged men holding spears of light!
They accompanied it, protecting the jewel,
Truly great protection for the Island of Flight!
Then while passing through a nearby mist,
The island seemed to disappear!
It caught itself in the clouds above
And the next instant the skies were clear.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
i called you at 4 am with mascara
tears and bloodied knuckles grasping
a quivering cell phone in the
rain; you drove three hours
in the middle of a storm to hold
me close and claimed you'd never
let me be alone again.
you
lied.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
You're the one they adore.
I'm not one to admire another human that is such a trend as I never understood the concept of attention.
But the image of you standing there , hair falling into your beautiful green eyes that resembled the fresh cut grass in spring and your top teeth sunken into your bottom lip , trying to stop the trembling but never got it under control .
I wasn't until I was kissing your blood stained knuckles did realise I for a change followed the crowd .
I adored you and you I .
I will be forever great full for the time we spent together.
But like the say , curiosty killed the cat.
I hope you like your choices.
I'm not so sure about mine.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC