#wlwpoets - Hello Poetry

Find me tearing violets, my love, in a manic daze; I am running out of softness and daylight, like winter’s cruel hours “but I will crown your hair with these torn violet tiaras and your soft throat, twine with woven garlands” and I will dig into my tongue for the remaining metaphors beneath the bourbon, until odes drench my lips, I will stitch my wounds shut and ready for your apricot kisses — I ache to be kissed away, to waste away before your sun-speckled eyes like a tiny fae in your flower basket, I ache to settle in your dainty hands, in lithe fingers lost in my wind-blown hair. My November, my gentlest love, how I breathe you in like my grandmother’s letters — how you consume me in curious ways and for the first time, I am not afraid of the softness buried and warm inside my bone marrows. Tell me, darling, will you stay? Will we stay this time for more than a kiss? Will we linger longer than silhouettes in a dream?

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Nov 11, 2022

Nov 11, 2022 at 11:28 PM UTC

femininedeath

November

Find me tearing violets, my love, in a manic daze; I am running out of softness and daylight, like winter’s cruel hours “but I will crown your hair with these torn violet tiaras and your soft throat, twine with woven garlands” and I will dig into my tongue for the remaining metaphors beneath the bourbon, until odes drench my lips, I will stitch my wounds shut and ready for your apricot kisses — I ache to be kissed away, to waste away before your sun-speckled eyes like a tiny fae in your flower basket, I ache to settle in your dainty hands, in lithe fingers lost in my wind-blown hair. My November, my gentlest love, how I breathe you in like my grandmother’s letters — how you consume me in curious ways and for the first time, I am not afraid of the softness buried and warm inside my bone marrows. Tell me, darling, will you stay? Will we stay this time for more than a kiss? Will we linger longer than silhouettes in a dream?

25

Her eyes are sinkholes in a quiet, sleeping state and I was a girl, lost and misplaced at twenty-one, looking for love in infinitesimal spaces: on her palm creases and chipped, ruby nails, and in the blown-out ends of her lotus tattoo I find myself tracing a secret, at the spiked tips of her hair tamed by fairy lights and on the slits of her skin — a rabbit hole of wonders, I always fall like Alice in sworn careful tiptoes and crash headfirst; a broken wishbone, a tainted wish some habits you just can't quit. like — October and her obsidian eyes, and the sunless ways we kissed — being lost and misplaced made sense for a while in the detached comfort of her cold bed, colder hands, warmth has become an oppression. But this dalliance has always been a disaster waiting to happen and I am a paramour, a memory, a face in the crowd swallowed in a seismic fall — and losing October has always been a disaster waiting to happen — this bed, always a site of a losing battle and I find myself in a soiled, torn dress, lying helpless on the other side of her war. Tonight, I light myself a candle; maybe one day, I'll finally learn to run away from a girl made of disasters and not towards her.

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Oct 16, 2022

Oct 16, 2022 at 1:39 AM UTC

femininedeath

October

Her eyes are sinkholes in a quiet, sleeping state and I was a girl, lost and misplaced at twenty-one, looking for love in infinitesimal spaces: on her palm creases and chipped, ruby nails, and in the blown-out ends of her lotus tattoo I find myself tracing a secret, at the spiked tips of her hair tamed by fairy lights and on the slits of her skin — a rabbit hole of wonders, I always fall like Alice in sworn careful tiptoes and crash headfirst; a broken wishbone, a tainted wish some habits you just can't quit. like — October and her obsidian eyes, and the sunless ways we kissed — being lost and misplaced made sense for a while in the detached comfort of her cold bed, colder hands, warmth has become an oppression. But this dalliance has always been a disaster waiting to happen and I am a paramour, a memory, a face in the crowd swallowed in a seismic fall — and losing October has always been a disaster waiting to happen — this bed, always a site of a losing battle and I find myself in a soiled, torn dress, lying helpless on the other side of her war. Tonight, I light myself a candle; maybe one day, I'll finally learn to run away from a girl made of disasters and not towards her.

26

You still eat away at my chest like a mole finding its way out of my body. God, it’s been ten years now since you last wrote me a letter sealed with a pressed, dead daisy and a ghostly kiss mark, yet they’re still dying under my thumb. These days slip by and I can no longer write you poems, my dearest, sweet September — but still, I hope that you have in your chest all my papercuts from unbridled letters, all my quiet midnights, and all of my unwritten words; they are yours for missing. Must you leave a girl then, darling, whose only fault was being one?

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Sep 20, 2022

Sep 20, 2022 at 9:43 PM UTC

femininedeath

Dearest, Sweet September

You still eat away at my chest like a mole finding its way out of my body. God, it’s been ten years now since you last wrote me a letter sealed with a pressed, dead daisy and a ghostly kiss mark, yet they’re still dying under my thumb. These days slip by and I can no longer write you poems, my dearest, sweet September — but still, I hope that you have in your chest all my papercuts from unbridled letters, all my quiet midnights, and all of my unwritten words; they are yours for missing. Must you leave a girl then, darling, whose only fault was being one?

15

i disembody you in poetry: thin scabs film over your bones, i pick them until i find new skin to lay my kisses on — a new land to baptize with my own heathen hands, i disembody you with them: chest spread open like that of a dressed foul. my body is too corrupted but it knows of intense longing, piercing live-coal eyes, it burns my neck like a crucifix, like flames on a burning metal — it heals, almost cleanses like holy fire and with new bones, i disembody you in poetry: an attempt to see you, hold you, love you whole without it consuming me: a sight of pink lips, pink tongue, pink columbines on your wrist; i take apart your entirety, press it, piece by piece on my fragile nail bed — hidden away somewhere the world loses its sight. and maybe now after all the cycles, it is the world's turn to fumble far and wide, to despair in search for your hands — your eyes that unsettle and leave the cosmos collapsing majestically in its own harshest daylight leaving us all disembodied in blinding, vivid, solar colors. forgive my compulsions to love you like this.

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Feb 6, 2022

Feb 6, 2022 at 12:15 AM UTC

femininedeath

apocalypse

i disembody you in poetry: thin scabs film over your bones, i pick them until i find new skin to lay my kisses on — a new land to baptize with my own heathen hands, i disembody you with them: chest spread open like that of a dressed foul. my body is too corrupted but it knows of intense longing, piercing live-coal eyes, it burns my neck like a crucifix, like flames on a burning metal — it heals, almost cleanses like holy fire and with new bones, i disembody you in poetry: an attempt to see you, hold you, love you whole without it consuming me: a sight of pink lips, pink tongue, pink columbines on your wrist; i take apart your entirety, press it, piece by piece on my fragile nail bed — hidden away somewhere the world loses its sight. and maybe now after all the cycles, it is the world's turn to fumble far and wide, to despair in search for your hands — your eyes that unsettle and leave the cosmos collapsing majestically in its own harshest daylight leaving us all disembodied in blinding, vivid, solar colors. forgive my compulsions to love you like this.

30

i can never love you the way i claim — delicately and without violence. i remember hating flowers and broken seashells, and my grandmother, hand-sewing pastel dresses. deep down, my bones are raised on stories of ancient wars and biblical battles carried from memory to memory, a string of generational blunders — i am made of my father's bitterness and my mother's denial. so i will love you with corruptions and apologies, with bled-out veins, giving in like an emptied river, with all the poems i have read and forgotten, and with everything that makes me finitely human.

0

Feb 6, 2022

Feb 6, 2022 at 12:05 AM UTC

femininedeath

6th February

i can never love you the way i claim — delicately and without violence. i remember hating flowers and broken seashells, and my grandmother, hand-sewing pastel dresses. deep down, my bones are raised on stories of ancient wars and biblical battles carried from memory to memory, a string of generational blunders — i am made of my father's bitterness and my mother's denial. so i will love you with corruptions and apologies, with bled-out veins, giving in like an emptied river, with all the poems i have read and forgotten, and with everything that makes me finitely human.

1

i am sorry but my bones will always love you like hell, like it was war, like the world needs to end in the process, like the hand of god, taking you out of my ribs and now he needs to return it back where it rightfully belong. i will always love you, in godless sacrilege. i am sorry if i don’t know any other way.

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Feb 5, 2022

Feb 5, 2022 at 11:56 PM UTC

femininedeath

sacrilege

i am sorry but my bones will always love you like hell, like it was war, like the world needs to end in the process, like the hand of god, taking you out of my ribs and now he needs to return it back where it rightfully belong. i will always love you, in godless sacrilege. i am sorry if i don’t know any other way.

1

the stars weep over all the terrible ways i have loved you — dress you in their light caught in my aprium kisses and cigarette daydreams. empty my ametrine veins, disembodied to hold your bones together — kiss you, break me, leave me burning and trapped in a lantern room; watch me sink ships to come back to your arms; you've always waited. and they all still weep and fall over all the terrible ways i'll still love you long after they die.

0

Jan 17, 2022

Jan 17, 2022 at 3:36 AM UTC

femininedeath

daffodil deliriums

the stars weep over all the terrible ways i have loved you — dress you in their light caught in my aprium kisses and cigarette daydreams. empty my ametrine veins, disembodied to hold your bones together — kiss you, break me, leave me burning and trapped in a lantern room; watch me sink ships to come back to your arms; you've always waited. and they all still weep and fall over all the terrible ways i'll still love you long after they die.

11

this cold sunrise will choke on all the dark, sunless ways that i am in love you. sweet one, let's watch the light as it falls apart and crawl, like ether on our golden skin. this is us sitting in the last of september's lights — this is us in the finitude of poetry, and i have never seen anything as beautiful.

0

Sep 5, 2021

Sep 5, 2021 at 1:28 AM UTC

femininedeath

september 5th, clean slate

this cold sunrise will choke on all the dark, sunless ways that i am in love you. sweet one, let's watch the light as it falls apart and crawl, like ether on our golden skin. this is us sitting in the last of september's lights — this is us in the finitude of poetry, and i have never seen anything as beautiful.

1