Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
  Feb 19 touka
the only time         
                     is to connect
blocking is reactive
connecting is proactive
touka Jan 21
a dime,
a piece from my mouth

ask him to sit
he stands
I sweat

buck, gut, gralloch
send him off his balance
send him off with a ballad
a song of hands disappearing
up to the wrist, inside him

become a thick-skinned
shed it completely

fold me in two

I swallow, I spit
I learn to drink and laugh again

sticks a hand into the border fires
stokes that fray of running wires with his tongue and I warn him "it'll burn you up,"

sweet love of my life

living like
the moon pulls not just the tide,
but all manner of things

I pick every seed off the bun–get em all off,
every one


his shoulders slump,
eyes roll
nostrils flare
its barbed wire
another bucket
another drum on my already pounding heart I can't take it I can't take it I can't—


I'll forget
what I've been, I'll forget what—
I don't remember, but
I only want to stretch toward the sun
it feels like a take-all-of-your-clothes-off-and-let-your-teeth-chatter
kind of night

when the scarecrow's caught,
he goes a little faster

rolls those wild rows of corn with a little laughter
sort of night

take out your pen and
write something a little brighter
but scarecrows are still
and the artist in you is even quieter

and you're naked in your bedsheets
and you're naked with your clothes on
and you're naked when the birds sing
and you're naked when the light's off
  Jan 17 touka
m a k a y l a
I feel that I would be the bride of adventure
That is my destiny
This feeling of being unwanted
Left behind
I feel that I would be the bride of adventure
That is my calling

This future that lies ahead
Empty or filled?
Bright or dull?
I feel that I would be the bride of adventure
touka Dec 2020
snow of smoldering flax

tow of peach fuzz down the small of his back

I wonder
  Oct 2020 touka
i'm trying to save you
from falling into
the 6 foot hole
you're digging
for yourself.
touka Oct 2020
I want so much,
I could do so much,
but I just keep tearing myself apart

slam my head on the plate
rest my neck in the national razor
wait for the hand to strike,
gavel to give way

hoist myself
onto the rain wet
splintering edged wood
of the lucarne
let the air break my fall,
close my eyes until I'm gone

but I am still here

going on

and on

and on

Good, gracious God
shut my mouth and send me off to something better
ever just get sick of being yourself because you're incompetent????? just me??? thanks
also i hadnt thought about it until today, but just in case anyone thinks im a murderer after the last poem i posted just know that i am not. but also, you're next
Next page