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It was a cold, wintry December day.
I was at home,
sitting by the fire.
The fire was hot,
but from where I sat,
it felt like a warm blanket.
Suddenly,
my ******* started to lactate,
uncontrollably.
I did not know what was going on.
I lifted up my soaking wet shirt,
and put my hands over my *******,
in an attempt to stop the lactating,
but it did not work.
And then,
it stopped.
I squeezed my *******,
to see if they would lactate again,
but nothing happened.
I went to bed,
hoping this nightmare would be over in the morning.
But it wasn't.
When I woke up,
I went into the bathroom to perform my daily morning activities,
when I realized something on my chest.
A third ******!
I tried to rip it off,
but I couldn't.
Later that day,
at dinner,
I was eating a juicy, tender steak,
when suddenly,
all three of my ******* began to lactate!
I tried to stop them,
for they were lactating all over my steak.
Then, like before,
it stopped.
This proceeded for many days.
Everyday,
I woke up with another ******,
and everyday around six o'clock,
they would all lactate,
until one day,
the unthinkable happened.
I woke up.
I could not move.
I had no legs.
No arms.
I was a giant ******.
"NO!" I screamed.
Then,
as usual,
I began to lactate,
violently,
and then I exploded.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Read this to yourself. Read it silently.
Don't move your lips. Don't make a sound.
Listen to yourself. Listen without hearing anything.
What a wonderfully weird thing, huh?

NOW MAKE THIS PART LOUD!
SCREAM IT IN YOUR MIND!
DROWN EVERYTHING OUT.
Now, hear a whisper. A tiny whisper.

Now, read this next line with your best crochety- old-man voice:
"Hello there, sonny. Does your town have a post office?"
Awesome! Who was that? Whose voice was that?
It sure wasn't yours!

How do you do that?
How?!
Must be magic.
 Mar 26 rig f laurel
Chloe
The world is so vast
I want to explore it all
With someone I love
 Feb 25 rig f laurel
Mick
fat
 Feb 25 rig f laurel
Mick
fat
I used to go digging for my bones
to plant an açaí in the plot.
I used to go fishing for my bones
in a sea of plastic waste.
I used to go hunting for my bones
to eat and eat and eat and eat.
Follow me on Instagram @MickRWrites for more writing stuff :)
 Feb 24 rig f laurel
putiira
if they say a one-word poem,
i'll write your name...
 Feb 19 rig f laurel
Cné
Love
 Feb 19 rig f laurel
Cné
~
Love's only weakness
Is also its greatest strength:
It defies reason

~
My thoughts on Valentine’s Day
 Feb 19 rig f laurel
Mick
I suppose it's okay if every once in a while
you remember the good in the times far away
how once you laughed when she laughed
her silly laugh
and when you used to feel nervous
at the sound of her voice.
her voice might call butterflies into your heart
a honeycomb maze dripping thoughts like
molasses drops.
maybe that's okay.
and if you ever wonder what it would be like now
to kiss her forehead
before bed
and be her little spoon
in the mornings after happy dreams
I supposed I can't blame you for the fantasies I don't know.
I've seen them too. Your hips between the space in her legs,
her hair polite under your chin,
fearing parenthood together.
I think to live your life with someone else
means to accepts that we'll never be one another's
and we won't be as close as the dreams we have of others,
like of myself and the forest and the rocks and the birds outside my window
and the *** I'd have outside in the invisible nowhere
and the wildflowers caressing and scratching my fat legs;
of the women I'd hold.
So I suppose I can't blame you for sometimes wishing for someone else
when the possibilities for our lives are so huge
and we only choose one another.
This has been my nightmare for years.
Follow my Instagram @MickRWrites so we can talk :)
 Feb 14 rig f laurel
Mick
ah
so this
is what lips
are for
Nostalgia.
Find me @MickRWrites on Instagram <3
 Feb 12 rig f laurel
Mick
That little boy we both know, his nose dabbed
with whipped cream, smiling ice cream lips,
chin speckled with sprinkles like his freckles.
everything that feeling is, is you.
When we took the kids out for ice cream <3
More on my Instagram @MickRWrites
 Feb 12 rig f laurel
Mick
Writing music is the sweet pear dream
I plucked from a choir in springling years.
Back then I also dreamt of mermaid kisses
and reality television.
Why would a beast wish me music now?
A quick thing about how it is pursuing childhood dreams.
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