"blisters" poems
Smashing the ice with a sledge hammer is exhausting
Pounding, sweating, blisters pulsating
Slowly chipping away at the vastness of frozen emotions
Yet, the ice is formidable from months of winter
Forced to recalculate, to innovate, to anticipate
Salt has the ability to melt ice into tears of joy
Unless the salt solvates in open wounds
Progress freezes until nature's spring decides
The sun is enlightened enough to slowly
Allow thawing in his Mother's time
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
I can't date you. Not now, not ever. I thought it was because I enjoy what I have right now but over the course of this past week I've come to a conclusion. Its because I can't find feelings for you. They were once there but you scared them away and I don't believe there is any going back to what we used to have. I'm sorry that maybe I got your hopes up or lead you on but you can get over it. Everyone eventually does. I don't doubt you once had feelings for me but I also don't doubt that you're very confused right now. You don't want me. You want someone new, and I'm only used a different way. You haven't broken me in yet, I'm like a new pair of shoes, everything is uncomfortable right now but you're making an effort to wear me in. Then I won't be new anymore, I'll give you blisters and hurt you. Then you'll go back to your old pair because that's what you're comfortable with. I'm sorry. Goodbye.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 2:33 AM UTC
like blue blisters in the sun her eyes pierce me
through with a fierce reckoning as she looks on
"you can't keep me here, I'm long gone" she said.
and I smoked the rest of my lit cigarette as I watched her
walk passed the wall I had built around myself
and out the front door. she walked away
with the same sizzling stride the others did
and I'm left here with a beer, partially intact, happy with my secret pact
to never fall in love
with a blue-eyed blonde beauty
ever
again.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 9:05 PM UTC
the world sits on the wing of a dove
being swallowed whole by a fiery goddess
descended from heaven on a chariot of ivy
i am incarcerated by shaking flesh and itching cloth
the road before me is giant and knows no bounds
the graveyard is warm and wet with spirits and dew
and red clouds are born from fire in the dawn
there is an intelligent horse being ridden by a snarling insect
and this man has come to claim our souls
our sunset blood burns boils blisters until a million animals wounded
i'm still alive, transfigure me into a creator
choke up my nostrils with the scent of your ***
invade my lungs with the burn of your god
caress my toungue with the infinite promise
enter my brain from above, and regurgitate your anxiety on me
slimy worms devour a psychadelic tomato laughing
into transendency, an eyeless eel has dissappeared into a pocket
i speak from balconies, from terrible heights, from hastened windowsills
in a million desperate quarrelling cities
this is where i **** up illusion, i give up to despondency
i ring the great iron bell that resounds with corruption, with hatred, with hideous *** and admiration,
i scream and cavort on rooftops alone with a black & blue midnight
covered in electric lights and gunpowder tongues
here comes the disintegration of my mind
disgraced by the eye of the earth and spat into
a realm of salivating light
i am swimming through digested heartbreak and melancholy livers
sickened by madness and homemade bombs and ******
the rainclouds carry a truckload of babies' hearts
and it's raining eyes over the city now
the cry of the mind escapes from waving mouths in impotence
as millions of bacteria invade the brain
may these lines be answered by the bird of the sun
by the worm at my ear
by the sight of my skeleton
by the stench of ***** in the air
by the dead gong shivering through midnight
by the bleeding eye of abandoned dreams
by the prophets in proclamation
by the god of all my sorrows
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 9:55 PM UTC
Honey-coloured skin
Covering
Over-used bones and
Abused muscles
That have seen the inside
Of blisters
And bruises, hidden beneath
Mismatched, jarring wool
And tight, black
Material that only just
Manages to contain her.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
the dark approaches as if it is an ineluctable storm
created by thoughts falling like dominoes
or explodes into existence in a breath
detonated by a word innocently spoken
an eclipse constructed of your fears
like locusts eating all the light
with hooks and claws they grasp the air
pulling it up from your lungs
fighting blind against attacks from every side
weapons fall from your trembling grasp
I still see you dimly, enveloped in despair
you no longer see me at all
I have become a phantom, intangible
dispersed into powerless anguish by your terror
my voice is only a murmur to you
a far-off echo, indistinct
defenses and barriers you have labored on
transform into spun glass latticework
shattering through them without knowing
shards left embedded in your skin
stumbling blindly in the darkness
you are swallowed whole into the void
once more you are ripped away
imprisoned in the Stygian, pitiless hole
the emptiness turns its gaze to me
mocking laughter blisters my flesh
I can only wait and call to you
how long till you return
to me
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
The pain lingers like
blisters on the bottom of your foot
after walking around Disneyland all day
Where all the memories are beautiful,
but that hurt stays with you
everywhere you go
You know that everything is going to be okay
and the next ride will make you forget
how badly it hurts
But until that next ride you walk the park,
so happy you get to be there,
yet holding in the tears
And as much as the pain has your attention
it was still your most memorable time,
and you would do it all over again
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
Sarah Kay puts my life into words so much better than I ever could. So here, have my favourite parts of my favourite poem of hers.
"There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.
They'll be days like this. When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly, and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain, and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment, and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say, “Thank you.” Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shore line, no matter how many times it’s sent away.
And, yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty **** naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
You are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more. Remember that good things come in threes, and so do bad things, and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong. But don’t you EVER apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small, but don’t ever stop singing."
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 4:09 AM UTC
You must understand my fear
As I grow closer to you dear
No more bite or insurrection
You penetrate the armour
Hard covers but tender underbelly
Be gentle in your stroke
Blisters fester
Red welt of swollen lips
Let the blood fall as it may
Unafraid
You are the light in my everyday
Slither hither
& crawl over blistering heat
You seek, you sting
Sharp penetrating glance
Venom glistens like the dewdrop
Do drop & Let drop the droplets
Wet hard the mind ****
Chittering madness
Stinger in brain
Dark obsidian, your poison sings
Your back
Glistens shiny.
Your armour penetrating dance
Brings me back
Tail quivers
Knees weak
Crawl to me
The strike
The sting
Your poison venom
The venom inside me
No antidote or logic
No rhyme or reason
Your venom sings
sound gone
Mind blown
Eyes blind and heart bleeding
I am your zombie baby
Obey me
Tease me
Play with me
Seize me
Sting me
Again and again.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 12:26 AM UTC
The deep sighs of fall
send chills across the daisies.
My compass is sick
and there’s a sense of urgency in my eyelashes,
feeling around for the blisters on my skin
searching for a bed to sleep.
Facets of sleep
encourage the rain to fall,
cold weather raising capillaries under my skin.
I wrote the history of the Holocene era on daisies,
microscope lenses tickling my eyelashes;
dim lighting makes me home sick.
My mind is sick,
I dream of oceans in my sleep,
medicine labels printed on my eyelashes
pill bottles coloured like fall.
Tattoos of purple fringed daisies
cover my shoulders like skin.
Teeth full of apple skin;
asking God how not to be sick,
wondering if a sacrifice of daisies
will get my blood to sleep.
My hair is like the leaves during fall;
I hope I get to keep my eyelashes.
There’s snow in my eyelashes,
landscapes of frost form on skin
the cold air begins to fall,
I decide to call in sick
preferring to hide in a hot sleep
until my breaths sprout purple daisies.
How to grow Gerber daisies,
without losing my eyelashes?
My fingernails are full of sleep,
hot tea grasps at my paper skin.
The panacea for the sick
is a perfect concentration of wool sweaters and fall.
You eat daisies in the fever of fall.
Through my eyelashes I am morally sick,
but yesterday I finally let sleep settle into my skin.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
Outside two squirrels foraging
Inside one hundred and one keys tapping
Three buttons clicking and one wheel spinning
Eight hours a day sitting badly
In an ergonomic desk chair
Soft fingers tap on plastic and glass
Weak muscle memory of calluses and splinters
And sunburn blisters from another life
Outside the old prairie wind howls like a phantom
Lost in urban canyons buffets the panes
Drives the torrents of freezing rain
Hard droplets tap on metal and glass
While inside our high-rise terrariums we sit
Generating transient value that flits
Up into the clouds till whenever
You tap plastic to trade your invisible worth
For a hot meal in a disposable bowl
Ponder and sip in another life you could be
Spending all day in the freezing rain
Hunting squirrels for soup
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 4:57 PM UTC
Xeroxed vitals on paperplanes
Crashing into window panes
Broken-heart blisters and voyeuristic veins
Appear and create transparent glass stains
Blue-Green grass on the other side
Laying there, our fathers died
Dreams and streams of alcohol
Run from their mouths with no control.
Shaking, breaking, no where to decompose
Skin peeling off of worn down toes.
Tell me where their love goes
Tell me where their love goes
Everything turned into gun-shy eyes
Blue-lipped Sunday surprise
Bodies breaking into waiting
This is nothing but carbon dating
Bottles breaking of ***** that's so clear
That I won't see until they're near
God and Jesus in picture frames
Suburban families with jungle brains
Broken homes and replacement Brad's
401 k's and missing ads
Finding our homes that aren't so black and white
Let us sleep in our dreams tonight
Validation through our existence
Is dead but still our resistance
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
Bruised and bandaged blisters
On hands ravaged by wars
Against one's own life through years
Paired with cascades of burning tears
And left dangling o'er wooden floors.
Though you may run from your fate,
You'll never escape its iron grasp.
Reality will grab you and hold you down,
Pulling you under a diminished frown
Until you end the pain at last.
Jul 5, 2021
Jul 5, 2021 at 2:31 PM UTC
Eighteen years have passed me
I still marvel at picturesque clouds
They pass us overhead, with grace, like the ground they face isn’t rotten.
Find me that girl who smiles every day
Exchanging her three am thoughts
Into golden plated words that are beautiful
They belong in her poems.
Sadness stained cheeks covered in blush
She’s so lovely, people think
but she’s just glad her mascara is waterproof.
My grandmother has dainty hands, unlike mine
and I was jealous.
until I realized that they were covered in blood
years before I was born and knew what pain was,
making a living and treating her blisters at the same time.
Six children but it used to be eight before two passed away
“Sofian, he died before your grandfather by a few years”
Her heart broken in half and tears encrusted in her skin
But she still has delicate and pretty hands right?
People say they love one another,
But I can’t even count the knives on their backs anymore,
There are too many.
When I find myself in solitude,
I subsequently lose myself in thought.
You know,
I am ashamed.
These angels that watch us every day
I know they weep at our state
And I am done pretending it’s fine.
This is a world where the ground shakes in anger,
The sky cries out of despair
And the air thickens out of confusion
I am all of nature’s catastrophies
In the shape of a woman.
You will see me in the corner
Praying for lost souls
Including my own
Hoping that one day we’ll reunite in a place
Where words don’t drip blood
And authors find that writing is easier when happy
But for now, we can’t get enough of pretending.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
I ride higher
Than your suicides
You write:
Take me back,
I’m sweetly reminiscing of
Solar wings embracing
celestial winds
Sunsets of broken chords
Summer's shattered sword
Winter’s ornery
Jaded blue jays
Gray's vacant face
I salute your honesty
But blisters wrought on
A calloused heart
Cuts deeper
Than the oceans' void
Let me sleep whimsically
With rotten melodies
To keep me from
Changing the tone of
My stuttering dreams
But,
Soft, teeth speak
Like broken branches
On dilapidated trees
And
I’d spend
Eternity
In the chime of your
White fire voice
Or
Those olive green
Teasing eyes
Keeping me sheepishly serene
Whirling
Weaving
Into a timid peace
Yet our
Crashing
Tongues slam
Into sour Suns
Swallowing the seams
of interconnectivity
Scattering liquid beams
of entropy
I forget those days we
Wasted on the morbid
Memories
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 10:03 PM UTC
I head outside for cold air and quiet, escaping too-loud laughter and the filth of drunkenness. As the porch door closes behind me the silence explodes, cacophonous, both ears simultaneously bursting with the high pitched squeal of the sudden nothingness. It surrounds me, vibrating my bones, frothing the marrow within, pressing my temples, heart quickening to steady the body against the assault of the stillness, the stagnation of the world around me. I don't know who I am. I am not -- not anyone. I am alone. I am what they want me to be. Seated cross-legged on cold concrete, the alcohol plays the stars across my eyes like a projector: they move this way and that across my field of vision, swaying, dancing. I feel myself floating, getting lost in my own mind again. I hate that feeling.
I put a cigarette out on my hand, pressing orange embers into soft flesh. I grit my teeth as the world rushes back. The voices bring me down. The clink of glass bottles brings me down. The searing smell of my skin brings me down. I light it again, pull a few deep drags, then stub it out again, this time inside my forearm. My eyes squeezed shut, I feel myself fall back into reality, like a soft bed, like my skin loosens just enough to let me breathe again. I land on both feet, quietly, softly. I stand up, bush myself off, and walk back inside.
I'll burn the whole pack tonight.
I kissed him on the cheek, secretly hoping he'd wake from his stupor and keep my company, but he was too far gone, lost hours ago to two or three too many shots taken in bad faith, but with good intentions. I left him on his couch. He'd be safe there. He needed his sleep.
Why couldn't I get as drunk as them, drunk enough to numb away the emotions, the longing? I was disappointed, but I wasn't surprised. I curled up on the couch alone, pulling my sleeves down to cover the blisters, already rising. If I could just sleep, I could forget. Everyone slept but me. I went out for another cigarette.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 11:13 AM UTC
< - - Housekeeping - - >
Why is there no checklist for life?
Can you say … recipe for disaster …
If you’re planning to fail …
… then you’re failing to plan
I cut my teeth in a house where we could eat off the floor if we so desired
The floor was either that clean or some other innate wisdom was built into that statement
And I thought my inane wisdom came from ...
Do you, don’t you want me to love you?
#9 #9
Now somewhere in the Black Mountain Hills of Dakota
**** Sadie you broke the rules
Singing in the dead of night
Obla-di
Why don’t you stare into your own Glass Onion
… Beatles
(My head is spinning, ooh...
Ha ha ha, ha ha ha, alight!
I got blisters on my fingers!)
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
I draw on cigarettes,
Doodle with resin-
Blisters on my fingers,
They all think I'm playin'.
The colors brown & red
Are escaped when I shut my eyes,
And when I turn my face inside
I'm fine with what I see.
It's not dark, pretty light-
It's all clear skies,
Even with a chance of showers
There's always a sunrise.
Sep 1, 2024
Sep 1, 2024 at 6:09 PM UTC
Two people once residied in a flat in London city,
A man who had a drug addiction, things did not seem pretty,
His ***** at eighteen, barely grown who worked the streets at night,
She slept all day while **** guy flushed her veins with coke mixed *****
Now, girl would wonder what life would be like if she were home,
A georgian three up, two down house, with trees and garden gnomes,
She wondered how she got here, reminiscing on times better,
A stupid fight with mum, some awful words, a goodbye letter.
So many times she tried to get away from her **** guy,
But cravings soon kicked in, so she would pierce her veiny thigh,
She saw the flyers on the walls, she knew her mother missed her,
She pleaded with the **** through lips all swollen full of blisters.
Two people now reside inside a house so filled with sorrow,
A mother,racked with sadness for her girl who evil borrowed,
A dad who knows his brother fills his neices veins with drugs,
The money that dad makes from her will never make him snug.
A flat lies empty, desolate, void of two more souls,
A child lies dead from overdose,
Her uncle full of needle holes...
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 4:28 AM UTC
I'm really sick.
Like ***** is going to come out of my mouth--
an eruption of **** from my ears is due.
I've laid too long dormant
and one by one the hot spots of my petty jealousy,
indignation, and
mistrust are at boiling points:
The Ring of Fire, they call it.
Yellowstone
I'm the ********* Yellowstone caldera.
The great rim,
****** up and blister scarred,
knock-kneed from falling out of bed in nightmares,
weird from the predisposition to volcanic shittiness
(not in a romantic way)
but none the less active,
or reactive.
This vexation is as old as grinding plates.
This repulsion is as old as the poisoning of Aristotle
My head is the Spartan scythe
because I'm a new sign in an old world.
I use old signs to poison this newly dug well between us
But not well can I keep this message
banner
******* billboard to myself.
So let me just wrap the code from ear to ear,
in plain text where you can see
the cypher: **** your red dress.
You see,
those blisters are the gravity between White Dwarves
pulling at skin, and earth, and ending thrown halfway across the universe.
I knew I'd seen you before,
there at the edge of the Oort Cloud
where we tell people we just met:
I stopped eating
I was hurt once
I was ugly too
and no one was really listening.
You and the rest of our red dresses meant too little.
But still then why do you whine over the hungry, and hurt, and ugly
and spit in my face for being there at the Edge,
and for loving the thrill in listlessness,
the passion in mundanity?
And that ******** about the shallowness of victims?
You didn’t learn a thing
traveling and trusting and falling out of beds.
Your drunken honesty is your sober lack of layers.
This isn’t a far reach of space,
your torn dress and cork heels won't work here.
Don’t bring that littleness here,
you're the only one not really listening now.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
outside in the dark with a broken heart
you said you loved it when my blood shed,
said that **** was art
I'm thinking over how your eyes shined in the bright night sky
you said it's nothing - it's not scary -
but won't tell me why
you held my arm down in the bathroom, see it all pour out
said get to class, gave me a kiss
don't let them know about
the scars put on me or the bruises that have yet to heal
I won't say nothing, you'll still love me
that was now the deal
I'm on sidewalk high as **** don't know my whereabouts
this LSD must keep my mind straight
now I'm crying out
you said it's nothing, just some stress you release with a fist
my jaws sits crooked, my heads dizzy,
there's blood on my wrist
she wore the smile on her face just like a loaded gun
said keep them blisters covered up
and don't tell anyone
from shaving razors and the needles you hide behind your back
I'm like a doll, just like a pin cushion
that's blue and black
you said you loved me but you'd trade me for a cigarette
now I'm just smoking all 19
the thunder makes 'em wet
outside in the street walking towards the cars
I'd rather die then watch you use me,
giving me more scars
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
We sit cross-legged in the story corner
Breathing faint ammonia smells.
Table chants and hymns echo through corridor acoustics,
All creatures great and small.
We are wedged in a tangle of podgy thighs,
Grazed knees, scabs and warts.
And Anthony is sitting alone again
Where he can do no harm.
Yet he said he would bring it, and bring it he has.
Its tiny white head is nosing over
The hem of his pocket,
Whiskers a-twitch and
Eyes like tiny blood blisters ripe for popping.
A shudder of shivering whispers and
Nervous heads are half turned:
Yes, Anthony is smiling his special smile.
Mrs Lloyd has found the page,
My lids are squeezed tight
As I urge my mind to follow her away
From here, away from now.
For playtime will be ****** once again.
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 3:20 AM UTC
You are a volcano
Spewing bitter ashes
Your lips are scarred with blisters
You choke on molten lava
You are a tornado
A black and angry funnel
Touching down with vengeance
Wreaking black destruction
Every time I'm in your path
You try to burn and break me
Scorch my skin with accusations
Annihilate my existence
You clearly fail to understand
That while you erupt and storm
The things your wrath devours
Are all inside of you
You are a volcano
You are a tornado
You are my beloved child
You are my force of nature
I hope someday that you will find
Refreshing rains and cooling breezes
You are the maker of weather
I am the eye of the storm.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
Oh, fuming teardrop!
You’ve boiled over from wrath and anger,
leaving painful blisters as you sear the heart
Why you don’t evaporate is a wonder
but there must be a valid reason…
If only to let the heart know it lives
Oh, fuming teardrop!
Will you ever learn how to forgive?
Oh, defiant teardrop!
Teetering on the edge and glistening,
refusing to fall to make yourself known
It is not fickle mindedness playing,
rather, a power play of emotions
a blatant refusal to show what’s within
Oh, defiant teardrop!
Why even stop yourself before you begin?
Oh, crocodile teardrop!
If you were truly so, slink back shamefully,
recede to your lacrimal gland and stay put
There is no need for your insincerity,
the world is chaotic as it is, too troubled
Fall not, trickle not, trick not who see you
Oh, crocodile teardrop!
How can you be so heartless to fool people so true?
Oh, pensive teardrop!
How gracefully you streak down window sills
Wash away grime and grit, cleanse everything
Flow unhindered, purify hearts you fill
Laughter may be the music of the soul,
but you are pure— the distilled spirit
Oh, pensive teardrop!
Will you course down blackened hearts, pay a visit?
Oh, jubilant teardrop!
Married to laughter, frolic and dance to its tune
Give birth to hope then soar with elation
Brighten faces, sparkle days, light up the moon
Let souls remember that you speak of pain, joy
Let them remember, then allow them to heal
Oh, jubilant teardrop!
Why did I ever doubt that you are spirit revealed?
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 4:24 AM UTC
*I gave her the permission to uproot you whole from my Heart, however painful, however unfair it feels
because I believe I've waited enough...
I've waited until I've reached the end of my patience
where holding on is no longer a valid option...
I love you so much but sometimes true love is just knowing
when to let go,when however firm one grips to the past,
nothing changes and nothing ever will...
I gave her a go ahead to pluck the memories leaf by leaf
from the wonderful hello to the sour goodbye,
it isn't an easy process and I'm only going through it
because dreaming of us together is telling myself a lie...
I once preferred (to living without you) rather to die
and picturing back to those times makes me want to cry
I have to forget you...
I've allowed her to cut the logs of hope right from the root system
so that whatever I feel for you should whither instead of bloom..
I've charged her with nursing my wounds till they are cured
and collecting the smithereens you left behind
I've implored her to bear with me till the raw and tender love
I feel for her has matured,till the memories of you have disappeared
It's really hard on her...it's killing her, it's written on her face
how difficult it is to fill the emptiness in this place
to heal the wounds, to warm the cold and stitch the cuts
she's trying to submerge it but through her smile
I can see the melancholy and how much it actually hurts
that's why I'm sure she's willing to go an extra mile...
she's blistered and really hurting but most of all
she's cutting and cutting and cutting...
because I gave her the duty to complete our parting.*
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 9:09 AM UTC