"fatless" poems - Hello Poetry

back aching, i want more sweat, suffering, sweet lips the suction - when two fatless chests press close hair in your eyes in my mouth, brush away from my cheek half-lidded peek grasp me i want you to hold my hand into the mattress breaking the ice with every push whisper, tickle my ear eat my skinny bones i feel alive skin is numb electric welts across my back nails carving our way into spine pillow talk the awkward walk another cigarette tell me i'm pretty i think I am

0

May 18, 2014

May 18, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC

blessedbylight

The taste.

back aching, i want more sweat, suffering, sweet lips the suction - when two fatless chests press close hair in your eyes in my mouth, brush away from my cheek half-lidded peek grasp me i want you to hold my hand into the mattress breaking the ice with every push whisper, tickle my ear eat my skinny bones i feel alive skin is numb electric welts across my back nails carving our way into spine pillow talk the awkward walk another cigarette tell me i'm pretty i think I am

25

I sold my skin one evening As I had times before He was a pale man this time But eyes and hair as black as pitch Teeth of smooth and beautiful ivory Light circles under his eyes Smooth, handsome face Marred by an almost imperceptible scar It was only when I saw his skin Beneath the neck His chest, his back The corded and worn muscles Fatless arms and legs and torso It was when I saw his skin That I both feared and ached Wanted and wanted to run away Where was it then? That old romantic and cinematic sentiment Where a working girl Finds protection and comfort A change and better offer at life? Where was it then When I wanted and wanted to run away I sold my skin to him My guts and breath and sweat And though I smiled and cooed Surrendered more than my form I cast off my want of romance Wept and hated myself Beneath the actress’ mask Running makeup on top of raw skin Sweated out my tears Washed away and worn away False tone and pigment of youth He left his seed, coin And a tip for his tip Light bruising and dull ache I sold my skin one evening

0

Dec 16, 2011

Dec 16, 2011 at 10:13 PM UTC

jonathan-barry-sullivan

Underneath

I sold my skin one evening As I had times before He was a pale man this time But eyes and hair as black as pitch Teeth of smooth and beautiful ivory Light circles under his eyes Smooth, handsome face Marred by an almost imperceptible scar It was only when I saw his skin Beneath the neck His chest, his back The corded and worn muscles Fatless arms and legs and torso It was when I saw his skin That I both feared and ached Wanted and wanted to run away Where was it then? That old romantic and cinematic sentiment Where a working girl Finds protection and comfort A change and better offer at life? Where was it then When I wanted and wanted to run away I sold my skin to him My guts and breath and sweat And though I smiled and cooed Surrendered more than my form I cast off my want of romance Wept and hated myself Beneath the actress’ mask Running makeup on top of raw skin Sweated out my tears Washed away and worn away False tone and pigment of youth He left his seed, coin And a tip for his tip Light bruising and dull ache I sold my skin one evening

38

Sometimes i think i am incapable of caring about anyone. Like, all that i am, is constructed of guilt and emotions i never wished to be mine in the first place. There will never be a part of me i would offer up to be handled, because every limb, every ***** every slab of flesh worth holding, has been grabbed too hard and forced into positions that paralyzed me. When i think of hands, i think of HIS hands and how they took, seized my fatless chest; like if he pulled hard enough and if he pinched to the point of blood, it would resemble the gutting of a fish and I would be pliant in his hold. Hands don’t feel the same anymore, they don’t look the same. ‘Cause when I think of hands, i think of the print that was left behind and how it dyed parts of me a shade pink i had never before seen. I think of how i couldn’t breathe because of it, too scared to leave my room for days, and when I finally did, i tiptoed around him like i was on thin ice and he was the cold water underneath it. I slept two hours last night, i’m okay with it. I was too scared to close my eyes, convinced that time would pass by without me in it. Woke up, didn’t brush my hair, just tied it back; ratted up knot things clinging to over-stretched hair ties. And I can’t tell anymore, if these words are just emotions i’m trying to toss out so i wouldn’t have to feel them anymore, or if they are perhaps freed things - open to the page to understand myself better. How will I ever know?

0

Jan 13, 2018

Jan 13, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC

svelte

januray 12th

Sometimes i think i am incapable of caring about anyone. Like, all that i am, is constructed of guilt and emotions i never wished to be mine in the first place. There will never be a part of me i would offer up to be handled, because every limb, every ***** every slab of flesh worth holding, has been grabbed too hard and forced into positions that paralyzed me. When i think of hands, i think of HIS hands and how they took, seized my fatless chest; like if he pulled hard enough and if he pinched to the point of blood, it would resemble the gutting of a fish and I would be pliant in his hold. Hands don’t feel the same anymore, they don’t look the same. ‘Cause when I think of hands, i think of the print that was left behind and how it dyed parts of me a shade pink i had never before seen. I think of how i couldn’t breathe because of it, too scared to leave my room for days, and when I finally did, i tiptoed around him like i was on thin ice and he was the cold water underneath it. I slept two hours last night, i’m okay with it. I was too scared to close my eyes, convinced that time would pass by without me in it. Woke up, didn’t brush my hair, just tied it back; ratted up knot things clinging to over-stretched hair ties. And I can’t tell anymore, if these words are just emotions i’m trying to toss out so i wouldn’t have to feel them anymore, or if they are perhaps freed things - open to the page to understand myself better. How will I ever know?

7

I am seated, legs crossed Jackie O style, hands quietly, and eternally resting on fatless thighs, my god, they are so cold today. and it appears that i am waiting for forever, Forever, sweet Forever, but Forever will not come. Whether his train has departed, I will not have known. I will not have known the robust, mathematical eyes that scoured the horizon from the seventh car from the rear. I will not have known what they have seen, the halves of sheep that were black, the other halves of sheep assumed to be another thing entirely... It falls now, on me. Like many shredded pieces of ticker tape, My god, it is here, singular and lovely. god-like in its beauty, gray and divine, how IT falls.

0

Jun 2, 2011

Jun 2, 2011 at 10:03 AM UTC

dharmaandgregfanficdotgeocity

untitled, possibly from 2009

I am seated, legs crossed Jackie O style, hands quietly, and eternally resting on fatless thighs, my god, they are so cold today. and it appears that i am waiting for forever, Forever, sweet Forever, but Forever will not come. Whether his train has departed, I will not have known. I will not have known the robust, mathematical eyes that scoured the horizon from the seventh car from the rear. I will not have known what they have seen, the halves of sheep that were black, the other halves of sheep assumed to be another thing entirely... It falls now, on me. Like many shredded pieces of ticker tape, My god, it is here, singular and lovely. god-like in its beauty, gray and divine, how IT falls.

17

Sunflowers Free verse by Jacob I cannot help but stop and look at wilted zinnias. Do zinnias make you shiver? do they? How happy are pale, disked dandelions! Dead, daring, disked dandelions. Never forget the colourless and weak disked dandelions. snowberry are not fatless! snowberry are exceptionally fatty. Down, down, down into the darkness of the snowberry, Gently they go - the zaftig, the fatty, the fat-free. One afternoon I said to myself, "Why aren't western wildflowers more large?" Lap. lap, lap. All that is reverse is not nasturtium, nasturtium, by all account is small. Do nasturtium make you shiver? do they? I cannot help but stop and look at embroidered, fragrant flowers. Do fragrant flowers make you shiver? do they?

0

Jan 2, 2019

Jan 2, 2019 at 1:12 PM UTC

Arosemorning

Sunflowers

Sunflowers Free verse by Jacob I cannot help but stop and look at wilted zinnias. Do zinnias make you shiver? do they? How happy are pale, disked dandelions! Dead, daring, disked dandelions. Never forget the colourless and weak disked dandelions. snowberry are not fatless! snowberry are exceptionally fatty. Down, down, down into the darkness of the snowberry, Gently they go - the zaftig, the fatty, the fat-free. One afternoon I said to myself, "Why aren't western wildflowers more large?" Lap. lap, lap. All that is reverse is not nasturtium, nasturtium, by all account is small. Do nasturtium make you shiver? do they? I cannot help but stop and look at embroidered, fragrant flowers. Do fragrant flowers make you shiver? do they?

22