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TheRhymeRenegade Feb 2018
do you recall
the crunch beneath our feet
a gesture small
as we ambled down the street
dirt and gravel
I felt pebbles through my shoe
I unravelled
When I looked at you

Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face

Sunlight peaked through maple branches
in such a tranquil way
missed chances to make advances
I always hoped you'd stay
a fork in the road ahead
we went different directions
I used many different methods
to try and snag your attention
Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face

you never seemed to notice
you just stared ahead
heart bloomed as if a lotus
while I tugged at a loose thread
sometimes I'd begin to speak
but choked upon my words
so I walked next to you without a peep
and together watched the birds

Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face

it's odd and super subtle
the synchronicity
insignificant and pointless
yet means the world to me
quiet walks every afternoon
past the garage and dead leaves
we watched the starlings courtship
do you remember me?

Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face
Eva Reid Apr 2016
The freckle, in the center of the back of his right hand, is the color of autumn leaves and tree bark. On it I draw flowers of love and waves of want with kisses and touches. His right hand is the one that fits perfectly into mine, crafted and cut from the same stone to connect at the lifeline on our palms. I notice everything about his hands. The scaly red knuckles and the delicate milk skin between each finger. The dark dirt under each broken nail that never disappears. His hands are the thing that passes over my arm and sends prickles down my back. The hand with that beautiful freckle is the hand that I want to hold for the rest of my life. I love that hand. I love the boy that is attached to this hand. His eyes are deep and bright at the same time. They are the color of a sunrise- dark blue with flecks of orange and yellow. Every day I look in to those eyes and I drown. I drown in the want and the need of him. The hair on his head is the color of happiness- blonde and brown and soft and long and perfect. His lips are average and insignificant but to me they are everything I have ever wanted. They are the color of melted and spun sugar that you get at the carnival. I want to press mine to his, I want to stand on the tops of my toes to reach his lips, to taste him. I want to make constellations with my kisses from the freckles on his nose. I love those freckles but my favorite one is the one on the center of the back of his right hand. The one the color of autumn leaves and tree bark. That freckle made me fall in love with him. The day I noticed that freckle is the day I knew that I was completely, utterly in love with this boy. I was drowning in everything that is him and I was deprived in everything that is not him. But this boy is not mine. He is no ones. He walks this earth with the intent of ruling it and though I am by his side this boy King does not love me the way I love him. I know he loves me but we are platonic. And platonic people do want to press their lips together. And platonic people do not want to wake up tangled in sheets in the morning to see one another. No, platonic people love at a distance but I cannot stand that distance anymore. I want to take my sledgehammer of impatience and dynamite of want and crumble that wall. I will do anything to close that distance because I want him, I need him, I love him. But what does that matter? He is the boy King that cannot be held down and I am just a peasant girl waiting for her Prince Charming.
Al Jun 2014
i love the freckle on your eye
maybe
that's why i like to sigh
cause when i do
you look
down at your shoe,
close your eyes,
and ask why?
i say
so you close your eyes
and i can see your little freckle
i love so much
this one *****
but it's for you and your little freckle.
i love you
Duke was admiring his puppy self in the mirror,
when upon his nose a bright red spot did appear.
Turning his head first to the left, then to the right,
studying his nose and this strange red dot so bright.

His young Master Ryan had red dots across his nose.
“Freckles” Ryan had told the pup, with eyes so sad.
So if it was a freckle it was also bad.

Ryan,  his best friend was human, you see.
Duke was a puppy, one day a dog to be.
Humans sometimes got freckles.
Dogs sometimes got fleas.

He remembered another time,
When he had found a flea.
That was so long ago.
But not like this one, that
in the light seemed to glow.

Maybe if he barked, it would go away.
“ WOOF!” He said, and still it stayed.
Scared, his master Ryan he went to find.
lying his head in Ryan’s lap, he whined.

Ryan looked at his pup and laughed with glee,
a the red spot on his puppy’s nose he did see.
Duke looked up and was surprised to see,
that Ryan had hundreds of the same red fleas.

In the room Ryan’s Mother came,      
“So this is where my glitter went” She exclaimed.
Ryan laughed at his Mom and Duke was relieved.
This strange red spot that had made him so bitter,
was not a freckle or a flea, but only red glitter.


Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
For My Grandson Ryan
Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f
gee Jan 2015
termites crawl in my stomach; you
are my disarray, o soft and golden -

take the curves of my feet, the
freckle on my lip, and

hang me on your wall, you
compel my speechlessness.

i'll keep guessing, guessing
and unguessing.

i am up all night over this.
Victoria Garcia Apr 2015
You should be here with me
My heart is as empty as the side of the bed that you used to sleep on
And my life's crashing harder than the waves on the shore like when you first kissed me
And I'm falling harder and faster into loneliness than I was when I fell for you
And I know there's no stopping this
But you should be next to me
Kissing each freckle on my arm and tracing "I love you" into my palm because each letter deserved it's own recognition for it made up a larger picture
And you should be next to me
With my head leaning onto the very shoulder I spent entire nights crying into
You should be beside me
But I guess this was all besides the point
And now you're next in line for a new girl
I just wish you would give me a next chance
Randi G Dec 2014
You told me that you have
Over one million hair follicles
And I believe you.
I do.
But, if it’s okay, I’ve never counted
To one million before.
I heard it takes a really long time,
But after I count all of the spots
The hair grows out of you,
I want to count all your freckles
And connect them like constellations.
You’re just like the universe to me
And each freckle is a star.
There are lots of stars we can’t
See with the naked eye,
But I want to find those too.
If that’s okay.
Hg Jun 2018
i keep on seeing stars
as freckles
on people's faces

i ask them ain't it cool
that you were born
with constellations?

but some have just as
many spots as
insecurities

they think they need
make up to cover up
their galaxies

like one person I know
looks like ice cream
that's been peppered

the dots on her arm
dawn from her grandma
who's a leopard

but she tells me that
she hates them
she calls them imperfections

cause back in school
kids mocked her for
her speckled complexion

some bully
named georgina
used to call her a giraffe

the boys joined in
and even then
her friends began to laugh

internalizing this
as a black hole
inside her mind

though heavenly
her body confidence
never aligned

then a tear streaked down her cheek
she immediately wiped
the meteor

i’d never seen her sad
didn't what to do
so I poked her

poked her face to show
my favorite star
below her eye

told her when we speak
it's like i'm talking
to the sky

and every time she blinks
that freckle vanishes
from sight

so every time she cries
a star goes missing
from the night

shame is taught
to many of us
at such an early age

comparing our looks
to everyone
as if we're made the same

girl you are spectacular
no matter of
heredity

your tears are shooting stars
made of cosmic ice
and chemistry

now i thought that that was clever
but saying that
was DUMB

cause as I'm seeing stars
she says she’s been
seeing someone

yeah Ice Cream's
got a boyfriend
right now he's just away

i should have seen
that coming from
a mile milky way

you wish upon a star
to find someone
that’s wishing too

one day
i’ll meet that one
when i stop wishing for you

i gotta say goodbye
this ain’t the time
this ain’t the space

it just ain't right
that every night
i still will see your face
©Hg
Tom Leveille Sep 2016
okay so i’m beginning to believe i was born asleep and still haven’t woken up, or caught in a day dream where my name is the answer to all your security questions. okay. a thousand years of wondering and all i can come up with is that you fell in love with me at a picnic in my imagination. the lemonade we always talk about swimming in sugar and tiny handmade sandwiches from my kitchen, your favorite, extra pickle. don’t forget about the pickles. of course the clouds march in stomping out the sunshine, of course. it was dark and there was lightning so much lightning. don’t be scared just now darling don’t be scared. in the middle of the night we only talk about your version of the story. how i’d ask you to stay, asking you to tell me what’s real asking you with my hands asking you with maps, a country called please listen to me, you should know by now that it is an island too far to sail to according to you. i know i know, who dared name an ocean lonely when all the ships are sinking. we can go back we can turn around where the sky is the gentlest shade lavender, we can go back and have a conversation that has never happened before. when everything is the color of day old bruises i won’t let you down. i promise when i get home i will count every freckle every one. when i get home can we open one of those mason jars full of fresh air because i can’t breathe. i remember that day, although i pretend it was more recent than it was. you were there in a swell of green grass in a dress that makes me blush, and there i was blushing. i’m not sure how i made it out alive, skipping the part in the song where you, long gone come busting through a doorway, through the well air conditioned living room and and across the kitchen tile, to the refrigerator where just like in elementary school, my fourth grade heart wrote all your favorite things on flash cards in the blackest magic marker so i could memorize the things that made you happiest. and you turning around in slow motion to see my face, or where my face should be, the only expression i can make anymore, realizing that you realized that i only ever wanted to be something that made you happy. suddenly you’re tired, and i’m tired too, goodnight goodnight, i’m falling asleep because it’s the only thing that doesn’t burn. i’m falling asleep to go back again. everything glitches and i’m underneath your perfect teeth. you say “i would never hurt you” and i say “just like that?” and the layer starts over again, always back to the moment i asked you in my bravest of voices if i could hold your hand. you probably don’t remember that moment, or maybe you do but don’t particularly share the same sentiment over its importance. you see, i’m always fine until the part where i have to say it out loud, and then time stops. i have always wanted to tell you that something happened inside me that night and now i’m not the same me as i was before. so if you ever cross a bridge. if you ever get my voicemail, if you need me, i’ll be sketching up the dramatic parts in my head and they’ll happen just the way i imagined just you wait you wait. the last scene the very last one, the bottom layer, knee deep in mud knee deep in i told you so, you say “i would never hurt you” and instead of saying “just like that” i reach up to kiss you and the room evaporates. so if you want lemonade and bedtime stories, if i can make a believer out of you, if you want bucketfuls of november if you want grace if you want the courage it takes to ask for grace, you’re over the train tracks you’re almost home you’re almost there. what else can you say besides “okay pumpkin okay sweetheart, in my head everything was beautiful" the doorway now filled with people who send you birthday cards saying welcome back welcome home we’ve missed you, hello. hello. the time spent waiting, chorus of rain, i only invited you over so we could make perfect sense. i only gave my hands away because you didn’t want them anymore. and days later a man with a shark tooth necklace asked if i was okay and i lost it i just lost it. all the little red bricks with their little names carved into them, how they don’t feel comfortable under your feet, how there were hundreds of flowers but somehow we took a picture of the same one the very same one, and how we can’t talk about things like that anymore, how i was sitting on a bench and i didn’t hear you call my name, shaking hands on accident with your parents hello sir hello mam, your daughter is my favorite ghost.
my book "down with the ship" is availible for purchase at sanfransiscobaypress.com / Amazon.com
zebra Feb 2019
scarlet haught
queen of mirth
dog ****
drooling jewelry red splits
pulled by a chariot  
of six hundred million house cats
dissembling for freaky insertions
of scarlet bud flowers uterine tube

breath of spit
while ballet toes kiss fingers and tongues
glazing thickly tides sweat
bamming greased ****

Christ *****
"once upon a never more"
bi-sexed up
**** twitch glistening holes
drizzle fish
in red tents overturned
for fabulous *******
and angelic *****'s
flirty dance the come **** me  

her throat a never ending squealed gullet
sublime Madonna of Oor
bare thighed and pulpy spread
scissor strokes and stride
wagging tongue for rosy oleo sticks
and **** pastry rectums pulled tight
in lop sided temples of split flesh

another ambulance to the emergency **** ward
in a dreamland of leggy nurses

sacred fig of Freyja
Goddess to **** toys
and pretty pretty who go that way
hocus opus poke and stir
freckle face **** mouth
a lapping menagerie

i gird my ***** and follow her
into a cologned room; of dark rim box butter
***** yelping for
a slow grind in a belly of clams

red and velvet pageant
she nests in the heart
a midwife disturbia
to pregnant lust
being pushed down and worked up
till loosened in thick ****
and black whip afterbirth
like flowers of curves and blood

her banquet; a platter of wet orifice
trilling vibratos ******
and anxious kisses crawling through her mouth
like fallen angels flying
dire sister of knock out *******
pleading goth nuns for lesbian heated
Satan loving veiled Christian crotch
and a thousand delicious gaped
******* **** poundings
and mouth ***** **** plunge

crucifix of wrack and *****
****** and beaten senseless
instructions from the  book of night
of **** and spite
written by
Abrahams primitive nations
arms of the cross she is nailed to
sweet ***** waifs beaten dead
in a tillage of brokenness

mans club
shore of incinerated witches and tortured justice
shut up when your talkin to me
clan of honor
duo troupe
almanac of hell
sara Jun 2014
I swore that I knew you
just like the back of my hand
every blemish, every freckle,
every scar, was you

But now
My blemishes begin to even out
My freckles, rearranging themselves
And any old scars are fading.
Noname Jun 2013
She was my life
She is my life
All she has too do is smile
And my heart melts
She captures me with her words
Her wisdom
She is beautiful
From head to toe
Freckle to freckle
Her eyes glow like a cat in the night
But in the day
Her eyes are the color of red like a sunset
We get high together
Then get low
We might cry together
Her skin fair as snow
Shes there for me
And I'm here for her
We listen to alterative rock
And classic 90's
We can talk for hours
About absolutely  nothing
She amazes me
With her strength
I lover her so much
My girly love :)
Tim Benjamin Apr 2014
To the girl sitting next to me in summer school
I want to tell you that you look beautiful,
Beautiful like in the way the summer sun bends around the north pole because it refuses to set its constant and lasting
Just like the way my heart jumped the moment i saw you for the first time and it has refused to come down
Everytime since, when i see you, although i have never been much of a dreamer, i daydream about all the things i want to do to you like...
Make you smile... or blush
So that my daydreams will have the perfect backdrop of love to memorize your every freckle, and then i want to drink the smile i put on your face beause i know it is the only thing that can quench my thirst
I want to tell you that I want to learn ballet, just so i can catch you everytime you jump and make sure that ill never let you fall... unless it's for me...
I want to learn to draw
Because I want to draw my way into your life, van gogh my way into your past present and future, i want to spend my whole life with you, and on your dying day i want to roundhouse kick death for even thinking of taking you away from me
But most of all i want to make you... happy
Happy in a way that is unexplainable
Like why do birds suddenly appear everytime you are near
It would be to easy to say that just like me they long to be close to you
And i want it to be unexpected like when you fall asleep after a long day
Slowely at first and then it engulfs you completely
I want to tell you that I want you to be able to feel the sunlights warm caress even on the darkest of days
And on days when you can't see the stars in the night sky
I will cut stars out of my paper heart
Even though they always seem to rip when held in hands that aren't careful enough
and then I want to hang them from your ceiling
So you will always have something beautiful to look at
And if you would just notice me I promise that I can love you like that...
But instead when I finally noticed that you caught me staring at you about 15 minutes ago... I opened my mouth and instead of all the soliloquies that dance through my head whenever you saunter into a room all that came out was hi...... did you do the homework?
I think it was a good start.
Mel Harcum Jan 2015
My parents gave me a pink childhood framed with lace and luxury--
but a black stain has spread there, deep as the amount of time
I’ve spent thinking about what people are capable of, and how they can stand
hanging a mirror in every bathroom, because water cannot clean people
of the lie they told their brother or the betrayal inflicted against their friend,
some wrongs of which may never be realized, but will always remain
in the form of a new freckle on my left cheek or shadow beneath my eye.
And I am sorry, because I should have sooner heeded my mother’s words
when she told me I was the moral compass grounding you stonedust streets.

Your childhood resembled a light bulb broken before it tasted electricity,
no one taught you North from South and how different the terrain may become
when you find yourself in the mountains with only sandals on your feet.
I had been that for you, and you told me as much every weekend we spent
riding in the bed of my father’s pickup truck and shouting against wind-gusts
that threatened to carry our voices away from one another--

I have sinced learned there are many ways to **** a person.
I killed you when I stole your sense of direction like floorboards from beneath
your cracked and bleeding feet, and allowed you to fall--who knows how far--
landing in a pile of skin-biting needles and leftover sediment,
the very bottom of brown-glass bottles strewn across the floor.
Staying would have saved you, I’m sure, and I’ll never forget that I turned away
out of fear, cowardice, because I hated the sight of your skin-and-bone crowd,
friends in name but not in heart, and left you lost among them,
And you who knew no better remained, your humanity
expelled with each smoke-laden breath and then evaporating, nonextant.
Jessie Nov 2012
I find that
Freckles seem to make the strangest shapes.

I find that I lose myself
With the connect the dots game
On your face.
I count three on your neck
Below your soft forest of hair.
A pointed constellation.
I imagine inside the freckle triangle,
It says: kiss here.
And kiss you I do.

I find that
Your freckles tell me where to travel with my lips.
I am going down down down
And now there's goosebumps.
Ah, the land is not fallow yet.
Further and further.
One dot, two dots, small dots, big dots.

I find that
My mouth is growing warm with
The taste of your pastures
Enveloping it.
I am hungry.

I find that
The land further down is bare.
A desert.
No more freckles to follow.
I look up for the first time,
And there you are,
Gasping for air.

My turn.
Kevin Feb 2017
i was sitting on a swinging bench
listening to squawks and squeaks
and i saw a little spider
no bigger than the freckle on
the knuckle of my thumb.
i asked it, "what is your purpose? what is it that you do?"
the response i heard in short
echoed above the noise surrounding me
he said it was "to live"
Wass May 2014
My freckle flecked love
      stirs the speckled paintbrush soft, dousing it's hairs so that,
    as I pull it back,
all the bristles bend
     seamlessly, and when I let go
they ping forwards,
      smattering
a scattering of stars,
         onto snowy canvas.
MT Apr 2014
I took up smoking to replace one bad habit for another
(and a little bit for a taste of that head rush you used to give me).
I watch as my heart walks around downtown, outside of me;
and in my dreams, I’m pulling out my teeth for you.
It’s all these ******* mind games and those girls with bigger chests.
Can you recall one freckle off my sunburnt face?
The only thing I could ever leave with you were those bruises on your neck.
But even they began to fade the moment my mouth left your skin.

I left my broken bones at the foot of your bed.
I had planted my roots in your shoes, but I didn’t know where to grow after you left them in the doorway.
How can you expect me to live in the shell of something that once made a sunrise look dull?
And what do you think of when you see my last name on a street sign?
haley Jan 2018
i am running out of
air
i am running out of
scrapes on my knees
running out of
new corners to cross
in this neighborhood
we,
we are growing up in the same houses
with the same curtain of trees draping
their limbs over our windowsills
we are sleeping in the same bedsheets
wrinkled from the imperative
tossing and turning
of adolescents.

we inflate our chests
and float away like red balloons
a freckle in the pale complexion of the sky
for this love affair with the pavement
has lost its edge
this slipping on
slimy banana peels
has stabilized

we have bitten and scratched and stained
the doors of your fingers
studied every trail of your fingerprints
i have grown older in the palm of your hand
your fists raised to the sky
it is time for you to open them.
Wednesday Apr 2014
You are so beautiful you make my eyes burn
like you are a ray of sunshine-

but I love you more under the moon

we both are marked by craters
deep blue and black under our skin

I traced your veins with my fingers
and I just want to swim in them

I don’t know how many more times
I can write about the curl of your lips
and the way your hair turns at the edges
and about your legs

and chest
oh god your chest

and your collarbones
and the tattoo on your bicep
and the freckle in your eyes
and the dark burnt edge of it all

I don’t know how many more poems I can write
about how I want to love you forever
how I want to take care of you

how much your illness does not
define you as a person of value

oh god I ******* love you
redemptioneer Jan 2017
the first boy i ever loved had a freckle under his eye
and i swore
i'd never forget how that looked
and now, i have forgotten which eye it was under
and what color they were

but this, this is not a sad realization
this is not justification
this is an explanation of a simple thing:
i was not in love
but for the life of me, i could've been

and for reasons that i can't quite explain
we drifted apart
and truthfully, this may have been because he called me names i cannot repeat
and he broke me in ways that i'll never be able to fix
as ****** as it is, i stayed for a while longer
even though i knew i shouldn't
because
god, i thought i was in love
i swore i'd never forget that

but i did and i have
and sometimes these "goods" and "bads" come to pass
and all that's left is a fading memory
a fleeting feeling
not of love, but of longing
to be in love again

and this freckle under his eye, well i haven't seen it in seven months
and i don't really care to
because i've seen other beautiful things
things that would make that freckle seem
ugly
things that would make that freckle seem
insignificant
things that i swear
i will never forget

and this, i know
is not forever
i am not in love with the world yet
but for the life of me,
i could be
lacey deere Aug 2010
He had a freckle on his nose ,
He detested that freckle but it was my favourite part of him ,
He was not flawless but he was perfect .

He held me as if I would break at any second
I held him as if I could not let go .
He opened my heart and broke it ,
This I cannot forgive  though it was not intentional.

My heart stopped beating along with his
The day he died .
I miss that freckle on his nose more than I can say.
nikki Apr 2014
I want to be adored,
the way I adore every single freckle
which scatter all over your pale skin,
the way I adore the crisp air and the leaves crunching beneath my feet
while I walk home alone and compare you to the breeze,
or the way I adore how your hands overpower mine.
Rachel Jordan Mar 2014
Staring at the crescent shaped scar on your arm,
Smelling you, like outside, like old rain on the pavement.
You rub my back slowly and I fall asleep

Now. Sitting alone in the kitchen, sipping twice re-heated coffee,
Snow is melting off the grass.

He left behind reminisce I can't return
his imprint in the sheets.
old hairs  left behind from tossing and turning.
I can only find his warn out socks in the garbage can,
caked in blood from a hard walk to work

I take out the garbage, dump the coffee,
Talk to a few people that fill a gap, and they
Tell me how much they love me.

They are just words now, with no connection.
I say it back to be polite, I smile to ease the burden.


and maybe at one time I loved them too.
BASIC Mar 2017
This poem was doomed from the start
For words cannot begin to describe just how beautiful she is
And yet
She does not think so

Maybe it's because the last guy wasn't faithful
Or maybe it's because what she sees on the TV screen and in magazines doesn't match what she sees in the mirror
But every time I look at her one thing gets clearer
She is the most beautiful girl in the world
Handcrafted by God
Rare natural beauty
A one of a kind masterpiece
Every curve
A brushstroke
Every freckle
A drop of paint
Every mark
Precisely positioned and perfectly placed
She is a work of art
And yet
She does not think so

But in dark times she still shines
It's like watching the moon cry
And I'm drunk in love off moonshine
I hold her dear
So I'll be out there with my baseball glove ready to catch every tear
She doesn't need to worry at all
She can trust me like the leaves trust the ground will always be there to catch them when they fall
She is a sight to behold
So I will never let her go
And yet
She does not think so

But if she only knew
If she only knew
Her beauty is like a sock in the laundry
Unmatched
If she only knew
She is my north star
Every time I check my compass it's always pointing to her
If she only knew
Her body is the only language I want to speak
If she only knew
Every time we touch I'm afraid the butterflies in my chest will escape through the hole in my ribcage where she was taken from me
If she only knew
Even when she's the oldest trick in the book
I will still be falling for her
If she only knew
She is beautiful
And yet
She does not think so

So here I am
Trying to create something as beautiful as her
kelia Jun 2015
oh my god
i am so sorry

it's just that my battery died and i drove around for hours looking for your new second floor apartment
i am sticking my fingers down my throat and i’m gagging until these ******* butterflies find their way out of my cavernous stomach

you aren’t allowed to laugh when i walk through your door with cold taco bell and red cheeks because i’m nervous
you've never seen this freckle before, you don't know my new favorite song
you rest your arms on my legs and move closer to me and we both scream because we’re gonna puke, butterflies

i ask you for a glass of water and you should ask me to leave
trembling, you don’t even use a coaster
i take a sip and stare at the tupperware on the floor, i taste dishwasher soap and it is almost enough to scare these butterflies who used to remain dormant right out of my ******* gut
blankpoems Aug 2013
I miss you like sadness.
I used to wrap around myself like some lovelorn python
with a desire for suicide blondes.
Called yourself a wrecking ball, but you had no choice.
Maybe you wanted to caress my house softly without destruction.
Maybe you cried afterwards like a lost child on a mountain of doubt.
Full of maybes! You make me full of maybes!
I was taught as a child that maybe was just a watered down no.
Stop watering the truth down, I'm not your flower.
I'm a ****.
And I'll just continue to grow until I can't fit in anything except for my own grave.

You make me want to go to church.
I was baptised once, I forget as what.
I honestly don't even know what religion is,
but I can religiously blacken my lungs with nicotine and lies.
Lie with me.
Caress my sins.

My body is world war three,
I have nuclear bombs in the dips of my collarbones
and every single freckle you used to compare to the galaxies
are bullet holes.
Save your prose for someone who gives a ****.

Pull the blinds baby, we don't need light in here.
Did you know that with three minutes of asphyxiation you become brain dead?
Let's try it baby, suicide pact?
Let's dance with the dead darling.
You always said the devil was our best friend.

My tarot cards turned black when you turned them over.
You said that I was hard to read.
I had trouble reading anything except the bell jar.
And now it's my turn to ring it.

You're prettier with a necklace made of fingers.
I want to collect your energy in a mason jar and sell it at a garage sale.
I want to smash it in the middle of a highway and lay in a ditch until the wolves eat my body.
I want to be lost.
Lose me baby.
I'll lose myself in your lies.
Lie with me.
I just want to be held.
L Marie Feb 2016
The way you breathe,
Play with your hair,
The face you make when
You're deep in thought,
Those pretty eyes,
Your puffy lips,
That awkwardness
Mixed with your
Easy-going nature,
That deep voice,
Your soft laugh,
Those rough hands,
Every tiny freckle,
Your big dreams
And humble outlook,
Your nerdy side
Torn between
Your free spirit,
You are the better half.
JR Potts Sep 2016
There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it is calculating my every click
my likes, my comments
how many hours I spend at night
browsing poetry
or probably ****.

There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it collects my style, my taste
it knows my favorite color,
it has studied my face
the way no lover ever has,
down to the freckle.

There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it knows things about me
my friends or family would never ask.
It knows how many times
I have searched the word 'suicide'
how many times I asked for nudes
and how many times I received.
It knows my greatest fears
but also my most coveted dreams.
It knows things about me
I may have forgotten about me.

There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it has created an image of me
I would rather not see
nor believe in its legitimacy
yet every time I go to type
its guesses my next thought
with pinpoint accuracy.

There is an algorithm out there...
Shashank Virkud Sep 2012
Sangrias on Saturdays,

a better way,

we got sicker,

the stairs spiraled,

quicker than a Winter's day








and a jet plane






is a

dalmatian




in a weird sort of way.




That was stupid



to sa-

vor

one sort of angle

over
another sort
of strangle
hold

would be a mistake,

one of great consequence,

something to wince at.


Keep wincing.


I know.


Red haired,

struttin' down that stage
like the Summer fox,

strummin' that
southern rock,

get me off, get me off!

I'm stuck

in love me mode

so give me

a good


night lullaby

and tuck me in-
at least.

freckle faced teenager, giddy up!
freckle faced teenager, give it up!

I'll be there,

I"ll be the one.

I'll feel hair

and I'll pull for fun.



Snow.


Roses.


Snow and roses,

Fall always forces
and I can never go back to
the cotton my blood was soaking in.

Snow and roses,
Fall always closes
and leaves me wanting.

I can never go back; ****
the rotten fruit our wine was soaking into.
Was it love?
Was what we did last night really love,
or were we just *******?
Because your daddy is screaming
that we were just ******* to be *******
and that our little three minute excursion
couldn't amount to anything.
Something inside me, call it foolish pride,
wanted to say that it was actually closer 
to twenty-three minutes.
But if you take out all the pauses of
trepidation and uncertainty then you're
probably right.
Your mother's crying her baby is a *****
her baby is a ***** ***** *****.
But see I'm confused.
When I hear *******, i see two people
throwing caution and their clothes to the 
wind as they gorge themselves on carnal delicacies.
But what we had was different.
What we had wasn't a mad dash
to the sensual finish line.
What we had was more like a slow
stroll through the garden of ecstasy
as we sampled the fruits of sensation
our hormones whirling and singing
about us like nightingales in the pale pale
moonlight of your smile.
I still remember the soft cotton of your
comforter, a stark contrast to the 
hard facade I tried to hastily construct.
A boy trying to emulate the icons of
masculinity.
So I tried on Usher's bravado sitting
legs splayed wide. I even licked my
lips imitating LL Cool J. But they
didn't fit me. They hung around my
awkwardness like the boots you were
wearing hung around your slender legs
more suited for running scared into
your daddy's arms than trying
to walk into "womanhood".
Each step infantile and uncertain,
uncertain of yourself and the situation at hand.
And if you hadn't been so scared,
you would've noticed that my
walls, hastily constructed of sand,
began to fall with your shirt to the floor.
And you would've noticed my
eyes darting back and forth in the sockets
pacing like the scared animal I really was.
My mind weaving webs of confusion with
each tendril spinning off into the possibilities.
What if I'm done too soon?
What if she laughs at me?
What if I'm not big enough?
What if I get her pregnant?
Will I still love her?
Do I love her now?
What if I don't meet her standards?
Wait, she said she was a ****** she wouldn't have standards yet,
would she?
What if she isn't a ****** like she said?
How would I know?
What about STD's, we did get tested right?
Yeah, two weeks ago in a clinic on Panola Rd.
Were the test negative or positive?
OH ****.
Her bra is off and I've never been this close
to a naked breast before.
Well when I was a baby, but then I was more
concerned about what was coming out of them
and is that a freckle above the left
******?!
And in that cacophony of confusion
you placed one finger on my chest and
quieted my storm
like mother to child you calmed me down
like Jesus on Galilee you quieted my storm.
I placed one hand on your chest and discovered
the same staccato pulsing through you.
And as I penetrated your inner sanctum
we both inhaled
sharp
deep
invigorating
as we breached the surface of the sea of
infatuation and breathed the life giving air
of ****** awakening.
Our heart beats raced
like Sea Biscuit at the Kentucky Derby
with the intensity of one thousand
birds in flight
until they began to slow and find their pace.
Our bodies followed suit, mimicking the rhythm
of two hearts beating as one and rocking
back and forth
back and forth
back and forth
as we rowed through ecstasy having the
best ******* time of our lives.
But there goes that word again,
and I'm still confused so you tell me.
Was it love?
was what we had really love,
or were we just *******?
Ash Jun 2019
They say be skinny but not too skinny. They say be girly and lady like, for that is pretty.
They say be curvy but only in the right places.
They say always have a smile on your faces.
Who made such rules?
Who were these people so cruel?
Why can't I just be me?
Slowly in my head the truth starts to creep.
They too were never accepted for who they were.
They too were shamed for every freckle, every curve.
It is not their fault entirely, now I see.
They just don't want us to face the hate they had to feel.
In the process of getting the world to like us though, we started hating our own bodies.
Taught to be somebody's instead of somebodies.
Is it alright that they won't let us be ourselves?
Shouldn't they know better since they've been through it themselves?
The world before them changed them, got into their head.
But we must not give in, or the real us will be dead.
Thomas Jan 2017
As I falter with every step I take,
You'll reach out to grab my trembling body,
I'll remember you in my dreamless dreams,
As the image of your face has been sculpted leaving no freckle behind,

Your presence is not forgotten,
As our mother lashes out,
You'll understand that I can't protect you,
You will cry with me when we are alone,

We have become closer through our insecurities,
Maybe our father will understand,
With his insecurities,

Or will the leash that the dictator holds,
Suppress his brilliant mind,
With the future unsteady,
I will wait my turn,

As my insecurities seize me,
I will place the shades that shadow my eyes,
To protect me from others pain,

You will wonder who I have become,
As I am no longer certain myself,
But my morals are still intact,
Even though my confidence has melted away,

Maybe tomorrow will be better,
With the dictator pointing fingers,
I will emotionally endure the consequences given to myself,

I'll cry for your pain,
From the decisions you made,
Gained through the support that I gave,
As you alone suffer,

This will be my sign of remorse for the pain that is experienced by you,
It's a poem
Courtney Feb 2015
remember when you laid me back and told me you needed to kiss every inch of my body, you needed to feel the skin that begged for you under your lips, no matter what words I string together everything about that night sounds like sinful lust when in all reality your lips kissed every bruise, cut, and bad memory away in the most innocent way possible and when you turned me over and ran your fingers down my spine before placing chapped lips of heaven on my shoulders releasing every pounding rhythmic weighing stress that knotted in my bones I knew at that moment I would spend forever in the miserable regret that being eerie to commitment would leave because no matter how much we loved, screamed and craved each other, the time could never be more wrong and I hope that one day my lips can kiss every broken freckle on your skin again.
I fell in love with fire at the
ripe age of seventeen years old.
I dared to flick on that lighter and
watch the sparks fly, intrigued by
how fiery the air felt.

Fancies turn to habits
Habits turn to addictions
Addictions turn to years
Years cut through naivety and
solidify into adulthood.

I flailed, I flopped,
I even stopped, dropped, and rolled
in filth, in mud, in murky waters
that rippled into a crystal ball of
an unfortunate future, indeed.

No prescription or over-the-counter reception
could soothe the burning you created.
I never realized how flammable my mind,
my heart, or my in-between places were…

As my soul smoldered
my throat choked on the smoke.
I asked for it to stop but all you heard was
“Keep going…”

You prodded, you poked, you stoked
the flames that licked from the freckle
on my foot to the freckle on my ear.
You poured out
the gasoline of selfless love and
smiled at your victory.
You crept into my life
You caught glimpses of the parts
of me hidden in secret places
You conquered my reason

Worst of all I was folded
in the hollow of your hand,
Beating around a bush
with a dead Trojan horse.

I didn’t see it coming, but I should have
known—I trusted you with my crowning jewel…
I let my guard down. Hell, I even
sharpened the knife you used to carve out my spine.
You entered my safe haven
in disguise, leaving  
a trail of matches behind and
scorching everything on your way out.
ineffable wonder Jul 2013
Five years from now
You'll look back
And ask yourself
"What's the name of
The girl who sat
One row behind me to the right"
But I'll remember your name

Ten years from now
You'll look back and ask
Who was the girl
With a freckle on her chin
But you still can't
Picture her quite right
Yet I will never forget your face

Fifteen years from now
You'll find your old yearbook
Flipping through the pages
Until you land on the girl
With the freckle on her chin
Who sat one row behind you on the right
And you'll remember who I am

You will remember that you both
Were once the best of friends
And you'll realize
You forgot her
Just like she thought you would
And you'll remember the pact
We made to never forget each other

Now we're here fifteen years later
You're standing there, phone in hand
With the girl's number in the other
She picks up the phone with a sad
"Who is this?", you tell her
There's a gasp on the other end
You don't know how much my face lit up

Let's go fifteen years and a few days later
You meet up at a coffee shop
But you don't sit down to chat
You take your orders and go on a walk
The first thing she says "I thought you forgot me"
You have to tell her you did
Those words shattered my heart

Now fifteen years later
You have a family, a wife you love
While that girl, she's alone
She has friends but never found love
Because of you
The girl had a dream
It was to marry you

So now you know, that girl
She never forgot you,
Not once
You invaded her mind
Every other night
Hoping you would come find me
Just like you promised

But you forgot,
While I will never forget you.





A.B.

— The End —