"menstruates" poems - Hello Poetry

Dogs smell tyres. Chew on bones. *** on tyres. Get shooed away by stones. Life menstruates. Much too feminine. Too much to cry about. Too much pain. The smaller you want. The bigger you get. The bigger you expect. Nothing you get. Years pass by. Numbers keep rising. The loop of trust diminishes. Sitting by a fountain. Chase a butterfly. Wait till it sits. Hold it within your palm. Hold it till it fits. Life ***** around. Too much stink. Too much to wash about. You dwell in the stink. Listen to big hearts. Believe in small minds. Trust in what you want to. Life still grinds. Fight gravity. Stay up till you fall. Right after you fall. Don’t believe in gravity at all. Gauge equations. Evaluate situations. Fatigue creeps in. Your mind; and its discretions. Love till you die. Die till you love. It’s all unfair. Unjust. Love; and it expectations.

0

Dec 10, 2015

Dec 10, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC

hariharan-s

Anything love

Dogs smell tyres. Chew on bones. *** on tyres. Get shooed away by stones. Life menstruates. Much too feminine. Too much to cry about. Too much pain. The smaller you want. The bigger you get. The bigger you expect. Nothing you get. Years pass by. Numbers keep rising. The loop of trust diminishes. Sitting by a fountain. Chase a butterfly. Wait till it sits. Hold it within your palm. Hold it till it fits. Life ***** around. Too much stink. Too much to wash about. You dwell in the stink. Listen to big hearts. Believe in small minds. Trust in what you want to. Life still grinds. Fight gravity. Stay up till you fall. Right after you fall. Don’t believe in gravity at all. Gauge equations. Evaluate situations. Fatigue creeps in. Your mind; and its discretions. Love till you die. Die till you love. It’s all unfair. Unjust. Love; and it expectations.

41

Let your mind aerate from the pollution of the world, & let it soak into the clean waters I’ve prepared your soul. I wish I could grow old, Knowing I have you to hold and together we can mold and age with each other as thresholds. I don’t mean to be bold, but if I get cold, can you promise that your heart is the opposite? Can you promise me that age will not turn that thing into ice, & that it will be suffice, for me? I am the woman, whose heart menstruates for a love that does not exist. A queen who birthed all the things you loved when we were young, *** love and ecstasy, is all you wanted really. You were never one to return the favor, & so I sit here, pondering still, that if I get cold, will your heart be the opposite? Will those vows you proclaimed at our American wedding, while staring into my tender eyes, As they pierced into your nonexistent soul, still prove true in our older years? I can only question the future because I probably won’t make it there. & if so, will you look for another *** of gold in a woman inferior to me? --Gabriela Collie

0

Apr 30, 2016

Apr 30, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC

little-giant

The Dying Age

Let your mind aerate from the pollution of the world, & let it soak into the clean waters I’ve prepared your soul. I wish I could grow old, Knowing I have you to hold and together we can mold and age with each other as thresholds. I don’t mean to be bold, but if I get cold, can you promise that your heart is the opposite? Can you promise me that age will not turn that thing into ice, & that it will be suffice, for me? I am the woman, whose heart menstruates for a love that does not exist. A queen who birthed all the things you loved when we were young, *** love and ecstasy, is all you wanted really. You were never one to return the favor, & so I sit here, pondering still, that if I get cold, will your heart be the opposite? Will those vows you proclaimed at our American wedding, while staring into my tender eyes, As they pierced into your nonexistent soul, still prove true in our older years? I can only question the future because I probably won’t make it there. & if so, will you look for another *** of gold in a woman inferior to me? --Gabriela Collie

16

January 18, 2016 He handed me too many shots until my mind became a foggy disaster and my body became as slippery as the blizzard roads outside. I rolled down my guard just enough for him to stick his hands through, my walls teetered with drunken oblivion, he took that as an invitation, it meant absolutely nothing to me. And so it ovulates, my ******* fill, denial spills with a mixture of morning sickness, I had to calculate when this could have happened back to that date. And it menstruates, I shed more than tears and shame, with each changed pad, I shed the last remnants of him, and of me and of the night that I can barely remember, I vowed at that moment to lock up my guard, seal my walls shut, no one will ever catch me that vulnerable again. And so it dilates and contracts and contracts and snaps back just a little more hollow, it grieves and it heaves apologies and epithets that will never quite satisfy or release the endorphins after an ****** I wonder if anyone noticed that I changed. And it pulsates again, what did I learn these past sixteen months of abstinence? I did not feel closer to God, I created something on the darkest day of my life, I ended it on a Saturday morning so bright, I am no closer to self discovery, I though that I could **** my way back to feeling like the old me, keep wishing, keep digging, I have lost a part of me that I am not sure I will ever get back. And so it throbs, to forgive and to live, look at myself in the mirror again, look at this man the same, think he should be a father again, tell myself to spit it out but I always end up swallowing it until I am no longer hungry. And it pulsates, to feel emotions, to feel love, get that heart fluttering feeling that sends signals down to your other organs, to feel that if is okay to not always be okay, that I am not this one mistake, my body isn't defined by that dark day or that tragic Saturday, it pulsates every single day to feel whole and alive again.

0

Aug 19, 2017

Aug 19, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC

pippi

...And so on the path to re-self discovery and forgiveness

January 18, 2016 He handed me too many shots until my mind became a foggy disaster and my body became as slippery as the blizzard roads outside. I rolled down my guard just enough for him to stick his hands through, my walls teetered with drunken oblivion, he took that as an invitation, it meant absolutely nothing to me. And so it ovulates, my ******* fill, denial spills with a mixture of morning sickness, I had to calculate when this could have happened back to that date. And it menstruates, I shed more than tears and shame, with each changed pad, I shed the last remnants of him, and of me and of the night that I can barely remember, I vowed at that moment to lock up my guard, seal my walls shut, no one will ever catch me that vulnerable again. And so it dilates and contracts and contracts and snaps back just a little more hollow, it grieves and it heaves apologies and epithets that will never quite satisfy or release the endorphins after an ****** I wonder if anyone noticed that I changed. And it pulsates again, what did I learn these past sixteen months of abstinence? I did not feel closer to God, I created something on the darkest day of my life, I ended it on a Saturday morning so bright, I am no closer to self discovery, I though that I could **** my way back to feeling like the old me, keep wishing, keep digging, I have lost a part of me that I am not sure I will ever get back. And so it throbs, to forgive and to live, look at myself in the mirror again, look at this man the same, think he should be a father again, tell myself to spit it out but I always end up swallowing it until I am no longer hungry. And it pulsates, to feel emotions, to feel love, get that heart fluttering feeling that sends signals down to your other organs, to feel that if is okay to not always be okay, that I am not this one mistake, my body isn't defined by that dark day or that tragic Saturday, it pulsates every single day to feel whole and alive again.

42