"pillowy" poems
A sea of nettles and nails that scream their injustice at you
People who seem like they've shaken off their prickly outsides and their hatred
Turning to congratulate them
Embrace them
Before you find the truth beneath their pillowy covering
Nails can be blunted and nettles can be softened but they remain below your surface,
Waiting for the right moment to be sharpened and grow back their stings
I see your injustice and I raise you my peace
It hurts to tear out your nails and to burn off those nettles
But oh god does it hurt more to walk your tender, soft body through that forest of pain
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
I'm jealous of your pen.
Jealous of the way your hands will never caress my skin like you hold it.
Jealous of the way you won't ever twirl me on a wooden dance floor like you spin it.
I'm jealous of your tie.
Jealous of the way it wraps around your neck, a place my arms will never be.
Jealous of how nothing separates it from your skin except a shirt, but I have red tape cuffing my hands behind my back when I want nothing more than to let them roam beneath the collar of your blue-striped button down.
I'm jealous of your ears.
Jealous of the words they get to hear when mine aren't around to listen.
Jealous of the way they get to hear i love you spill over and over again from your pillowy lips, the same lips that form into a smirk after you tell a joke and make me feel like the most important person in the world.
I'm jealous of the way you make me feel.
Jealous, because, I'll never make you feel that way, too.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
don’t worry about decisions anymore.
I can think for you. Here,
buy this brand of tampons.
Watch me now. It’s more absorbent. Here, stick them in your ears. You’ll have
s o f t e r
t h o u g h t s.
Pillowy white fluuuufffyyythoughts.
You don’t need your brain anyway.
no more thinking,
I can think for you.
here, watch me now.
Look at these happy plastic
assless women
wearing delicate bras,
so beautiful.
Why don’t you buy one?
they’re uncomfortable
well you’re ugly,
unwanted,
but you wear what
you
want.
Wear this bra.
Maybe it will keep your heart from aching.
You don’t need your heart; I can feel.
I can feel for you.
So watch me. Hey, look here.
Buy these shoes. They make your legs look like celery stalks, but your husband will “do it” with you again. That’s what you want, right?
right.
Put them on. Please your man, make the food, wear the shoes. Don’t think.
Please your man, feed the kids, do the work. Wear the shoes. Don’t you dare think.
I can
Think For You.
Aptitude is overrated. Your biggest asset is
your body, bereft of a brain. Don’t think. I can think for you.
Wear this. Buy that.
Spend your husband’s money, make him happy.
Please your man,
make the food,
wear the shoes.
Now, for your anxiety,
take these pills.
Three little blue pills, one big orange pill, one little white pill.
This one makes you skinny.
This one makes your teeth white.
This one makes you dumb, this one makes you numb.
Don’t think. Don’t worry about where your husband is.
He’ll probably come home tonight.
There is no divorce on TV, so it must not exist.
Don’t think. Oh, you poor little ****** woman.
Tiny, powerless drone robot. Don’t think.
Robots don’t have brains.
Dolls don’t have brains.
****
***
*******
legs,
don’t have brains.
Close your mouth.
Don’t speak.
I can speak for you.
That bra is uncomfortable?
Shut up.
You want me to wear a ******
Shut up.
You want to be yourself, with the brain, with the ****** with the
******* with the child. You can’t have all and be free. Choose.
Don’t choose. I will choose for you.
Please your man
Make the food
wear the shoes
There will be no discussion.
There will be no negotiation.
There is no **** on TV, so it must not exist.
No thinking
no thoughts
no brain,
just **** *** ***** legs.
wear the shoes, please your man, make the food.
Eat. Sleep. Breathe. Work.
Die.
Recognize the regulations,
recognize your place.
Your /place/ is in the shoes,
those d e v i l traps
eating your sweet feet.
all the time--wear them
They are
comfortable. They are ****
don’t think
don’t cry
don’t moan
whisper
whimper
Shut up. Don’t speak.
I will
speak for you.
Clocks, computers, **** ***
You
Are
Nothing
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 6:02 PM UTC
Pillowy clouds sheet the sidewalk
And sew the hue of rain. In patches
A beautiful blanket - transparent and grey.
All wrapt round, her ruffled bleached flax
All over her lambent crossed legs.
In her hand is an open bag
Of Classic, Potato Chip, Lays.
They taste so sweet,
The sharp salty flakes,
As she breaks them tongue and teeth.
She sits with glossy sunflower lips.
Swaying her hair with a turn and a twist.
Letting the breeze direct cerulean eyes.
Following linear passersby.
And taking a chip from her bag,
Into her mouth,
She feels the time drag.
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 1:56 PM UTC
Just Like A Woman
You focus on the act,
The ridiculous derring-do,
Laughing at me
Cause I chased away
In my rumpled ******
The woodpecker that convulsed
Our house at 5:00 AM,
With a decorative pillow.
Focus on the results, says the
Results-oriented man.
Has Woody ever returned?
No and his fate is still unknown,
He may fly forever neath our trees,
But now he knows to stay away
From me and the risk of my pillowy pillory!
P.S. I may (or may not)
Choose to disclose
That upon my return
The house still shook,
From someone's uproarious, convulsed
Laughing at a city boys country heroics.
10:30am
June29 2013
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Hush, Baby, Hush.
Soothing and Pillowy, Lush is Love.
Waters Rush, Rain Pour, Tears Fall.
Sleep, My Baby, Sleep.
For Dreams, Life's Balm, Soothes.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 1:22 AM UTC
Since you guessed the Password on her Chat
And realised your Smooth Ring was the Key
Past Admin's notice the Prince on the Bat
Made promised Pretzels and let her Love be
Happily, miraculous Spheres you own
Which you found real Logins are just as base
Place it closer to you. And it was shown
Just how pillowy was her lone disgrace
Try to be yourself. These Guys on the fringe
Act on tattled theatres they do not know
Ever thinking they live Life on the binge
When all this time it was just for ****** show.
Continue your Chat. She deserves to talk
But make sure then you take her for a walk.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
For one brief golden moment rare like wine,
The gracious city swept across the line;
Oblivious of the color of my skin,
Forgetting that I was an alien guest,
She bent to me, my hostile heart to win,
Caught me in passion to her pillowy breast;
The great, proud city, seized with a strange love,
Bowed down for one flame hour my pride to prove.
1.9k
Grace chose the poise of your
neck, what spring learned from
winter in white homage.
You longingly capture, and look
back at fate...your delicate head
sent slowly down upon its
pillowy body.
White, whited out...water clear
as invisible.
I dearly depart, I dearly arrive at
what dream settles upon you.
I loved you so much as you slept,
O swan, O Saraswati~
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
loose gravel crunching loudly beneath me transposes
into the soft thudding of my feet against the soil.
the meadow, my old friend, greets me
with a whispering wind. we are both happy.
the sun dips just below the horizon,
watercoloring the sky in lilacs and siennas.
cicadas converse around me, as I am
but a guest at their lovely hillside home.
the cotton-swab clouds part, and the moon debuts.
she is pure, unsullied radiance. with the stars as backup,
and the sky as her stage, she pirouettes, beginning
her nightly routine. tears glide down my cheeks.
rich plums of dusk fade into the dark navies of night,
and my head sinks into pillowy grass.
my eyelids become lead, and the sandman arrives.
everything is quiet, and this peace is eternal.
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 7:45 PM UTC
I contemplate my choices - up into the soft, pillowy dunes covered in seagrass, into the rough brush beyond, down to the slippery water rocks. I walk along it all, past the rocks pock-marked like skulls, that I place precariously on the spindly end of a gnarled, whitewashed log that I foot. I pass pieces of wood petrified in the sand like emerging snakes, spiny, drowning spiders. The sand is chalked clay, clumps creating mini Stone Henges where deer prints have broken it. In the distance are fragile lines of birds that sound like howling wolves. I look out over the water, the sea that wiggles between my toes and spans the horizon all at once. The water laps at my thoughts and in between breathes I hear my cousin calling me. I turn towards her hungover dreamless nap, but still I hear the sea, refreshing my mind and the sun cleansing and lifting me up into the very sky. My feet break the salt-cracked sand back. The path I took before breaks out and unfolds before me like a red carpet on tracing paper and I avoid every step like it would break my mother's back.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
As long as it doesn't affect me;
as long as it's not immediately relevant
and something I have to immediately worry about;
as long as it doesn't **** up
my credit score
or my
shiny
new
house
then,
**** it.
And
**** you,
for bringing it to my attention.
how dare you.
this was promised to me,
it's predestined,
my two-story, three bedroom, two bath; the foreign workmanship and american artifice; the creamy halo of vinyl in the sun; the wrath of windexed windows and their hard missiles of bright, reflected sunlight; the soft lips of my children; my wife's pillowy, warm stomach and scratchy ***** our retriever that eats his own **** picking apart tiny specks of feces from the sun-pricked tips of our rug of fescue; these are the works of God, this is the land of God. You are marring this flat earth
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 10:21 PM UTC
Smoke fills my lungs, while serenity fills my mind.
I cruise by yellow green fields speckled with horses and cows.
The way the sun hits my eyes makes me want to dive head-first
into the billowy, pillowy clouds swimming in the sea of sky.
Lining the road are a million green hands
linked to thousands of branches that wave hello.
I let my thoughts wander, but they never get very far,
so when memories of you start flooding my car,
I roll my windows down to let you float away.
It’s easier being happy when there’s nothing to say.
I let my hand surf the wind, effortlessly shooting up and down,
yet always safely secured to my body.
Feeling, maybe, how a baby feels when she’s tossed through the air
thrilled, but well aware, of the adult standing there,
but - that’s as if a hand could feel these things.
I know the things my hands can feel,
and for now they are floating, flying, free
past the horses and cows and yellow green fields.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
Uninvited ridges appearing almost instantly on the surface of my skin
My body shy to the feeling they bring
Each one, a dream swelling in a desperate hope to become a reality
*To caress your moonlit skin
For your lips to pay homage my tingling nape
To stroke your crescent lips
For you to cradle my timid being
To rub your pillowy girth*
And as these sensations consummate, each yearning speck will settle back into my heart
Until the next time comes when something small like your touch or your voice summons them back to the semblance of my freckled flesh once again
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
gently interrupted by velvet mountains
burnt sienna soil stretches through olive trees
that lift their limbs toward blue expanse
where pillowy clouds drift with ease
shadows lengthen as the sun spreads
a warmth perceptible to the view
energy and life pouring into ripening fruit
soon harvest gathering will be due
tracks of vehicles between the rows
show signs of tending that's been done
through summer's growing season
and years before when they were begun
saplings planted there with care
by tanned, robust yet gentle hands
have grown taller year by year
where now a stately orchard stands
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
It’s weird how much
I love times new roman and
how the sight of Jordan Maron playing
below Zero Subnautica makes me clap and grin.
I’m the nonbinary watching youtube to sleep
and to feel comfort. I find the sound of the Misfits Podcast
soothing. The first degree black belt resting on my shelf
means I worked seven years, but when I learn Jiu-Jitsu
I’m up against the wall, stuck in another corner.
My closest friend group full of a bunch of LGBTQ+ and
mentally ill kids, from transgender to bisexual, from depression
to panic attack disorder to separation anxiety. We’re all just trying to survive.
Living comes later.
I’m writing a poem to express who I am, is
this enough? To the heart of me, the soul,
or whatever you want to call it.
Does the horse tattoo I got three weeks ago,
on my left shoulder blade or the way I fold my clothes
in my suitcase tell you? How about the green of my eyes,
that my best friend describes as a soft jade with small streaks of gold,
the outer rim a pillowy chocolate blue?
I love the sound of acoustic guitar and the powerful choruses
thrumming through the air. Editing is always done on paper and
grammar is a learning experience. I go horseback riding every Sunday
with my campus horse club.
But this tells you nothing of my times, when I found myself
Alone, utterly without hope and trust. Or I could say,
I trusted that I was not enough and that I could never amount to anything.
But it’s taken me a long time to take back what was always mine,
and I’m fighting for those rights yet.
I need to wash my water bottle more,
I need to say I love you to my best friend more,
I need to… to…
Love Myself.
And maybe that’s what this poem is for.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
Your name fits in my mouth like an extra
large marshmallow;
It fills it entirely. All the while combatting the sliminess of my gums with its pillowy chalk,
trying to escape any chance it can.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
You were special from the start.
I felt your hands when I met you.
I felt not just skin, but something different.
Something very soft, almost pillowy.
They were feathers. You were born with wings.
You soared in skies no human could ever reach
You heard secrets the wind told no one else.
But when the jealous world mocked you
You hid under the bed.
And when you could bear no longer
You cut off your wings
And tossed them away.
You could have
Just flown away
Leaving the
Undeserving world
To itself.
Jan 4, 2021
Jan 4, 2021 at 6:02 AM UTC
Real questions I've been asked by the 3 year old I care for
Dia do you have a mancave
Dia did you get new toilet paper
Dia are those antlers for the cheese
My answers respectively are fairly straightforward
No I don't but I sure wish I did
Yeah I got the really soft pillowy kind thanks for noticing
I have no idea if those antlers are for the cheese but I don't see why not.
I am generally confident with the answers I provide
However once in awhile she asks me
Dia do you have a ***** today
And I'm stumped because the answer Josie
is so much more complicated than no
Because I want to say someday you will learn how that no matters every single day in more ways than I can tell you
That no has everything to do with the way I take up space
That no is my mother's refusal to buy me bow ties in favor of silver necklaces
That no is the cringe in my heartbeat when people call me a lesbian
That no is the source of fear I carry as a shield when I *** in public restrooms
That no is what I use to bind this chest to prove something I can't prove with a yes to that question
A no is the answer that sales person gives when I ask for those shoes in my size
That suit in my size
That body in my size
The mirror in my eyes
I've had a home in the lies I've told instead of no
The world asks that question every single day and I never have the right answer
It would be so much easier if the world asked if those antlers are for the cheese.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 6:33 PM UTC
serenity is a euphoric surrendering
to the cerulean sky
the green grass swaying with
dandelions releasing
their soft feathery bristles
as tender as the gentle breeze
sending them far and wide
pillowy clouds
suggest ever moving images
the kaleidescope of a child's mind
taking on different shapes
along the sparsely trodden path
trees waving leaves in welcoming greeting
song birds endlessly composing a captivating melody
the air as clean and fresh
of purified aroma
breathing the deep
earthly essence
with each sigh
attaining tranquil purity
thoughts of stilled
quiescence and calm embalm me
in translucent cocoon.~~lorilynn
copyright*lorilynn 2010
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 10:48 PM UTC
Those days when you just can’t wait to go to bed.
Not to slump down onto it in yielding surrender
or fall into it in tears, face first and meat red,
but to gently pull back the pillowy quilt
and the sheets, with tiny blue flowers,
flannelette, like a fresh work shirt,
so that when you slide in carefully
and make your cave in the sheets
the hug is work-arm strong
and reminds you of soil
and wheelbarrows
and gardening
and building
in the sun
as it sets…
and rises…
open eyes
still hugged,
you stand lightly
then soft pad to warm,
dark, sweet, pitch-bitter
coffee, and lifting the mug,
you pause before the first sip
of bliss, flooding deep in waking
flavours from magic beans grown
in ancient Ethiopian forests, noticed
by folk when curious goats turned zestful,
becoming a helper for evening prayer, to allow
hard work and intentional presence to earn well
your tiredness, so that you just can’t wait to go to bed…
Nov 6, 2024
Nov 6, 2024 at 10:44 PM UTC
The egg decends from the pillowy sky and sinks to the blue-green ocean to be rolled a-shore by fish. It is swaddled in seaweed and remnants of aquatic flowers. The doves come to hatch the egg. From out of the cracked shell comes She, The Queen of Heaven. The swaddles are now like garments. The rabbit becomes her sumbol, for She is the Great Mother who brings with her the season of fertility.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
i.
impressions
shapes
and sounds,
the shady-lane
trees,
the yellow
balloons
of the skies
icy arctics,
the pink
feathers of
the soil.
ii.
surreal as the
shifting day,
turquoise and
angular, bright
sky drowned
in the cold, brisk
air, language
of love and air,
base note of love.
iii.
love, impressions of
light and dark,
soft brush stroke
of sea-blue, air
the colour of
lips.
iv.
witching night,
darkling clouds
pressed to the sky,
love, settling like
a mist.
v.
sweet lips
sipped,
incredible
sky of our
dreams,
drawn close
like the
pillowy clouds.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 7:02 AM UTC
A slim face
With thick arched brows
Blue green eyes
Rimmed with black extensive lashes
Slightly faint freckles
Along the tops of my cheeks
And the bridge of my nose
With beautiful coffee bean colored hair
something to cause people to stop and stare
Pillowy lips
That contain a smile
With the most beautiful
Blindingly white teeth
And a mouth that sings
In an angelic voice
A slim body
With proportionate size
Collar bones and hip bones jutting out
A body that can dance gracefully
A mind with only the cleanest thoughts
And the most selfless morals
With a positive heart
And a tender yet strong soul
Who I want to be.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC