"pruney" poems
I woke up in yet another mess of bed sheets
with your bare chest up against my back
and my legs tangled up with yours underneath those flannel sheets
that haven’t been washed in weeks. The candle beside the bed still flickering
from the night before.
You loosened your grip as I crawled from that queen size bed
searching for that baby blue blouse that I dropped onto the floor
last night after we were done talking in circles.
I slid into it in a lame attempt to hide the not so invisible ink of our past
that speckled my upper body like freckles across my face
after a hot, summer's day.
Steam filled the small apartment,
leaking out of the bathroom door after you managed to roll out of bed
and into the shower. As the hot water hit the bottom of the tub
we spent hours in over the past year laughing until our fingers turned pruney,
I striped the bed
getting rid of the ***** wax stained sheets we used to sleep in
with the hopes of this time leaving behind the people we once were.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 2:26 PM UTC
I stand in a puddle of water
Liquid pooled around my ankles
Dripping from my eyes so slow I didn’t notice them at first
But when they become apparent, foreign fingers brushed them away
And I disregard the wetness to pull back the hands
Who do these hands belong to?
The puddle becomes a pool
I stand in the shallows and wiggle my toes
My fingers have grown pruney from where my fingers dip in the water
Blisters have settled on my soles and children splash at my face
Droplets trail to my collarbone and I blink away water or tears and wonder
Ears listening to unrecognizable laughter
Whose children are these?
The water sits level at my mouth
I should feel weightless but my clothes drag me down
The pool has become a lake and I stand in it shivering
Perched on my toes there is a precarious balance for air
The tears don’t stop and the water keeps rising
My sobs echo across the surface
Murky figures wave at me from the shore and smile like they know me
Who am I?
They say a river never forgets
That it knows its way back to the ocean
But my river swirls around my head and drips out my ears
The lake forms a loch of memories that can be touched
But never held
A lake is where memories go to be forgotten
I drown in a Lethe that pours from my eyes, from my mind
And I sink to forget and be forgotten
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 4:15 PM UTC
i was a floater by definition
a name plastered on my chest since grade 2
i would just float around.
our names were classified by how we lived
i had nothing to hold me down
my body would move from place to place
bumping into things
not staying for too long
i was happy i guess
i wasn't lost
i knew the exact pinpoint in the ocean
the singular sand particle on the beach
but there was a big wooden ship behind me
with the Captain singing a sweet sea song
and the Sailors' voices lilted
carrying bottles of blue sea glass
pretending they were telescopes
so, I took my little body,
wrinkled from the Sea,
and my waterlogged fingers gripped the boat tight
the Captain's song found its way into my lungs
and I could see the encroaching shore,
but I wan't worried
because I am still riding that ship.
sometimes, Sailors go their separate ways
find new land, find new ships
sometimes, pruney, little hands grab a hold of the hull
and We pull them on.
one day, I will leave this ship,
but it won't be forever
because I am anchored.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
Her heart was just pumping scar tissue
Thumping dry red dust
A reflection of last night’s affection
Pain pointing to another ********
Skin so thin but opaque
Raw nerves and edginess
Desire lacking eagerness
Child in a monster’s nest
Two packs of smokes a day
One bottled downed and another one saved
Could have been a beauty queen
But now she’s just a dried up pruney thing
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
You pulled up the roots,
From in the ground,
Stirred the soil
Pruney palms browned.
Shredded the leaves,
Of the maple and pungent fern,
From my patience,
I wish you'd learn.
The patterns I follow,
Hands stretch for the crescent up there,
slowly steadily
creep with flair.
Rip off my shield,
With your blunted knife
Etch your heart
To your partner for life.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
“I think that I love him,”
I wrote down in my journal that day.
Words scrawled across the page
curling like timid spring tendrils.
I swam in it all afternoon,
turning pruney with the feeling.
Indulging in the thought that this
was what I’d long been needing.
But day turned into night,
things changed within the hour;
lovely feelings, slowly budding,
became shrunken withered flowers.
With a friend I had been talking,
he asked, “What do you know about Justin?”
The air was cool on my teeth as I smiled,
“It’s hard to know about Justin.”
In that moment, my heart was swollen
with hope that my friend would spill
words that I could indulge on
like red wine to the ears,
and I felt my face turn ruddy
with anticipation of the pleasure,
it was almost too much bear—
my beating heart could hardly wait—
And within that same moment, he said,
“Well he really likes your roommate.”
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 12:51 AM UTC
leaves have begun to
show their leathery faces--
preserved from hundreds
of falls ago.
the faint stir of a still life--
the pruney wax of likeness.
a freakshow peeking out
of a muddled green curtain.
Sep 3, 2023
Sep 3, 2023 at 1:38 PM UTC