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robin Dec 2013
i saw you last night in my dream.
we held tattoo guns.
we wrote the definition of friendship on each others' back.
when i finished,
your back read 'a refuge from the world.
somewhere you don't have to think about painful things.'
when i looked in the mirror, my back read
'a version of intimacy with less lying.
a way to share bruises.
a shared blood bank.'
sometimes the way you speak
makes me think you're composing letters to someone else in your head.
sometimes i think you only approached me because
you like small birds -
robins and sparrows
and wrens.
i like attack dogs.
i try not to project that onto people.
you said your name was the product of shame.
you said every syllable was a lie.
when time changes every letter of your name to different variations of
"bare legs and
brick pyramids and
ball and socket joints"
you will tell me to pronounce each syllable anew -
someone should have told you
not to build your body from bricks
when you're standing on a fault line.
don't you know california's known for its earthquakes.
don't you know subduction zones aren't just metaphors for you
and your latest lover.
stand up.
get off the floor,
stop crying.
it's not my fault you chose to love somebody.
your knees are raw and the bruises sink deep.
you laid persian rugs over all your linoleum floors
and the rugburn on your lips pays testament to your dedication.
while i am with you
you fall to the floor and whisper.
you replay every word you said to them
and fashion better lines, -here,-
-i'll show you that i love you, my tongue's between your teeth, i trust you not to bite-
you say -listen to me, listen:-
-there's a hell. i know it.-
-let's go find it.-
i keep replying but you just kiss the carpet.
when i started smoking you said you were worried about my health.
funny how you only notice something's wrong when something starts to burn.
funny how you didn't notice my white knuckles when you spoke.
funny how you didn't notice when i stopped replying.
i stripped all the color from my hair last night
i meant to dye it the color of your eyes
to remind myself of your
good points,
remind myself why i once wanted to speak to you,
but you know,
i think achromatism suits me.
hair the color of mist and smog.
i never learned the difference between smoke and fog,
i keep trying to smother clouds.
on cold mornings i close my mouth,
cover my nose,
try to starve whatever it is burning inside of me .
i suppose you'd appreciate that,
in your mind,
fire is a synonym for death.
you ***** all the candles that i light.
when i put an ember in my mouth you say -what's wrong.-
-tell me,-
-it's not healthy-
-to keep all that smoke in your mouth.-
-you can tell me about anything.-
i wonder,
who told you that spreading a forest fire
helped it to die?
i wonder who told you sharing sadness was the only way to be intimate.
well here, let's share misery. let's spread it like an infection, like an std.
1. when i am alone in crowds,
i find myself searching for faces of people i despise
that i haven't seen in years.
somehow i want them there more than the people i love.
2. i am a background character.
my only line is, 'let's get out of here.'
3.  i wonder a lot how happy i could be
if i wasn't here to drag me down.
i wonder a lot how i would have grown up in a cleaner town.
would i still be terrified of safety?
4. the only constellation i recognize is orion.
the only constellation i recognize is a hunter,
a human killed by gods,
a man slaughtered for the jealousy of the brightest god.
i tried to learn others,
but they never stuck.
never seemed quite real.
5. in a catholic classroom they taught me that G. O. D.
loved the smell of burnt flesh.
on interstate 580 my father told me never trust
a smiling god.
6. epinephrine and endorphins. epinephrine and endorphins. epinephrine. epinephrine. epinephri
7. my mother told me i was sugar and stardust and i
bled for five years
to prove her wrong:
copper and hemoglobin
and chloride.
8.  every boy looks like family i've never met.
every girl looks like a better version of myself.
9. i collect memories of girls
waiting at bus stops at night,
alone.
heads between their knees,
hollow but not empty,
trying to stay steady.
bleach sloshing in excavated ribs.  
10. sometime in the last half-year,
i have learned to despise you.
i am an american firearm and you give me another bullet every time you make your presence known.
i am a hammerhead  shark.
you poured wax into my gills
and tried to leave your seal on me.
congratulations! congratulations. you left a mark on me. you made yourself more than a friend,
you made me hate you.
do you feel significant now? do you feel special.
you can see the ugly parts now, when i spit in your face i won't make it pretty.
-you don't have to hide from me.-
-i want to see what you don't show-
merry ******* christmas! time to make good on your claims,
hope you were truthful because here.
i brought you my gangrene. i unwrapped all the bandages just for you.
sorry it's not quite as pretty
as those carpets you laid over your cheap floors.
i'll be standing by your fireplace,
lighting every candle i can find,
illuminating my body from every angle.
hope intimacy is everything you imagined it'd be.
Justin S Wampler Oct 2016
Green, purple, black and blue
I'll press on your bruise
and come into you
as you squirm and twirl
and collide your insides
onto my ridged body
in a ****** worthy
of feature-length films.

Fingers and palms are your whole world
around your throat and crushing into you
between our rhythmic pulsing
and the ebb and flow of your
breath that I have in my control,
we create meaning and feed
on all of this beautiful life.

As I paint you white
and pant and fight
with myself,
I can't help
but love you.
Jon Tobias Jan 2013
I want to hang art in the vaulted ceilings of your chest

Appreciate the space like
footstep
echo
silence

Hang paintings of ugly beauty from the knives still stuck in your back

That was what all this pain has been meant for
To hang art from

Newspaper clippings of suicides still walking into heaven
Their faces finally happy
Maybe one is waiting for you

Jackson ******* rugburn that taught you forgiveness

Hyper realistic pencil drawings of people you wish you could forget

Featherless doves in cages with the latches open,
offering their freedom to you a feather at a time

Sickly psalms coating the walls like wet silk
Like paper papermachet prayer
Like a piniata

Take a baseball bat to it
Lose your breath like a hallelujah

There is so much beauty inside of you
Every ugly moment
molded

I want to hang art in the vaulted ceiling of your chest

Get lost in the museum behind your *******....
michelle reicks Aug 2011
**** up
***** up
make up
make up stories
make up lies
lie down
lie with you
you're still mad
i can tell

i have rugburn
on my face
and on my heart
from you

dragging me around
this old
               putrid
house
me Feb 2020
i put my pen to paper
and try to conjure beauty
but there's nothing beautiful
about yellow teeth
nothing beautiful
about your stomach groaning
in large groups
about falling asleep starving
about eating tissue paper
to stop feeling hungry
nothing beautiful
about looking at an apple and seeing
60 or half an hour of push ups
and not a ******* apple
nothing beautiful
about bleeding knuckles
and pounding heads
about ***** in whatever
hair is left because
it's all on your bathroom floor
about light fur growing on your arms and legs
grown by your body to keep you warm
nothing beautiful
about feeling dizzy, always
about fainting on the treadmill
and getting a rugburn on your face
from the pressure
nothing beautiful
about tubes in your nose
feeding you sugar water
about sharp ankles on cold scales
about needles in arms
about shaking uncontrollably
nothing beautiful
about cold.

and there's nothing beautiful about death.
i hate the stigma that anorexia is beautiful, especially in pro anorexia communities. its not. its hell. i always try and make my illnesses into beautiful poetry but we need to realize that there really is nothing beautiful about this illness
curlygirl Jul 2014
You try to tell me what I am,
using "friend" over and over

But I know what  I am

I am the rugburn on your forearm that you cover with your sleeve
       the sweat on the back of your neck
        and the tightness of your jeans
I am the look back from that night as you drove away
       the text message you sent, asking to "hang out" again the next day
I am the tightness in your chest at night
         the forbidden fantasy during the day
         the secret from your parents
         the story to your friends
But I am not something to be controlled or domineered
So that's why now
**I am the one who walked away.
Barton D Smock Jan 2016
to stuff our faces or to knit the same hat for the unseen gargoyle of our still life or better yet to give legs to the rugburn it takes to find a newborn’s nose
Walter Alter Aug 2023
i finally established rapport
with none other than the Sacred Cow
and it stepped all over my toes
gave me a limp worthy of an asterisk
the oil of anointment in my crankcase
but an army of monks couldn't keep me pure
as I laugh all the way to the blank
pulled into a marginally enchanting future
by the dog at the end of my food chain
pet his good luck **** if you must
my Siberian sibling exhales belligerently
after exterminating the woolly mammoth
separated at birth by a faulty wall socket
badly trained by a monkey's uncle
I've contacted the hunchback ***** banks
for a below zero safe deposit box
while descending through the atmospherics
with a certified license to lounge
upon the bedrock of creation
like butter through hunger
only in your head holy man
expletives erupted from his throat
making antic come here gestures
while wiggling under Bigfoot's foot
a sea of irritants sending messages
through my lawyers Rugburn & Nosebleed
you vampires should be in bed at this hour
if only because monotony generates subtlety
we played 'em right into the net
sent the boys off on a Nanking holiday
to animate something foul and oafish
that's now clogging the sewers
**** the spankers slit their throats
like the moon through a windy fog
one thing blending into another
fueling up with ignorance again
but I don't see how we could wreak hell
any more than the universe
already buggering ahead does
even with bear claws for hands
like a hotel banquet ice carver
in an encounter with the Dancing Strumpets
in a climate too tropical for inspiration
his frozen uncertainty runneth over
in a renunciation of befuddlement
by a Viking landfall pillaged soul
living a farcical incoherent nightmare
slammed through the one chance gate
and went clomping into showbiz
with a gypsy clan of Yiddish fiddlers

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
kfaye Aug 2023
as the nostrils clear
           air and earth
as mouths loop around anthems without countries.
as we bloom inside.(not out)
(not ours) (not sweeping us up in it.)

we catch eachother in definitions only.
it's like trying to be grown .
tropical plants sit in clay pots by the window

+your rugburn smile breaks\      / open and spills out over
everyone.

+your fingernail teeth.wash me away

i felt it also.fainting also. fearing all the things that rat us out to the
u n i n d o c t r i n a t e d

that eat us out with one ear against the wall

that normie   ****.

that sunburn skin.that
tankline brea
k

i take

these pictures in my head instead of
you

— The End —