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cait-cait May 2018
i am holding an axe...

empty towers stand tall in snow
still i climb ,
(each step) —

a toy upon a shelf
(i am freezing)/

you rip the stuffing out of
and try to sew me
shut ,

but the
wound is not healing
(it never will)

the walls get stained with nicotine::
(i miss when they were white)

when i come back to, i am lost -
(because it is dark)

try to howl ,
gurgle instead:
and then
i start to weep-
(and my tears all freeze like little pearls) .

when i look for them again,
(those girls)

they have turned into
(i remember my axe)

and they look me in my eyes —

spit on me, again,
i say

dare you —
this time,
i am not afraid to bite.

(they do not come back for me)
the other title for this poem was “i look at you or maybe you look at me.” I let people on my instagram vote which one they liked better. This is about feeling alone in a battle against many different people you care about. I spent a long time working on it.
Hg Aug 2018
ting is
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
Pyrrha Sep 2018
Carefully the needle penetrates into my skin
With every new puncture the thread follows along

In and out again and again
Till it reaches the end and finally
A harsh pull, a few tugs

Then the string is snipped free at last
Its been completely sewn shut

Only after you closed me up
Did you ask me how my day was
How I was feeling

But what could I say
With my mouth sewn shut?
Alysia Marie Nov 2014
Come sew buttons into my eyes, and allow me to believe all of your lies.
For the beauty of love shall seep deep within; even if perception is fogged by your sins.

                                     Alysia Marie 2014 ©
King Panda May 2016
mud and grass
common prayer
good weather
good people
and umbrella bags
because who wants to
get wet?
unless it’s with you
I could
I would
jump into the lake
for that rock
initials made in sharpie
and unclamp
we run
around the park
the afternoon surrounds us
the woman in the bikini
and we laugh
iced tea
decaf coffee
cake without teeth
and that airstream camper
you always wanted
I could live in your
I could live somewhere
not here
in silver
with my back to the
like dead
like a mummy
like a mirror
and life would make sense
life would be beautiful
like this run
with perfect amounts of sweat
and conversation that runs
waves in the sand
and tells the squirrels
goodnight, tractor
see you tomorrow

and the land that billows
is dug up
and chewed
like a goodnight poem
this run with you
takes rest
on my soul
and I crack my ribs
to take the spring’s
Skaidrum Jun 2015
In my act of
defiance and grotesque penmanship,
I'll be the silver-eyed poet to beckon you from wonderland.

I've written you the universe and I'll
sew the seams to your switchblade shoulders.

"What are these?"


Come Lycan,
time for you to trust in your wings

© Copywrited..
King Panda Feb 2016
you play
finger puppets
in the black sky
little worms
hot soil
and foot

“I’m going to
eat this star.
Actually, I’m going
to eat them all.
I’m awfully

you find the
nutella I hid
under the rock
and dip the
puppets in

“Did you know
I sew?
I sewed these
the little black
eyes and the
teensy red
buttons. All in
the patience
this sky taught

your mouth
is dry and
you search
for lake water

“I swear, it’s
so hard being
a fish in

the desert

we prayed for
rain and danced
naked in
the sand
now it’s
night and
the sand went
to sleep
now it’s night
and the stars
are disks

“Lord, take
me now. I’m a
painter, a
painter without

the act is
the shield
put down
and the night
as you lick
chocolate paint
from your

“Goodnight, friend.
Sleep well, fish.
Until tomorrow, moon.”

your body
the emerald
of color
Chelsea Primera May 2017
In go the stabs to my synthetic skin.
Sew my eyes,
recreate them with the charm of Rumpelstiltskin’s tricks.
Stitch my lips,
Color them with the scarlet of Snow White’s cursed apple.
Snip my hairs,
String together the golden threads of Rapunzel’s deathly charm.
Stuff my *******,
Fill them with the ingredients of witches’ wildest fantasies.
Mold my legs,
Fit them in for the glasswork of Cinderella shoes.
Tattoo my heart,
make each beat a praiseworthy beauty.
A poem about plastic surgery and standardized beauty.
Betsy Garris Jun 2017
Head in the mountains
Heart in the seas
Feet in the rivers, in bays, in streams
Head in the logic
Heart in the dreams
Hands in the tension sew stitches and seams

Head in the skies
Heart in the breeze
Eyes in the stars chart new galaxies
Head in the wild
Heart in the free
You in my want, but not in my need.
Head in the clouds
Heart in the trees
Hair in the wind, like grasses and greens
Head in the known
Heart in myst'ries
Wishes in whispers waiting on maybes.

Head in the wander
Heart in the journey
Faith in the Author of my living story
Head in the mountains
Heart in the sea
Yet, Soul in the prayer of you finding me.

Dark Fjord Jan 2017
Unreadable, unreasonable, rammering grammarless
My meaningless shats to joyless poefry

Mark my sayings.
I am soooo a fred (afraid), F treads on me

     the Frayed thread in that Tome.

    Fred, ye' stares out there, at this, I belledfast
the sky, a Fre'd/ itself, from just the-frayed…
it becomes: the Fray.
     sew meaning, in that brofredhood to Fredom.
Ode to Joysce
Natasha Nov 2018
A butterfly broke its wings
from fleeing through the jungle of rage
then you came along
to gently kiss the cracks
rip a part of your skin
and sew the wings with it

Thank you,
for the butterfly has now witnessed
something more beautiful
than all the flowers it had ever laid on
i 'broke my wings' and it beautifully led me to witness an exquisitely beautiful form of love.
em Jan 2016
A steady minded person might tell you that everything can be measured, calculated and converted into a language of black and white, solutions worked out with sharpened pencils.

How do I measure my heart breaking?

Tell me,at what rate did my heartstrings snap when he told me he was leaving?
How long until all of my broken bones turn into dust?
Calculate at what speed the tears rolled down my checks.
How many doctors will it take to sew my heart back together?
Was it when he crumpled me up like a wasted idea etched onto a piece of notebook paper that everything started to bleed?
What part of my brain did his gentle hands touch that woke my monsters from their slumber?
How many days until this aching in my swollen chest turns into a gentle throb?
When will I be okay again?

Takes this pain and your sharpened pencils and rip the numbers from the dead hands of his name. Do away with the emotion like he did away with me.
I'm temporary.
Em Oct 2018
stabbed me with needles
had me on a leash of thread
you cut out fabrics of my heart
knowing i don't know how to sew

all that are left are some shreds that i could salvage  
and the rest you took with you
now may heart is unrecognizable
and missing pieces

how do i get over my heartbreak
when i can't even mend my heart properly

We finessed that ****, my heart has never been better :)
jane taylor May 2016
i once read a love poem
signed by him wordman
his feelings did impart
like an arrow from his heart

but what did touch me so
tho' i of him don’t know
is that he shows he cares
with his tender words so rare

and he’d be like
other guys in town
but he took a pen
and he wrote it all down

he lives just around the bend
just around the bend
he lives just around the bend
in tennessee

you never really know
the seeds you gently sew
the difference that you make
when you open up a soul

and he’d be like
other guys in town
but he took a pen
and he wrote it all down

he lives just around the bend
just around the bend
he lives just around the bend
in tennessee

i wrote the music and lyrics to this song in honor of fellow poet
ron parrish
"Ditsela di matlapa,
    di tshela le malapa

Even when I was an infant
I knew I would travel this distant
Thrown in an abyss, a tragic instant
Then blow them with a kiss, basic instinct
As I flow on roads often walked on, mending bridges
and sew the clothes of orphans walked on, mending cringes...
zebra Apr 2017
a knuckled skull
with no where to go
made of mud and blood
took a needle to sew

made her
during a blood moon
her parts for pleasure
some one to spoon

did it in shadows
so angels couldn't see
fashioned detritus
scraped a dead tree

gave her toes
and a small chin
played a samba
and shaped her thin

after i wove her
from spiritous mist
she called me god
i did insist

i wanted her ****
incantations and ****
made to do the who-la
resurrection did come

in barbarous tongue
enshrined truth on her head
she animated
and got out of bed

who am i
she begged to see

my lover always
i said with glee

what is love
she did inquire

its feelings of warmth
that do inspire

where are they, where is it
is it in this room
i have nothing in me
where does it loom

i pulled down my pants
she looked up with shock
oh my god she cried
what a beautiful ****

she came at me
unbridled and mad
grabbed me and broke me
and called me dad

she starved for a stuffing
and ****** like a pig
huffing and puffing
my **** got so big

we lived together
til i dropped dead
she lives forever
still waiting in bed
In Jewish folklore, a golem is an animated anthropomorphic being that is magically created entirely from inanimate matter (specifically clay or mud).
I used to read
I used to write

I used to knit
I used to sew

What happened to the days
Where I found enjoyment from the little things?
Why is it now
That what I once loved
Feels like a chore
That tires me,
Bores me,
Makes me contemplate everything.

What happened to my carefree childhood
Where nothing mattered
Other than when I could write
When I uses to knit and sew

What happened?
And why?
mari Jan 2018
if you could learn to love
and if i could wake without the ghosts
of your fingers on my skin, then i guess
we could be alright someday.

we tasted poison on every pair of lips
we’ve ever touched but it never
stopped us from kissing each stranger
that bothered to learn our names.

i met a man with a voice sweeter than candy
and i melted on his fingertips.
you pull apart every woman who tried
to hold you at night; we’ve never felt safe
sleeping naked with the lights on.

there was supposed to be something
to sew our bodies back together,
because i’ve never felt whole with
anyone else’s hands on me except yours.

you wear me inside out like a piece of art,
and the only act that i will ever call holy is
the kind i dream about,
where you remember
exactly how to make me implode.
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