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Amy Leigh Sep 2014
Little cracks like weeping windows
we grow opaque
and under the pale blue moon
(tainted)
you seep into my soul


© A. Leigh
lX0st Aug 2014
Please Midas,
Take the golden gun
And shove the golden bullet
Right through my golden skin
And tell me a story about
"All that glitters.."
slay Jan 2018
1
brush my eyelashes out from yours
clasp the nape so not to wake you
purged my blackheads from your pores
i gently exfoliate you
my hair is growing from your head
your nails are shooting out my beds
i file and i shape you

arms and legs unhinged from mine
bares his weight so not to wake me
closed a loop with both our spines
said he wants to figure eight me
i feel his heartbeat in my chest,
and our skin blends with each caress
his presence mediates me
Francie Lynch Jul 2018
The hair is almost normalized,
The hands we hardly notice,
Real news is, with my ensemble,
A red tie splashes well.
I bear your false witness,
The hookers and the lies,
I'd get the heebie-jeebies,
If I ****** with the FBI.

But the skin, the skin,
What color's that,
That hides the blackness found within.
That wraps a frame that wracks the sane,
And covers a skull with dubious brains.
It conceals the bloated air,
From lungs to lips,
From bowels to his finger tips.
It doesn't matter how his fits,
It can't conceal he's full of ****.
Q Dec 2016
What a question
skin woven as threads of canvas
interpret this face
quite a tapestry of biological traits
ask again like I’m not even a who
you’ll ring ring and ring
but artwork will never get back to you
KM Hanslik Jul 2018
Keep your eyes soft and your dreams
up on the highest shelf so you won't take them down too early;
keep everything that you spill in the dark locked
behind your teeth during the day, don't bring it out before dusk;
like secrets we drip over sidewalk cracks
from cotton-candy sticky fingers and leave our names
dissolved under each other's tongues, the warmth of you is keeping me company
as I try to crawl out of my blood again, they told you to leave
a bread-crumb trail in case your heart becomes too watered down by just visiting
to even remember the vacation at all; you carry
kisses on the knuckles of amputated arms,
driving through parking lots with your seatbelts on,
collections of constellations growing
in the bruises on the insides of your thighs, reminders
of salt & the whites of your eyes;

I'll always carry you around
like scuffed knees and the last time I told you "I'm okay",
I wanna press my fingers into you until your skin is melded
with fire and scraps of things that I could never be,
I hope steel rods grow out of your bones and I hope you gather
bruises before you gather dust,
we are all a little lost and lonely but that never stopped
the accumulation of well-spent nights
coughing up new ways to spell my name
(it sounded foreign before you)
leave this on repeat,
we're going in again.
em Jun 2015
65 years from now when my grandchild looks me and asks me
"Grandma do your cheeks look like they are falling and why does your backbone rise higher than the rest of you?"
I will answer:

Baby girl what they don't teach you in school is that the older you get the more gravity pulls at you.
Keeping your feet planted and your mind out of the clouds.
Life moves down instead of forward.

Bones grow frail and muscles shrivel up and weaken just like your ability to dream.
Dream of what you’re going to be,
"when you grow up" because,
darling this is it. I'm all grown up.
I am all I was ever meant to be.
My clay has hardened,
no longer able to bend and curve with the wind.  
Too weak to keep walking forward.

That is why baby run while you still can,
discover the world.
Leave footprints in every corner of existence,
because when you're as old as me your feet will be sore
and won't be able to venture deeper into the pockets of the universe.
Roots now bind me to this little house where I will keep moving down.

Gravity is too strong for me now dear. My skin has already given up. Succumbing to the mighty force. Falling away from my bones that lie hollow inside my cheeks engraved,with the memories too valuable lose after  lifetime.
So that when this world had
changed,
beyond recognition,
I will still hold inside of me the days that I spent in the sun .

As for my back.
Honey, the best thing you can have is a backbone ,
because when everything in this world in pulling you down,
you're going to need something
to keep holding you up.

My backbone,
a tribute to the years
I spent tiptoeing across
the coal beds of this life’s mighty fire.  But one day it will turn into a white flag of surrender.

That is when you know that gravity has won.
I will sink back into the earth
and maybe start again…
this is a spoken word piece that i wrote today and will be performing at a small thing tommorow, ahhhhh I have less that 24 hours to practice and memorize plus I'm doing this and 2 more so I'm kinda freaking out! wish me luck ;)
Aj Jan 2018
you are words.

you are crashing syllables that drip off of wilting rose petals and each letter is a star. you make up constellations while foreign galaxies drip from your lips. nebulae dance across your angel-shedded skin and particles of the sun hide under the freckles resting on your shoulders.

you are life.

the wonders of the cosmos that swirl in the pit of your lean and golden tummy, finding solace in the way you breathe in and exhale the energy of the universe that you created in the beating passage of my worn-out soul.

you are the universe's child.

and the stars that accumulate under your skin will explode. i'll inhale the stardust and debris, letting the particles of life that you emit pollute my bloodstream.
constellations dedicated to a lover who lost his way.
D Awanis Jan 2017
Maybe home,
is not a place
not even a person
but instead a feeling

It is a feeling where you can finally
adapt to your society and
be comfortable to walk in your skin
without being afraid or scared anymore

And now I'm homesick
Skyla Aug 2018
Every day feels like Winter. Sad and dreary, and cold.
You’re young and numb, but you feel so tired and old.
Summer isn’t Summer. Spring isn’t spring.
Seasons don’t matter, now they're just a dreaded thing.
The virus has devoured your mind, you aren’t even alive.
You used to walk hundreds of steps, but now, barely even 5.
Your heart is slower than your thinking.
Your sunken eyes are tired of blinking.
You want to give up, but the disease says no.
You wish that this deadly thing would just go.
All you are is skin and bone,
and you beg your voices to leave you alone,
but they won’t.

Your hair is dead and just dry straw, but you didn’t need it anyway.
Your fingernails are breaking off, but you didn’t need them anyway.
Your teeth are rotting one by one, but you don’t smile much anyway.
Your bones are next, since they are brittle and breaking,
What will it take to stop this internal aching?
As the virus eats your flesh, in your week old sweater,
you remember what it was like to be… better.

The sad thing is, you’ll continue to decay and let the voices rave,
even if it means that you will soon be placed in a concrete grave.
because at least you’ll feel pretty and alone,
proud of what’s left of your skin and bone.
Except you won’t be alive to be aware of yourself.
how sickening and skeletal you have made yourself.
you looked no different when you were alive,
except you were just living, but still dead inside.
You wear death perfectly, since this is who you are
and what you wanted.



At least no one can look at you.
At least no one can make you eat.
At least you can’t be tempted by a delicious treat.
At least no one can bother you, and let you rest in peace.
No mirrors to look in for hours and cry.
No more complaining that you wish you would just die.
No more worries, or sadness, or pain.
Your mind is gone and you're no longer insane.
You can sleep forever under the stars, and i suppose,
you can finally turn into nature, while you decompose.
And the best of all, is that you're no longer in your own skin.
No longer in your pitiful body, so technically, you win.
You’re a fresh soul who can no longer grieve,
and everything has left, and what’s left will leave.
Until you’re empty. Like you've always been.


But that hasn't happened yet.
Your mind is fading, and you always forget,
That you're still real, but you hate feeling real,
because you can still hurt, you can still feel.
You wish you could unzip your skin and set it on fire,
and watch it perish, in it’s disgusting attire.
At least you can disintegrate in that bed of yours.
Give in to all of your vicious wars.
But when it leaves temporarily, you still beg for more.
That’s how you know that you're sick to your very core.
You’ve been suffering this all alone,
You never leave the house, yet you feel like you aren't home.
And when this weather gets worse and hits you like a stone,
And the rain has fallen and the wind has already blown,
And this Winter climbs up your spine, and chills you to the bone,
You were once human. You would’ve never known.
This last day feels like Winter. Sad and dreary, and cold.


I hope that the broken disordered recover one day.  There is beauty through the broken, but you shouldn’t need to be broken to be beautiful.
Grace Feb 2015
In flickering eyes
Is the glow of a smoldering fire
They are sizing us up

My body transforms, a whirlwind
A temple for worship
To a stage for performance

All eyes are on me
Shadows flickering on the walls
Whispers scattering
Hurried footsteps down the hall

Their lips glisten in the dark
A shred of light
Despite the darkness  trapped inside

Grumbling stomachs
Resonating like heart beats
Growling for me

They are starved
For my skin
Ravenous

For to them
I am nothing more
Than meat
Because I am not solely for your entertainment.
Knit Personality Sep 2016
You're in my head.  You're in
   Like rabies.
I've got you under my skin
   Like scabies.

O.O
kevin hamilton Jan 2018
born is the beginner
badly bleeding
and taut is the skin
that weds me to this world
uneasy as the alliance
between my sense of self
and the trials i dream
yet, revealed to me
are all the pretty things
left alive
beneath the blue moon
KiraLili Apr 2016
Drawing absently
Circles of goose pimples
On your soft skin
Tender mendhi lines
All over you
As we lay
In the morning light
Endless invisible tatoos
And free verse poems
Along your back
The only sound is
A human purr
The only movement
Soft skin surface shivers
We both crave
The endorphic touch
Skin once starved
Feeds and responds
Soft nurturing and feather like
This oxytocin laced stimulation
Soft is the touch
Between two lacking
The power of touch
patty m Nov 2015
A sheath of skin slips from the moon.
It falls gathering speed
through the houses of stars, hurtling toward earth.

In the eyes of a dream, I lie in my bed
fighting off birth pains.
Through an obscure misty cloudland
a feeling so deep, drags me down.

What scheme chooses me as its receptacle?

Suddenly a face congeals
surrounded by celestial bodies,
Stars shimmer from threads
across its microscopic skin.
Freezing, it tries transferring my heat,
but finds that we are two elements trapped in one body.
Dark matter, dark energy trapped in the prison
of my gravity; but you
imprison me as well,
stripping me of light.
I strain to get away, but my body is the host
you seek shelter in.

Cocooned I feel the world rush by.
over pylons in the river, holding
castles in the sky, and further still,
to dark tracks, and cold and distant stars
reminding me of treacherous winters.

Then the slow unwinding begins.
and I am brought to perdition,
a freezing hell where I can't restrain my desolation

Suddenly a far off clamor
opens night to mirrored light.
Pure ecstasy warms my skin
vibrating like strings of the cello.
In the shimmer of Luna all things
glow mercurially silver.
We climb outer space,
held in your orbit.

A face in a skylight cuts off my oxygen.
Now your sparkling essence becomes luminous and liquid
and I am one more disposable body..

All the doors are shut,
I open each in turn;
finding mornings years ago, climbing into my parent's bed,
snuggling up all warm and cuddly.

Weariness, drags me down,
I sense dislocation as time vanishes.
Pulling me through a wormhole
a star falls, taking me with it,

I touch Terre firma, emitting a sigh.
wan, dazed, and suddenly alone.

Depleted I look heavenward,
and see the Man In The Moon smiling down,
just before .
my feeble light dies.
loveless Mar 2016
Your skin is my sky
That contains all the stars
Your arms are a magnet
That don't let me go far

Your hair are the dark
That are my night
Your embrace is my sigh
That holds me so tight

Your lips are my water
That is so pure
Your kiss is my medicine
That have my wounds cure

Your mouth have my words
That become my rhyme
Your body is my space
That makes me forget time

Your fingers are my flowers
That are laid in your hand's park
Your neck is my canvas
That contains my bite's mark

Your eyes are my moons
That shine so bright
Your smile is my sun
That gives everything light
indigochild Dec 2018
i needed to be closer
but the clothes between our beings forbid us
Egeria Litha May 11
I miss you in a whirlwind
trails of wind whip my skin
left high and dry
volume in my hair
dust in my eyes
sand in the grit
I  miss you in a tailspin
you were just here
tread marks where you been
I miss you in a time capsule
I swallow each mourning
Caro Jul 2018
SOUL: Wrapping around me,
Holding me close,
Tapping itself and clothing my nose.
Keeping me in and tight.
My safety and my sensation.

Feeling sunshine and shame,
Goosebumps and bruises,
Keeping me intact.
It changes color and indicates.
Touching me,
completely.

The skin on my back my protectorate.
The skin on my hands my guide.
The skin on my face my years here.

It is with me to the end.
It grows and stretches and covers my vessel.
It flinches and heals and craves to be nestled.
It sweats and bleeds and cracks.
It wrinkles and sags.
And Baby, it’s you and it’s me.
But beautifully, painfully, tragically it is not.

Because once the skin has done all it can do.
Once it is thinner and can work for this Sinner no more.
Once it has lived and known me through and true.
Though I have lived and known it too.
It dies.

And I go on. To claim another skin.

A skin to clothe my nose.
A skin to protect my soul.
A vehicle to let me travel on this earth I think I know.

Poor skin. Naive and Perfect.

SKIN: Poor soul.
Going on forever ever,
and never ending,
never resting,
always needing me.
I squiggle and squirm
Trying to find a place
Inside this suit of skin I wear
Try to display my feelings on my face

But no matter how I shift and slide
There is no room for me here
In this skin in which I hide
Where I live with my fear

I wonder constantly
How does everyone seem so comfortable?
So happy and free?
In their very own skin
How are they different from me?

I see them walking
Confident
Hips swaying
Moving with no consequence

How can I love myself
If I don't even feel comfortable with myself?

In other words,
How do I love a stranger?
Even though I live with myself
I feel like someone that I've just met
Abhishek kumar Nov 2018
My smiles are hiding
The crying heart

My skins are covering
The deepest scare

My eyes are holding
The emotions drop

My arms are protecting
The broken core
rhiannon Aug 2018
If I took off my skin
Maybe then I could be beautiful.
I would change it every day
Like ***** laundry-
Hang it out to dry a while
And not fret for the neighbor's eyes.
I'd cut it into shapes
That don't fit quite so tightly
Or open up a window
And let a bit of air in
(I know me well enough-
I'd hold my breath.)
Lady Elle Feb 2014
old habits die hard
nervous habits die harder

i hadn't touched myself
since i got over you

but today,
i peeled back my skin
to reveal what i had forgotten

which is that
i still haven't
forgotten
you.
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