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lucidwaking Jul 2021
--- TRIGGER WARNING: themes related to ****** trauma ---


I'm sipping you sweet,
Sweetly.
Tangy, sugary, sappy tastes,
All dancing around my tongue
When you kiss me.
The straw is going to hit the bottom soon,
And croak as it scrapes the plastic.

How long is it gonna last?
How long is it gonna take
To find a new and fresh faced gal?
When I've grown boring and dull,
You'll think back
To when you asked if I'd be okay with a third person,
And I said no.
You'll shake your head,
Wondering how youthful passion passed so soon.
Who knew a life with the little trauma *****
Wouldn't always stay happy?

I want to do that for you,
I really do.
I want to give you freedom in love,
And the kind of affection
That you've been craving your entire life.
I can't though - my mind goes back every time.
It circles round and round,
Synapses resonating,
Until my occipital's eye rolls forward
To watch the memory reel yet again.

I'm folded under my loft bed's sheets,
Laying on my back,
And watching my thumbs type myself to my knees.
I'm scared,
But the desperation for affirmation is stronger.
So I do it, even though I don't want to.
I do it because they're telling me to.
I do it because even though I'm not there,
My body is physically responding.
It grieves the death of my innocence.

Performative bisexuality -
Kissing girls in front of men
Who don't give a **** about me.
This is what I associate
With two and one making three.
So that’s why I can’t do that for you.

Due to the aches in my skull,
I'm chaining your wrists to mine.
That's hardly fair though,
And I feel like I'm being cruel.
Seriously, why should you have to care?
Why should you have to care
About the time I was so lonely
That I fed myself to pigs?

Yet I know that you do care,
But I still feel guilty.
I still fear that our summer will eventually end.
We can only share one cup of this sugary stuff
For so long.
What will you drink
When it runs out?
I welcome critiques! Thanks
side note: i just want to clarify - this piece does not reflect any of my opinions about monogamy and polyamory. i think both are valid and that being poly should be normalized and that poly people should have more recognized rights. this poem moreso explores themes of mono/poly guilt, wrestling with trauma, feeling like you owe your partner something sexually, and waiting for a partner to get bored and leave instead of ending the relationship in a healthy way due to incompatibility. in a way i think it also discusses men who claim to be poly but really just want to **** around instead of maintaining a healthy polycule where everyone is respected.
Dallas Phoenix Mar 2015
These lines experimental but elemental to your mental,
My creativity,
Will never submit to the minimal,
Isotopes subliminal penetrating the simple,
Similes send criminals to infiltrate your biochemicals,
Infected stanzas with stacked syntaxes sickness,
My subconscious semiautomatic and stimulated,
Formulate semblances of Leviathan illuminated,
It's a tragedy my soul's has become a victim of gravity,
Now my temples been raided,
My nirvana's disseminated,
And I've contemplated annihilation of self,
Picturing my end as a senile senior citizen,
With no one by my side,
My mind can't complete a sentiment,
Remembering has become my source of a smile,
But it's making me even more curious to taste the end of this projectile,
Kathleen Jan 2015
You’re like a white noise slushie
swirling off my sunburnt tastebuds.
I can’t quite catch you.
Those coffee driven evenings have destroyed my mouth’s ability
to make something stay.
See, whispered lollipop kisses used to work
but not half as well as my grape syrup words.
Teach me how to fix my salt-sugar body.
You don’t know how many times those candy coated sighs
“I love you”
have crossed my artificially sweetened lips.
What colour are Mondays?
Red? Well mine are.
The same colour
you’d imagine a headache to be,
tomatoes, morello cherries
or like a nosebleed.

Does that mean Tuesdays are blue?
That mouthwash shade,
brain-freeze after a Slushie.
Wednesdays? Perhaps purpley-pink
as burning potassium,
Parma Violets under your tongue.

Thoughts on Thursdays?  Fake-tanned,
tangerine skin, the ugliest orange
for the ugliest day.
But Fridays are a healthier green,
think telephone-pole celery,
cucumber truncheons and kiwis.

Saturdays then? Funeral black
speckled with brown sugar
though Sundays are white.
Hurts-your-eyes-like-snow white,
almost transparent, for they come
and dash by with no tone in-between.
Written: January and March 2014.
Explanation: A poem written on the theme of colour for university.
Raygan Emma Jane Mar 2016
I was a ***** slushie flannel senior the first time I saw him,
an undid a button of morning regrets.
He was a nicotine stained midnight kiss I don't really remember,
A salt water perception of perfection labeled in a sly smile and small print,
he left bruises of lust on my wind pipes and I left my ear ring in the back seat of his Mazda.
He became my taxi driver,
my room full of people,
my absent fathers approval.
I took on my role of his unable to vote baby with librarian eyes.
And then one night he suggested an experiment to see if no other girl loves like the way my eyes beg him to stay.
He smiled down at me as if I should feel like I was in his gratitude,
he told me I should thank him for paper shredding me so I could learn to tape myself back together piece by piece,
so I could decipher my ripped description and learn to write again.
"Let me give you the most detailed inspiration, let me break you", he whispered, "so we can be equal".
Darling Slam the door on our hazy summer nights and remember me in disgust,
"Trust me", he said you need someone to look after you and only the smartest man can put a puzzle like your eyes together and only an artist will like the picture of your battle scares when you pick up the white flag.
I was naive that he thrived off a fight.
He claimed that the most intoxicating evening with me would be to be with me whether I liked it or not,
problem is I loved it.
He said he'd find ecstasy when I needed him less so he could crave me more,
and after way to many blue moon beer funnels mixed with the salt water of his absence he got what he wanted.
He took me to the doctor he used to claim to be yet I never once told him it was the frequency of his presents of not being present at all that made me bleed so deeply.
God I'm bandaging his self inflicted wounds for my own scabs wish list,
and now My fingers shake on how much I need his hands on my waist,
or how I'd do anything for those bruises out of love.
See all that's been on my mind is our ice cream melting pushed against the car first sober kiss and how he said he'd wanted to snap for me until I was oozing tears of joy cause all that he lectured about was learning to use a pen for myself again.
I prayed for inspiration,
I prayed for him to be my metaphorical daydream.
See this boy smiled religiously,
obviously aware that I didn't know a thing about happily ever after, he wanted to listen. Gripping my bible white sheets with his palms whispering,
Tell me when, where and I'll be there.
I believed him.
So for you my bipolar baby It's here, it's now and were finally equal.
Megan Hundley May 2012
Whining about slushie stains, broken shoe strings, a cloudy tan date, a blender of crushed molding fruit and a couple of misplaced coupons dusty under the bookcase

I listen, I stay. I know I know-so awful, so unfair

Tuesday the tongue red Toms squished into the slip n' slide of a slow-paced coat on the run, splashing in the surprise and disgust but mostly drowning in the wrong point

I listen, I stay. I know I know-so foul, so raw

The pipes ooze liquid, weeping for a fix but the handyman's calloused fingertips were fired for not fitting the bill, mending the rip or driving the speed limit

I listen, I stay. I know I know-so frustrating, so disappointing

Saturday's overlap into Sunday was cramming lyrics and auto corrected notes into the bloated edge of a clicking lens snapping away, capturing a frenzy of wild memories and ibuprofen pills

I listen, I stay. I know I know- so entertaining, so amusing

Begging for top shelf truth, knee stretching for flexibility, pen scratching for a road deeper inland, holding, yearning for a meaningful entry to meaningfully look back on

I listen, I stay. I know I know- so vanished, so fragmented

Each night, the muffled light bulb all tucked into bed shamelessly stares crooked at the nightmares of an exhausted headboard wishing only to shed comfort instead of light

*I listen, I stay. I know I know- so sorry, so sorry, so sorry I can't be more for you
Kelley A Vinal Aug 2015
Romantic, isn't it?
The giant, blue, ice-cold
Air flurries, quickly
Hydrogen and helium
Methane ice - like an oddly-
flavored slushie, likely unpalatable
But surely nice to see
So far from Helios' reach
A blizzard of cerulean rushes across
A mass so great
It would require Herculean strength
To move her but an inch
Mathematically predicted
And there she was
A beautiful, azure conclusion
To our solar system
Hailey Renee Apr 2017
You chose addiction over everything else, including me.
To the parent that chose addiction,
I used to wonder what I did to deserve this but I've slowly realized it isn't me, it is you. You were great whenever I was younger. You attended every school event, every soccer game, family gatherings, and so on. Our nights consisted of slushie runs and long talks. You were my best friend, biggest fan, and rock to lean on. It's weird because I've lost a parent but you aren't physically gone. I could resent the fact that you are like this but instead, I am writing this article for the sole purpose of thanking you.
Thank you for giving me a stronger bond with our family.
It started with just hurting certain people but over time, you hurt everyone around you. Through the struggles of disappointment and being hurt constantly, it brought the entire family closer together. I never realized how blessed I am to have such an amazing family and the importance of it all until you pushed us away.
Thank you for showing me how to stand on my own.
Without two parents, I have faced a variety of my own problems. I didn't have someone to run to whenever my mom was busy trying to do everything on her own as a single parent. I am learning more and more every day on how to be independent.
Thank you for making me love myself more than I ever knew I could.
I no longer put my happiness in others. At any moment, the person that made me happy can walk out of my life. I don't need anyone in my life that makes me feel unwanted. I do not put effort into things for short term happiness.
Thank you for not being there so my stepdad could be.
He is such an amazing human being. I don't have his blood, but he continues to love me unconditionally. Without your absence, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to bond with him as well as I have.
Thank you for showing me how I shouldn't be treated.
I don't settle for less than I deserve. No man will ever treat me like you have in the past because I will not allow them to. I am worth so much more than that.
Thank you for showing me how to turn hurt into something good.
I am more motivated than ever before. I am motivated to do something amazing with my life because I don't want to be looked at as an addicts daughter. I don't want sympathy or people to doubt me due to my father's actions. I will not follow in your footsteps. I have used you to make a better version of myself.
Sadly, I can't drag you out of this hole you have dug for yourself. However, I can promise I will be there at the top waiting for you whenever you find the strength to climb up. Letting go of you has hurt me deeply, but holding onto you will only hurt me more.
Love, your all grown up princess (I'm sorry you're missing it
Marigolds Fever Feb 2019
She’s talkin to cows again
Cattle candied side
Licorice fence
A mother hen’s
Cherry eggs
Chocolate fudge smears
On her legs
Slide over grape ice pond
Atop frosted clover
Sugared world beyond
Three soft cows before her
Describe the candied world
One says, “I produce chocolate milk just for me
A little bit of strawberry for she
And vanilla for all three”
Smooth Cocoa will flow
Sweetness will fill your pores
A crystal rain pours
Sugared quartz upon
Caramel whirlpools
Nature’s homemade molecules
Blueberry skies drip
Fields of lollipop
Glimmer rainbow sunshine
Sweetest Harvest
Candy wrappers fall
Wind blows them
Over by candy-wax waterfall
Marshmallow hikes
With chocolate pretzel poles
Strands of sugary pink glass fall From Cotton candy clouds
A new farmer’s way to plow
He says, “young lady
Do you vow
Cherish this nutritional place
And make it your Delectable space?”
“I do” she proclaims ~
“To make it mine
I have no shame
Only a request
Of cinnamon I suggest
A form of healing zest
Sprinkled on this candied land
Where you are I so happily stand
A powerful purpose
You will see
Your nose will thank you
I suppose
A Favorite of every herbivore
From a former land I will go no more
An offer of sticky bun
To sweeten the score
From here to the slushie seafloor
Of a confection land adored”
Marigolds Fever 2019
I miss the days
where my biggest concern was how to
carry a sixty-four ounce grape slushie
from the gas station
while riding my Huffy.

Still, not much has changed.
I'm still awful at planning ahead,
and I still act on impulse,
and I still can't ride a bike
with no hands. It feels like the scrapes
on my elbow are open.

Summer was never really my season.
Makiya Nov 2011
coming upon this photo of us I hadn't seen
(pre-mortem, my blind happiness)
my breathing stops, my uncle in the other room stops yelling about the VCR
appropriately. I can hear him bounding down the steps,
leaving the upstairs for me alone, a place to sit and stare at this.

I am standing behind Spencer and you are beside me
but you look more as if the slushie in your hand could bring you more excitement.
you look blank and I look blind and everyone else is background to
my realization and your arrogance in everything from your
dead-pan eyes to your arm lingering at your side, not holding
mine.

I can see the tops of your stupid shoes that I told you to throw out
and I would pay for another pair. I can see all of the things I ate that day
heaved into a toilet later that night and you
were gone by the 18th of October.

It's funny how I can tell we are not puzzle pieces and we do not fit.
Sure there are crooks and crannies where an elbow can rest
and a head may lay but

most of the time arms will fit around you only

if you want
them
to.
thanks for surprises, universe
Olivia Greene Dec 2013
my eyes burned when I read your poems
when I  saw the most real and amazing parts of you that you keep hidden at all times
I often look at the people you surround yourself with and wonder how they can't see the beauty,
the beauty that is so obviously there
but it's okay. it will be because through everything, all the pain that is there, lying just beneath surface
I see it
I'm not much for words or life changing advice but I hope that with my presence or a strawberry lemonade slushie,
you will know that I see it.
Others see it too, just please believe me.
When I told you that all you can do is just 'be you'
I didn't mean it in the cliche way that it sounds...
I meant it from the deepest most genuine parts of my being,
because if you were to do that, just 'be you'
I can't even begin to explain how amazing that would be.
Because you are.
And you are worth so much more than you realize.
Summer Lee Oct 2014
If I didn't love my truck so much ,
I'd drive it off a cliff .
Do you know how maddening it is to go a whole day
Twenty ******* four hours
Without a single concious thought .
Except as when I drive home
And they rush me
Collecting their stamps on the first Tuesday of the month between my ears and
I switch on the radio
So I don't pull over and kick over that bird bath in that yard .
I love mine .
I sit on my hands so I don't serve myself to the belly of that semi.
I want to get a ***** tattoo .
I got to finish my hip .
What if I cover myself too much and I have no room left and I want more things to stop the aching ?
I'm 20 .
Two decades old .
I live with my parents again .
I have never gone downtown drinking .
Or finished enrolling in college .
Why do I chicken out of every ****** appointment ?
I don't want medicine .
I could go for a slushie .
Am I real person ?
I toy with my floor mat , because it makes me place my feet weird .
It's not because I'm awkward .
I wish I had a joint .
Wait .
I can't smoke **** anymore ,
It stops my heart .
Well ... ****** .™
Valerie Weisbeck Mar 2014
my palm fell in love with your pinkie and the part covered by the cuff of my sweater fell in love with your shorts covering your pale summer thighs.

and my mind fell in love with loving you and the idea of you loving me back and my eardrums fell in love with the sound of your voice saying my name and "little bird".  i fell in love with your perfection and then i saw your imperfections and i cried because the sun had finally come out, and i still loved you.

and i know that we hugged once but i don't remember it because i was too focused on trying to feel us become one, and as i write this my hands shake because this pen is like asphalt and this paper is like the ocean, breaking my fall.

and i remember when you bought me a slushie and my face and tongue turned strawberry red and i sweated under the sun and under gaze and you held me, like a giant, within your fist.

every day i wake up with your name taking a casual stroll down the channels of my conscience the way you casually strolled into my life and altered me forever, and you shook my ground the way vesuvius shook pompeii and destroyed it forever.

and i turn my phone on three times during school like a ******* routine to see if you've texted me, and if my phone vibrates in my hand with your name on the screen, my heart falls into my ribcage and disintegrates as though it was submerged in acid.

because i know how bewilderingly terrified you are of rejection and there is no way for you to ever know i will always be here and you can fall into me and i will love you until the earth falls out of revolution with the sun, and i will probably still love you after that.

because i am jealous of every solar ray that has ever warmed and burned your skin, jealous of every feather of grass you have ever uprooted from its soil, and jealous of every single highway you've ever cruised down.

and in the everlasting plan of the universe, we equate to less than blips, but the thought of you soaks my mind and controls my day in the style of a rainstorm quenching a plant's thirst until it drowns.

(v.g.w)
for t.s.m.
AK Mar 2017
I swore I'd never be that girl
I'd keep my backbone
Watch from the stands
Armed with popcorn
And an extra-large slushie
Kick my feet back,
Enjoy the show in front of me
Watch those foolish teens
High on hormones
Fall in and out of love.

I swore I’d never stoop down to that level,
Lose everything
For unforgiving heartbreak.
I would stay
High above
In my impenetrable
Throne in the clouds.

I swore I’d never
As those three words
Ran across my lips.
With an “and I mean it”
Tacked on at the end.
Gary Oct 2015
Its sunday afternoon
You wanted ice cream
But it's to hot to float
In the summers sun

You cried,  I felt  bad
And made you a slushie
You gave me a dollar
With some numbers
It made me smile
Knowing that a stranger
Would call you that night.
Lydia Oct 2019
I was lying when I forgot about her dad's pickup truck

It's been over a year since I last got her lost behind the wheel. I can't believe she kept letting me navigate.
Loss of a memory isn't a lie unless it was everything.
My whole world was empty slushie cups on the floor of the passenger seat, a broken speedometer,
A river that is still carving its way up onto the trail with the new floods
A transformation is supposed to be a complete overhaul
A girl walks in, but a woman walks out
I'm lying to myself because I can't remember the sounds or the way her couch cushions felt
Her home smells different now
Her body is something I don't recognize
I can't tell if she has changed or I recorded over the tapes

When I am no longer a teenager, and she was just young love, and my old poems were just country songs on the radio that I sometimes recognize and sometimes don't,
When I am afraid to go outside here in fall because it's not the same
It's been over a year since I asked for familiar. My parents' house does not smell the same. My dog sings to different songs on the radio. I do not own a radio. I do not own a car, or hold a girl, or sing country music anymore. I don't get lost driving to rivers. I don't ride roller coasters or lay on rooftops to interrogate stars. I barely walk myself home at night.
It doesn't smell the same.
Gary Oct 2015
Its Sunday afternoon
You wanted ice cream
But it's to hot to float
In the summers sun

You cried,  I felt  bad
And made you a slushie
You gave me a dollar
With some numbers
It made me smile
Knowing that a stranger
Would call you that night.

The hopeful of being understood
Is always wanted
Even for a glimpse, from a voice
Never before heard

Sunday evening is over
You want to be left alone
But, there is no one to let know
Instead now you think
Just because someone else has your taste
Doesn't mean they want your spoon.
III Sep 2017
You lit a fire in me,
And I know,
That's a really stupid way of saying it,

But nothing compares
To the way that you've melted
The ice that's frozen my insides,

A mushy pink slushie,
Unsure of where I begin
And the frost ends,

And I used to hear it
Every
Single
*******
Day,
Slushing and slurping
And flowing between the bones of my ribcage

Like an ocean of organs
That wanted nothing more than be to warm again,

But now I'm on fire,
And I can feel everything dripping,
Solidifying back into place,

And I swear to god,
Today I felt my heart beat again.
misha Sep 2022
summer is all

bare feet on concrete
diaphanous heartbeat
dustings of sand
and holding your hand
sun bleached hair
monarch winged air
prismatic sprinkler spray
and long, hazy days

bored, we scratch our legs
with blades of dry grass
watching the clouds in the slushie blue sky
eating our fill of cherries (they stained my dress!)
and floating, floating, floating away
on the dandelion seeds of childish wishes
n Aug 2020
hey kid,

you're gonna have to pour that slushie out.

i know it will go to waste but we can't take cash

we need exact change
not just change

not that much change
that's way too much

no, we need the right change

the change my boss wants
https://youtu.be/gBn6w5BSxjs
What you should know
is that I’ve never done parties,
except that wasn’t quite a party,
more an excuse to liquor up
in the first week back,
tepid attempts to recall the faces
who swam past a year before
like scarecrows from a car, expressionless
in a chaos of fields.

Told this was integration
but anywhere else would’ve done,
mumbles like distant storms
behind closed doors,
footsteps a high echoed chime up the stairs.

The room, a tumble-dryer of conversation.
A brown drink, probably ***, or coke, or vinegar,
somehow navigated to my hand.
A pilfered traffic cone in the corner,
playing cards slapdash on the coffee table,
forgotten hearts, fading diamonds.

Somebody spoke, a game began.
Spilling secrets, unwillingly or too drunk
to care otherwise,
each hopscotch-like laughter another
thorn of headache.
I zoned out as if watching the shopping channels,
palms peppered with the braille
of my nails mining into my hands.

The spreadsheet of names scrolled down,
guys with over-gelled hair, ******* shirts
then me, trickling out my half-hearted truth,
quickly dismissed, knocked to the curb,
my social status cemented once again.
Then you, the last to speak
in this merry-go-round
clouted me awake as though coma free.

o Lychee-pink fingernails, slushie-blue eyes.
o Seashell necklace, skin several sunbathes down.
o Hush of a French accent, denim jeans punctured with holes.

The images, the speech came quick
as if behind the glass of a bullet train.
I tried to capture them like a cat
hopping up for dragonflies,
but these were more like snowflakes
perishing on my tongue.

If my mind hadn’t been frazzled
with the intricacies of anxiety
I would have uttered my name,
snaffled yours, an early birthday gift,
but no.

The evening capsized, us students dispersed
like birds barked at by a dog,
the clock’s downcast dialogue
of time gone, opportunities missed.

I stayed awake with the shape of your face
as though viewed through cellophane.
You mattered somehow, electrocution
right into my brain, your secret swallowed
by the ghosts of the night.
Hell, I thought, resting with my vivid
fabrications until the next day, the next year.
Written: 2018/19.
Explanation: A poem that was part of my MFA Creative Writing manuscript, in which I wrote poems about cities that have staged the Eurovision Song Contest, or taken the name of a song and written my own piece inspired by the title. I have received a mark for this body of work now, so am sharing the poems here.

— The End —