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"smooshed" poems
"Still water runs deep." - Yiddish Proverb To sail within a boat never rocked or tucked within a sea. Long grass kissing the bow. Mosquito hum, siren stand-in. Brother big, brother strong. I, the groove of big brother's elbow. Clothes on the line. Canary yellow, A-line dress. The spring girls swelling, rippling from the bashful shore. Big brother hold me over edge. My arms, my oars. Splashing pasture, blades receding. Adults at birthday parties. Brother big, brother mast. Climb. Not only sail, but zephyr, I. Snake through Rusty Bike River, the tributary. Spill. Into the wide, into the Harding Family Ocean. Where dolls, hair frayed and faces smooshed, lounge half-submerged and mostly forgotten. Where sea dogs test chain, test spike. Eye the confident chickens strolling dock. And then Mother turns on porch lamp, soft words, ebbing to lighthouse. Brother big, big brother. My arms, my arms.
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Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
Seafaring, Harvest Break 1971
bruised knees and bandaids your mom is no longer your best friend, she'll scream words that burn your ears she won't read you fairy tales before you fall asleep at night CD's and ballet school buses, new folders and the boy next door named Tyler he'll want you for your body, he'll spread rumors throughout the school you'll only want it to go away girls you share laughter with and teachers you idolize everything becomes different the only thing you'll share with those girls is a pack of cigarettes and the stories you hear in the hallway gummy bears and juice boxes have turned into prescription medicine and shots of ***** just wishing for one good day your special blankie and your favorite hair bow hidden in a closet behind the new skirt your dad doesn't like you wearing disney movies, popcorn made on the stove and your whole family smooshed onto one couch on a friday night those friday nights turn into another day of choking back cheap alcohol and ignoring your grandmother's emails
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Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
growing up pt. 2
I found a spider crawling up the drainpipe and it freaked me out for a minute until I realized that I am bigger than a spider and no arachnophobe at heart I am no arachnophile either though and so I smooshed the spider with a paper towel into the wall thereby ending its life and sparing me and those I love from spiderbites (from this particular eight-legged foe) And likely sparing the flies as well But that's not so great But I still forgive myself for messing with the natural order of things And I forgive everyone who kills spiders and everyone who chooses not to **** spiders And every spider who eats a fly And every spider who bites a man even if that man dies. I still forgive the spider, even if it is not my spider to forgive. And I forgive every web-spinner and maker of things which are stronger than steel And I forgive you too if you let me but I won't forgive you if you fear the spiders and I won't forgive you for smooshing them if it's irrational and not for the sake of saving the potentially bitten, or at least for the sake of the flies. I can't ever forgive you for that anymore than I can ever stop thinking about you and what it meant to be your friend.
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May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Spider Forgiveness
i would see you in the bed, with the blanket tucked underneath your big feet which would probably be hanging off the bed because you're so tall. hair smooshed up against a pillow, naked under the sheets. you make little sound other than your slow inhale and exhale sleep suits you wonderfully and i would take off my cardigan then my shirt then my skirt and tights then my socks then my bra then my underwear and for a few seconds, i would be very cold but then, i would peel back the sea of blankets surrounding you and feel the warmth being thrown into the universe by your skin i would i would kiss your shoulder pour myself into the space between your arm and your waist and nestle in deep, breathing in your scent pulling the ocean back over us, not giving you a chance to shudder at the cold. you are musky and soft, the scent of a log cabin in the woods with bread baking inside you are warm enough to bake me. and your warmth fills me up like a cup of love that you will pour for me in the morning
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Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
if you were here instead of there
Take my heart out of the gutter and shake it ‘till it bleeds. That lonely ************ can’t breathe unless the sinews stitch back together like the veins of leaves, all smooshed by heels and debris. My heart can’t see. Laying in that gutter; it can only believe.
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Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:16 AM UTC
Stuck In the Gutter
I've never seen the sunrise as beautiful as the one I watched rise over you. You had fallen asleep. You had told me to wake you up if you did, you really wanted to see it. But you're just so **** cute when you sleep. The suns first rays shown through your golden hair, refracting the light into a beautiful spectrum of colors. I leaned back on our blankets and sat up. Criss cross apple sauce, I took a pack of Luckies from my coat pocket. We had smooshed them at some point in our late night adventures but they were still intact. With a unlit cigarette in between my lips which had grown so accustumed to kissing yours I looked at you. You were lying on your side, facing me with your back to the sun. The dew on the grass was surrounding our mound of blankets much like heart break had been circling our love; Threatening to precede but not truly troublesome.
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Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
Sunrises.
Only heaven knows Where this is going to go But have you ever stopped long enough To take a look at your toes The ones on the right The ones on the left How over time They all look so different While some seem smashed Or is that smooshed Either way that you say Look at the way that they look They do love to be free Fresh air makes them wiggle And when touched have the need To laugh out loud giggle One look at my toes Shows they're bent out of shape If they had tongues to talk Who knows what they would say With a tuft of hair in each center Punk rock piggies at their best I decide as an after thought To paint each Mohawk red Told you only heaven knows Where this was going to go When I stopped for just a minute To gander at my toes
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Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
~toes~
That ****** me up. That thing you said. And then you left me all sticky Your slimy words in my head. It worked. Mission accomplished. I am indeed A self fulfilling prophecy. Why is that Heavy things flatten me out. And when im smooshed You can flutter about.
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Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
dont drop bicks without waiting to see where they land
I wish we were a sandwich Simple would suffice Smooshed between the slices with you would be so nice You could be my jelly your sweet as sweet can be I am simply nuts for you Crunchy PB's the one for me We go so great together I know you feel it too I offer you this sandwich to show that I love you
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Jun 8, 2023
Jun 8, 2023 at 8:32 AM UTC
Sandwich
Ready for the swirl Not afraid of fast, ugly, disgusting Reality. With the goofy grin of Puzzled euphoria, I rush through the tube. Everything is on parade, Smooshed and swirled beyond individuality or recognition. I don't mind. Why have preferences? It's all getting in the <divided by zero> Parade anyway.
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Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 12:37 AM UTC
Ducy in the Mky with Tiamonds
Everyone is always trying to explain what love is Love is nothing and everything It is the unseen beauty that keeps life flowing Love is the thing that builds Heartbreak is the thing that destroys They are not the same Love is the look of a weary soul coming home After a long day and wanting Just to rest, Believing the night has nothing left to offer But being delivered sustenance Followed by quiet listening Love is playing a game to ease the pain Cuddling to ease the weariness that consumes Destroy weariness, for it creates doubt, Love is sleeping beside each other, And laughing at each other Because each night Someone is being smooshed  into the corner of the bed Love is the tears of a petty fight That erupts from jealousy Love lurks in the fear of losing it all Love is in hope Whether it's only one of you Or the both Love is there Love is in the idea of marriage In the hopes it'll happen and if it does or has that it will last forever Love is in their eyes, And how they try to crack a smile Even when they feel down and depressed Love is there Love is here I can never give up on such a wonderful thing Love in the beginning Love in the middle Love in the end And Love forever.
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Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
Love Is...The Ramblings of A Hopeless Romantic
Mostly a head With a big absorbing sensing ***** At the mouth A great column conveys into her perceiver And keeps moving through The back of her head Into a distant vanishing point Everything is stretched and smooshed In the yellow umbilical column All the information from each moment Runs down the column into her She feeds and reads the information Time moves for her to be nourished With all that happens In our world which generates the information She consumes.
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Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
Her
Stuffed animals and posters of Corbin Bleu could have never prepared me for this moment. Your hands touch me back like the pictures never could. Your deliberate and calculated movements tell me your experience is not just limited to teddy bears. My arms are not as adept as yours, not as practiced. I have spaghetti limbs and wobbly knees. You say I’m a fast learner but something tells me you're humoring my fumbles, my awkward hands, and hesitant tongue. You maneuver your frozen hands under my Hello Kitty graphic tee. My newly awakened ******* are firm yet flexible like buds before a blossom. Be gentle, the buds are fragile. You fiddle with my zipper and reach into my daisy print ******* These petals are not yet ready to be plucked. Not ready to be stolen and scattered in a game of “she loves me, she loves me not” But I cannot seem to release the one word that could save me. I am quite literally petrified, suspended in this moment like one of those prehistoric dragonflies in amber. My brain has called a moratorium on movement. It waits for a moment of safety for my wings to start beating again. You will smoke me like one of your cigarettes. Twisting me in your yellow fingers. Taking drags of my innocence. Until I am used and smooshed into the sidewalk. I will not realize this until later. Because I am somehow addicted to your type of nicotine. Tears become crystallized in their ducts. One touch could shatter me. I plaster a smile on my face, but even concrete crumbles. My face shakes. My mask falls. The facade you wanted to **** disappears. I am more vulnerable than I ever have been
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Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 4:49 AM UTC
In remembrance of things lost
Stuffed animals and posters of Corbin Bleu could have never prepared me for this moment. Your hands touch me back like the pictures never could. Your deliberate and calculated movements tell me your experience is not just limited to teddy bears. My arms are not as adept as yours, not as practiced. I have spaghetti limbs and wobbly knees. You say I’m a fast learner but something tells me you're humoring my fumbles, my awkward hands, and hesitant tongue. You maneuver your frozen hands under my Hello Kitty graphic tee. My newly awakened ******* are firm yet flexible like buds before a blossom. Be gentle, the buds are fragile. You fiddle with my zipper and reach into my daisy print ******* These petals are not yet ready to be plucked. Not ready to be stolen and scattered in a game of “she loves me, she loves me not” But I cannot seem to release the one word that could save me. I am quite literally petrified, suspended in this moment like one of those prehistoric dragonflies in amber. My brain has called a moratorium on movement. It waits for a moment of safety for my wings to start beating again. You will smoke me like one of your cigarettes. Twisting me in your yellow fingers. Taking drags of my innocence. Until I am used and smooshed into the sidewalk. I will not realize this until later. Because I am somehow addicted to your type of nicotine. Tears become crystallized in their ducts. One touch could shatter me. I plaster a smile on my face, but even concrete crumbles. My face shakes. My mask falls. The facade you wanted to **** disappears. I am more vulnerable than I ever have been
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41
Back in elementary school, they used to ask if we had telepathy. If we could magically read each other’s thoughts, and talk without words. Our answer was always yes. In reality, we both knew we couldn’t. But back then, we were still young enough to pretend magic existed. So I’d face him, cross my fingers, and pray we were still close enough to understand each other— just this once. As we got older, our answers started to differ. I think that’s when I noticed we were slipping. Another question they asked: Could we feel each other’s pain? He always told them he could feel when I got sick, when I got my period, when I was hurting in my head. Me? I couldn’t feel a thing. Sometimes I barely noticed when he was hurting. But God… if I could’ve taken his pain into my own body, I’d have done it ten times over. And again. And again. And again. Until the only pain he ever felt was the cramping from my periods. They asked if we were close. I thought we were. I think he did too. Truth is, he’s been the only person I’ve known since birth who’s still here. I held onto him tightly. Too tightly, maybe. I told him what to do—not to control him, but because I was scared he’d drift. Scared that if he found better friends, I’d be replaceable. Disposable. Maybe I still am. But all I know is I’m still here. Because of him. Someday, we’ll drift. I know we will. He’ll have a life, and so will I. Someday I’ll flip through old photographs when I’m wrinkled and slow, and my grandchildren will ask about the boy next to me, the one holding me so tightly my face is smooshed. And I’ll tell them, “That was my best friend.” I’ll close my eyes, and wish I was still young enough to believe forever might exist. When I sleep, I’ll be fourteen again. You’ll still be there. And that’s all I ever wanted. In your own house, you’ll hear birdsong outside your window. And you’ll remember me— because I always told you I’d haunt you in every life. Even as a bird. But in every universe, I’ll be your sister. And in each one, I’ll hold you closer during the times I didn’t know how to. I’ll tell you I love you, so you never doubt I was there for you. I hope someone loves growing old with you as much as I loved growing up with you.
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Aug 13, 2025
Aug 13, 2025 at 12:02 AM UTC
What It’s Like Growing Up with a Twin
Back in elementary school, they used to ask if we had telepathy. If we could magically read each other’s thoughts, and talk without words. Our answer was always yes. In reality, we both knew we couldn’t. But back then, we were still young enough to pretend magic existed. So I’d face him, cross my fingers, and pray we were still close enough to understand each other— just this once. As we got older, our answers started to differ. I think that’s when I noticed we were slipping. Another question they asked: Could we feel each other’s pain? He always told them he could feel when I got sick, when I got my period, when I was hurting in my head. Me? I couldn’t feel a thing. Sometimes I barely noticed when he was hurting. But God… if I could’ve taken his pain into my own body, I’d have done it ten times over. And again. And again. And again. Until the only pain he ever felt was the cramping from my periods. They asked if we were close. I thought we were. I think he did too. Truth is, he’s been the only person I’ve known since birth who’s still here. I held onto him tightly. Too tightly, maybe. I told him what to do—not to control him, but because I was scared he’d drift. Scared that if he found better friends, I’d be replaceable. Disposable. Maybe I still am. But all I know is I’m still here. Because of him. Someday, we’ll drift. I know we will. He’ll have a life, and so will I. Someday I’ll flip through old photographs when I’m wrinkled and slow, and my grandchildren will ask about the boy next to me, the one holding me so tightly my face is smooshed. And I’ll tell them, “That was my best friend.” I’ll close my eyes, and wish I was still young enough to believe forever might exist. When I sleep, I’ll be fourteen again. You’ll still be there. And that’s all I ever wanted. In your own house, you’ll hear birdsong outside your window. And you’ll remember me— because I always told you I’d haunt you in every life. Even as a bird. But in every universe, I’ll be your sister. And in each one, I’ll hold you closer during the times I didn’t know how to. I’ll tell you I love you, so you never doubt I was there for you. I hope someone loves growing old with you as much as I loved growing up with you.
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72
Heart clinch A gut pinch Look at the screen Can't see clear My phone is shaking My hands are shaking Sounds amplified Hearts pounds magnified Narrow vision And eyes that can't focus **** I wonder if anyone noticed. Neurons linking and multiplying till it becomes a crowd pit Thoughts smooshed to the edge of the stage Screaming quick solve it! They shout and they scream in support for existential fear Sounds amplified Heart pounds magnified Narrow vision And eyes that can't focus **** I wonder if anyone noticed They're still talking Walking Chilling out smoking It's not that big of a deal There's nothing to fear Just another panic attack gone Un-noticed
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Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC
Anxiety