"starves" poems
We were dueling with sparks
Now we’re juggling fire
Flame still starves in the dark
Never beaten or tired
Doesn’t dim with age
It can’t be blown out
Still alive with rage
Feeding on your doubt
It doesn’t think
And it can’t feel
Driven to the brink
Craving its next meal
Anger scorches your soul
Many have learned
If you play with fire,
you’re bound to get burned.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 4:31 PM UTC
A mother whispers into the fire of Night
I hold a match
I hold Yarn
I Am Wool
Shrinking to the formation
The intricate designs of your rib cage
of your brother's belly
of your Grandfather's waist
Am I simply a fool?
And Who
Doth I ask This question too?
A Torn book
A tattered sonnet of Man's sore feet
blistered eyes that are Green
That are Brown
That are Blue
I Lay with myself Tonight
I am Awake
I am Loud
In your Night
I Am the Janitor beneath the hardwood floors
of your Dream
I am the
Poorly Waged Electrician
With Shoes that resemble an old dog
I Light Your Highway
Your Street
Your Morning coffee
your
cigarette
Am I The Child?
I fall in love with women I see on the streets
Their Wavy hair
like a French sea
Her pale complexion
the Brown Glimmer in her eyes
And I paint on her on Tombstones
On Coffee Mugs and on carpets rolled up for the Dumpster
At Nights
I prefer to dream awake
and sit with a BathTub of words
of stories that melt like cheese
that stiffen like Ginsberg ****
that Shriek and Strum like Tom Waits stomach when he starves on backroad streets
And when I cannot
reproduce
I make love to a woman
And a poem is made
and I kiss her
and my lips say 5 am
and I wish her not to go
But the Dog
is waken by Robins
by the Pigeons
by the digestion of night to day
by the Greek Gods and Goddess' Light
That Falls down
like long hair of woman you have so longed for
and you kiss her chest
And there is no Death
There is no Sleep
or ****** addicts or gasoline or paved roads or shaved faces or mothers or Dostoevsky or Beethoven
There is just her
and you run your fingers across her skin
through her hair
She is the bottom of the Ocean
You are a homeless crab
a Shellless Clam
falling down
down
down
to the bed of the great ocean
and there she lays
With a reflection of Youth and Beauty
And her complex simplicity makes me think of
me as a boy
running behind brick collapsed business buildings
Kissing a girl behind church
Buying Icecream with Josh in Winter
That's what a woman does
She erases Death
from the palms of your hands
and your thoughts
and you sink
to the bottom
and you watch the Coral
The other fish
swimming along
and you laugh
Because you do not know Death
And Death does not know you.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
When education was restricted
They ran to religion
When solace was stripped away
They ran to martyrdom
Loved ones fell
Hated ones rose
As hearts sank
To the depths of the maelstrom
Fueled by the unholy trinity
Value, vindication, and violence
Bombs decimate Afghan villages
With the precision
Of a needle hitting a vein
And as casually
As a contractor putting a dollar in his pocket
The rubble of their town
Lost in a mist of dust
The rubble of their minds
Lost in a mist of vengeance
The rabid dog chases the subjugated raccoon
The raccoon discovers a sacred hole and hides in it
The predator attempts to encroach the void
The raccoon quivers in it's sanctuary shelter
Finding relief as the hound becomes stuck
And laughs as the infected beast starves to death
But ecstasy turns to terror
As the raccoon realizes it's only way out of this hole
Is being blocked by the gargantuan corpse
Terror turns to sorrow
As the raccoon starves to death
Alone
In the dark
It's holy land now hell
For once it had protected the raccoon from unbridled rabies
But since the hound's death
It's Cerberus size obstructs all progression
Holes become graves
And prey are left to pray
For someone to drop a bomb and clear a path
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 4:45 AM UTC
It's our little secret.
You'll have to keep it
Feel the pain in your gut
Close your heart and keep it shut.
Let no other person in
And let the punishment begin.
Every wrong thing that you make
Will also be my mistake
I'm beginning to see.
What people think of me,
I swear it's not by choice,
But ana has this voice.
She starves me of my youth,
And that's the only truth.
This hunger grows in me like cancer
I expected her to have the answers
And she did
But she haven't made me fit
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
I'm sad.
And that's okay.
This heaviness in my heart
is not mine alone,
I carry it for my mother
and my father
and his mother
I carry it for her husband
who quickly became
the demon
sleeping in the
shadows
that then became
a
stain
who's faint edges
still linger.
Deep and bruised
like my heart
after that day
confused and
oh, so green
I was already shedding
my innocence,
but you stole
hers
in one moment.
And for this
she
starves
herself
of nourishment
of unadulterated
joy
her body,
something she feels
shame
about
all because you thought
every
body
was yours
to be played
with.
Mar 19, 2021
Mar 19, 2021 at 8:06 PM UTC
A leaf spirals downward,
Over covered heads and uncovered cars,
Children sleeping in grass
Drool dripping from their gums,
A football field seeing practice
Where someone's leg
Was recently snapped in half,
Overflowing sewer grates,
Dilapidated septic tanks,
Wastewater disposal facilities
With a runoff into
A river filled with needles and rocks
And bodies,
And it hits the ground with a silent explosion,
Until the wind sends it off and sets it somewhere out of sight.
Like when a glass bottle
Shatters on a bar top and
Sends shards soaring
Into the eyes
Of onlookers,
Everybody knows what's next.
Did you hear?
Fall is here.
The boy who starves so that he may be warm
And the girl who freezes so she may not starve
Have a chance encounter
And bask in mutual despondency.
They share their warmth,
And they share their food,
And neither has enough of either.
But even at their demise,
The sun still goes up and down
On the horizon,
Painting a scene of ignorance
Or apathy,
And lying.
The heat will dissipate soon,
What with Winter coming,
But it does not matter:
Everything is already frozen.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 6:49 PM UTC
She was walking alone in the rain.
All of life was just so full of pain.
She smiles throughout the day.
No one asks, so there is nothing to say.
That's the funny thing, about walking in the rain..
No one can see the tears falling endlessly down your cheeks, no one can see the pain.
She wakes up and she starves herself, trying to be perfect in someones eyes.
No one notices all the pain, or how often she cries.
Depression overtaking her mind.
All she feels is pain, never love; nothing kind.
There is a secret she buries deep within..
And if anyone knew, they would say suicide is a sin..
She is going to let the smile fall, she is going to succumb to the pain.
Nothing more to say as she walks through the rain.
She walks to the place she will say goodbye..
Somewhere beautiful so no one will cry.
She smiles as the blade slides across her wrist.
Darkness has tainted her soul, demons kissed.
She lays down, looking up at the skies.
The most beautiful thing in her eyes.
She starts to close her eyes, the blood flowing free.
She whispers, im coming home, to fly with the angels, can't you see?
Soon her vision fades to black.
She knows, it's to late no going back..
In the rain, she lay there dying.
Everyone thinking she was happy, never seeing her crying..
She hid it well, but you should have seen.
How could you not hear, the nightmare, it made her scream..
You ignored the signs, they were all clearly there..
So, she knew, no one would care.
She took her life, and you sit and wonder why..?
You have no right, because she was begging you every time she would cry.
You ignored her pain, because you were scared..
You showed her, no one cared..
She was a broken heart in a shattered world, she would spend hours in the rain, crying..
When inside, she was already dying..
Famous last words, Im fine, and out came that smile.
When in reality she was begging, look, please save me, go the extra mile..
But you took her word, and that sealed her fate.
She was living in a dying state..
Her eyes could not lie.
So why did you listen, when the tears were always there, about to cry..
You will never know the reasons why.
So don't torture yourself with the questions, because no matter what she was gonna die..
You could have looked and seen, always going for a walk in the rain.
The only time she could clearly express her pain.
She will live in our hearts, a memory..
But what she needed was you to see...
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
His skin weaved in the golden sand,
Shone under the sun of his motherland.
Hair a tangled meshwork of thread,
Reminiscent of the nets his father spread.
He had no toys but crystals and shells,
that he collected onshore in lonely spells.
His food, the raw salty fish,
Swiftly with skill that he gut and dished.
He goes and lays down in wet sand,
the spirit of which he loves to no end.
He sings to the mermaids and in mud he rolls,
and the sea laughs with him in breaking shoals.
He is made of blood but ocean too,
he knows no music but woosh woosh woosh.
He wishes to marry a girl of the sea,
who'll dwell with him in his fantasy.
He turns his head and closes his ears,
while people run away from the ocean in fear.
Destruction and death loom ahead,
The blue ocean rises violently filling the town with dread.
Like a heavenly curse it fells on the town,
crushes and sweeps like the tragedy bound.
With his holy hand it avenges it's kin,
and his water that was treated as nothing but bin.
It tears every home away from it's root,
just like how the humans did its fish loot.
And squeezes the life out of the fishermen,
that feast on the dead of his homeland.
It starves and suffocates many men,
who made him breathless with oil spills time and again.
Like a storm it rages and plunders.
In minutes, wrecks havoc on the land and rips it asunder.
It gradually descends back to it's nest,
Satisfied with the curse it did impress.
The next day a body lay on the shore.
Like a coffin did it mud wore.
As people looked on it, they could not help but chant;
***The Child of the Ocean lies strangled in its waters,
We feed things love and they destroy us and slaughter.***
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC
Some people have a jungle mentality.
They say if we lived in the jungle
the strong would dominate the weak.
But this isn’t a jungle
it’s so far from the jungle it’s impossible to say
exactly who the strong and the weak are
when there are so many variables
and the society we live in
dictates the skills and attributes we acquire.
Yet some people try to turn society into the jungle
because they think they’d thrive there
but their jungle doesn’t have trees
it has chimpanzees cut off at the knees
nor does it have a sustainable ecosystem
it has concrete walls and steel bars
where they beat the small and leach the large.
The ape beating its chest the hardest
hoards all the bananas
while its shrewdness starves.
The only jungle it resembles is Upton Sinclair’s
but before that jungle can be realized
they have to plant the jungle mentality in our minds.
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 8:55 AM UTC
She battles her demons, day in, day out.
They don’t stay quiet, they scream and shout.
They tell her she’s ugly, they tell her she’s fat.
Her thighs are too big and her stomach’s not flat.
She starves herself but that’s not enough.
This desire to be thin has proven to be tough.
It’s making her miserable, it’s making her sad.
The quicker the weight loss, it won’t be as bad.
But the weight is staying and it won’t disappear.
She’s taking it to the extreme
And she’s making it clear
That she wants to be thin
And thin she will be.
But what you don’t know is that girl is me.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
I
The shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable-shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay:
And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe, that at her ***** clung,
A Mother’s song the Virgin-Mother sung.
II
They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng.
Around them shone, suspending night!
While sweeter than a mother’s song,
Blest Angels heralded the Savior’s birth,
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.
III
She listened to the tale divine,
And closer still the Babe she pressed:
And while she cried, the Babe is mine!
The milk rushed faster to her breast:
Joy rose within her, like a summer’s morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.
IV
Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
Poor, simple, and of low estate!
That strife should vanish, battle cease,
O why should this thy soul elate?
Sweet Music’s loudest note, the Poet’s story,
Didst thou ne’er love to hear of fame and glory?
V
And is not War a youthful king,
A stately Hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
Him Earth’s majestic monarchs hail
Their friends, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden’s love-confessing sigh.
VI
Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state!
I am a woman poor and mean,
And wherefore is my soul elate.
War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled,
That from the aged father’s tears his child!
VII
A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
He kills the sire and starves the son;
The husband kills, and from her board
Steals all his widow’s toil had won;
Plunders God’s world of beauty; rends away
All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.
VIII
Then wisely is my soul elate,
That strife should vanish, battle cease:
I’m poor and of low estate,
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Joy rises in me, like a summer’s morn:
Peace, Peace on Earth! The Prince of Peace is born!
2.7k
All the once upon a time stories that end in happily ever after have the flawless handsome Prince charming who meets the sweetest princess or young maiden who becomes a princess after they marry (typically approximately 12 to 18 hours or so after they meet usually because the sweet young lady was rescued by the Prince because she was singing randomly and dancing around with woodland animals who do her laundry and she fell off of a tower or was attacked by some lady who literally has no job but spends her entire life just being evil for the sake of being evil and yet never starves to death despite the fact that her evil plots never actually allow her to aquire money or food of any sort.)
The girl is always polite
Everyone loves her
She usually has a waistline tinier than a flowerstem
And she sees the good in everyone
She is also gorgeous 100% of the time
Well I am NOT that girl
I can't alwaye be polite and perfect
I can't even be pretty
There are more people that hate me than there are people who can even tolerate me
I'm not the likable easy going type
I don't have a three inch waist (mainly because that is completely insane)
I can't find a way to like every person
I'm the jealous ugly stepsister Anastasia in Cinderella
I'm the wicked witch in the wizard of Oz
I'm the wolf in the three little pigs
I'm the hag in snow white and the seven dwarves
I'm not the princess in the story
But fortunately, I don't need to be because life is not a fairytale
And you don't need to be prince charming
Hell, you don't even need to be anything like the lists I make about what my dream guy should be like
Because really, since when do I know what I actually want?
I certainly am always wrong about what I need
So here's the deal
You love me for me, be loyal, care about me because of my soul first and my looks having nothing to do with it, you give me eternity,
And I promise you the same.
I don't need you to catch me when I fall off a tower
That doesn't really happen much
I need you to catch the little pieces of me when I fall apart because the emotions were all too much
I don't need a happily ever after
And you don't need to be prince charming
Because I am not a princess
Repost if you are not a princess either
Please comment I love to read interpretations of my work and really any other thoughts you may have! :)
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
i will need two good memories
and a bad one
i have a magic disappearing act
a left handed shaman
an ugly critic who sits alone with no electric
i have metaphors for ********
i have lower case egos
and
i don't got time for yours
i have a riot in my mind
a revolution on my fingertips
it exists
in the spaces i quit/like deadbeat dads
leave fingerprints
misplaced and misguided daughters; let's run so fast the stars call us light
speed, like we don't need amphetamines
We have our own disappearing act
starts in the bones
starves you to marrow
The smaller we get the less you react
so we take up too much space, we elbow, we pose, we leave livingrooms and bedrooms and kitchens and killing time jobs, we leave jaws on floor, we leave sand in mouths, we no map, we motherless, we huge, we funeral black, we native land, we penny talk, we memory, we instinct, we stream, we bleed, we walk
don't follow
leave no trail
this is the third act
we need you back for curtain call
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
*Attention
Affection*
These are the things She strives for
Perfection to get attention to gain affection
But what is perfection?
She starves so She can be skinny, even when She's told She has a **** body
She cuts to punish Herself for eating, yet sees Her scars as imperfections
She puts on make up so She can be pretty, even though She is told She is beautiful
She straightens Her hair to look perfect, even though She is told She looks pretty anyway.
When will She be perfect?
She dresses up,
dumbes it down,
changes Herself
but is let down.
When will She be perfect?
She tries to capture the attention of men and and gain their affection,
But shys away from affection, emotion and the human touch.
When will She be perfect?
Maybe She will be perfect when she changes Her definition of 'perfection'
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
Nobody knows the real me,
The girl who starves herself everyday,
The girl who cries herself to sleep,
The girl who thinks she does everything the wrong way.
The girl who thinks she’s ugly,
No matter how many people say she’s not,
The girl who’s always depressed,
And hating non stop.
Nobody knows I’m anorexic,
Nobody knows I’m suicidal,
Everyone looks up to me,
And tells me I’m their idol.
For those of you who think I’m perfect,
You haven't taken the time to get to know the real me,
But I guarantee if you did,
You wouldn’t like what you see.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
A child starves
Thin little arms
And they say
Not my problem.
A black man dies
Fear in his eyes
And they say
Not my problem.
A woman is terrified
To walk down the street at night
And they say
Not
my
problem.
I don’t understand it
How blind can you be?
Even though it’s hidden
It’s still a reality.
We have to educate
Only then can we celebrate
The destruction of hate
and the changing of our fate.
Our world won’t be successful
‘Til all that’s bad is gone
In the meantime, we’re regretful
No one knows what’s going on.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
**Profanity is a ******* Tool.**
Profanity is Subjective.
Profanity doesn't necessarily show intellectual or moral paucity.
Profanity is a form of emphasis; a form of ******* catharsis, an aspect of humour.
******* humour:
A goldmine rooted in Shadow,
excavated by Logic
and which seems,
for the most part,
wasted on the irrefutably
illogical, or at least bi-polar
(if not higher-multi-polar)
masses.
*"Anyone who relies on any one given tool is a fool, as
anyone who denounces a given tool for how it has been used by others is outright stupid."*
A carpenter who can only use a hammer is quite restricted,
A musician who can only play alone is no good in a band,
A poet who only writes can't show the world how it's meant to be read (if at all),
A comedian who only swears has little else to offer,
A person who only speaks but doesn't act on it is a liar.
A carpenter who won't use a hammer is self-sabotaging.
A musician who can only play with others has no personal skill.
A poet who refuses to write starves oneself of potential.
A comedian who won't swear better have a good point.
A person who only acts but reuses to speak had better be a monk or mime!
*(The last two were perhaps failed, even vein attempts at humour..
I shall leave that up to you to decide!)*
Profanity is a Tool:
I believe that no matter the profanity, a message can still be well received
by those who care enough to receive it.
Better still are those who can interpret the profanity
as humourous accentuation, emphasis, catharsis
and not necessarily as overly-abrasive and immature.
That said, some people are just totally ******* immature about it.
If you can't stand the profanity, get the **** off the internet. 4srs.
Better yet, shut yourself away from the world
lest you ever deal with that which you find unsettling.
*So ist das Leben.
Telle est la vie.
Así es la vida.
Such is life.*
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
For my sister who is not biologically my sister.
For my sister who has helped me through so much.
You, the beautiful creature who has time and time again cleaned my blood off the bathroom floor, bandaged my wrists, and stayed up all night to keep me alive.
You, the magnificent woman who gets put down everyday.
For my sister who is not legally my sister.
You, who has been more maternal and has shown me more love than my own mother ever has.
Who has stuck her fingers down my throat and made me wretch up the bottle of pills that I swallowed because I thought they would take me to a place that would make me happy.
You who has loved me more than I love myself.
For my sister who’s favorite type of alcohol is *****
You who drinks it not because you love the taste, but because you drink it for the punishing bitter taste of it.
You who drinks it to forget your father who never really acted like a father.
For my sister who starves herself every day because her mother told her that she would prettier if she was thinner.
You who is the most loving person I know, that does not think she is worthy of love.
You, the most empowering person I know, who cannot empower herself right now.
For my sister who is currently lying in a hospital bed right now because I was not there for her.
You look so thin and fragile among the blankets and IV tubes. If you were conscious right now, you would say that you look like a lesbian in your hospital gown.
For the teenage girl who has seen more of hell than she has heaven, and still manages to be an angel to everyone she meets.
For my sister who is not in any way, shape or form related to me.
You have been more of family to me than I will ever know.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
A gravekeeper by trade
burying the dead to stay alive
with a green thumb and *****
the unused earth oh how it strives!
Fat tubers and roots
green leaves with red veins
small vines sprouting fruits
even a small section for grains
The gravekeeper never goes hungry
his family never starves
he loves living in the country
and his plot of earth that he carves
One day two fresh dead
and a rat, maybe two scampered by
soon a sickness to be widespread
day by day how that multiplied!
More bodies into the earth
how did his garden shrink
he was crying and crying
this gravekeeper didn't know what to think!
Should he be happy for business
should he be sad for the loss
is he crying for his vegetables
or is he crying for the bodies that are tossed
Little by little did the green become stone
his loved ones feast on a diet of worms
now he, a lonely gardener of bones
sits and watches as his world burns
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 8:47 AM UTC
The human appetite
To **** the pain
to not experience any
dis-
comfort
The human appetite
to run a-way
far, away
are
seeds planted from our
footsteps
The more we run
the bigger the
plant
the hungrier
we get
the greater the ruin
in our run
Don't avoid
the burdens of
engaging lost plans,
or others.
Other Wise, the human
starves its self
in a marathon
by sealing off mouths.
Alimentary,
Leaving one, you, her, they,
them, in the
hunger cycle
to feed
then crushed
left void
Elementary words
don't avoid
pain.
It requires a handshake
a' la carte,
Indulge.
remedy is in
the crash diet.
Come home now.
It's time for dinner.
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 10:40 PM UTC
I know an infant
who came into this world
with a smile on her face
on the eleventh hour
of the eleventh day
of the eleventh month
bringing joy and happiness
to a day of sadness
and there were no tears
no screaming or confusion
just silence
and a look of wonder could be seen in her eyes
she was ready to start this wonderful world.
I know a child
who was the class clown
always ready to crack a new joke
or turn someone's frown upside down
she wished her baby fat would soon go away
but shrugged it off
'cause she knew it would some day
tears were only shed over scraped knees
and mom's soothing words
would set her at ease
no insecurities, no worries
she had her whole life ahead of her.
I know a teenager
who was no longer the class clown
but instead a shy girl
with very few friends still hanging around
she thought she was fat
(even though she was at average weight)
and felt different from the others
still laughing, still smiling
and the tears didn't fall
'til she was alone in her bedroom
but she stayed strong through it all
hoping that life would soon be better.
I know a young adult
who sits alone in class
stressed about choosing a career
for a future that she doesn't want to be a part of
she starves because she's fat
(even though she's below average weight)
wearing long sleeved shirts to hide the scars
that trail up and down her arms
friends mistake her fake smiles as happiness
oblivious to the desperation in her laugh
the façade wears off when she gets home
and her broken heart splits in half
while she wishes that her life would end.
But the thing is...
I know that infant
as if she was born yesterday
and I know that child
as if I saw her on the street an hour ago
and I know that teenager
as if I passed her in the halls today
and I know that young adult
as if she is someone I'll meet tomorrow
They are my past
my present
and my future
they are the person I was
the person I am
and the person I will be
*That girl is me and always will be
unless I find the strength to change reality.*
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
Believers vs believers
A sign of judgement day
Spilling the blood of mankind
That is what the Lord forbade
The one being slaughtered
Is clueless as to why
A brother is taking his life
And the murderer also does not know the reason for picking up a knife
The state of mankind
Is beyond ******* up to be repaired
Long gone are the times when strangers cared
Every night is in competition with another to becomes the darkest and wildest
Next of kin worried about inheritance
And spouses taking out life insurance claims
The soul is bruised
But on a shell is placed a band aid
Fine wining and dining
Abundance leftovers in the bin
Whilst the neighbour starves
As people frolic in sin
Slaves giving birth to masters
Power in the hands of wrong
And those buried six foot under
Are suddenly the lucky one's
Knowledge decreasing
And ignorance on the rise
We compete in the construction of the tallest building
And mothers abandon their children
Beauty pageants
And *** selling cars
The ship of the world sinks
In broad daylight
Yet we un-fasten our seatbelts
And live by ride or die
Yolo people
Get an intoxicated high on a traitorous life
A year passes like a month
And a month like a week
Nothing remains but a name
Humans who massacred humanity
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
Im looking in the mirror.
An unknown person stare back at me.
She looks sad.
Nobody says she is pretty.
They all judge, but no one will listen and understand.
She is not good enough.
Not skinny enough, so she starves her self.
Not pretty enough so she drown her face in makeup till her face looks like a mask.
It's not good enough to be herself.
So she looks in the mirror, and see the tears come. But she keeps it on the inside.
Because she has at least to pretend to be happy enough.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
my soul thirsts
for your words un-sung
my heart starves
for your touch un-done
i await . . .
for my words
to dissolve upon your lips
for my hands
to descend upon your hips
i await . . .
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
Footsteps crack the timber spines
as you turn your sacred head
begging lights that cease to glow
to absolve you of the dread
you plead the cosmos for salvation
but it was dealt a feeble hand
don't you know the sun is deaf
when it's dark, when I impend
your skin quivers like December
making waltz your August mane
June eyes moisten as you realize
you're my Christmas, my *******
mind's in flight but legs are nailed
to the dirt that gave me birth
shoulders blend in one anoher
at the sense of my unworth
as the dusk forgets to dawn
I claim my morning in your eve
tonguing omens to your core
'twixt the hills that weightless heave
feelers clad of rotting bone
crease your wrap of liquid stars
midnight tears and we are dropped
down the mouth that ever starves
bend the wings you'll never spring
on the winds that summers blew
you're below, my autumn leaf
I am all that's left of you
hunger breaks my crooked jaw
what was buried comes afloat
as the sea you've always been
calms the fires in my throat
tar will steal your holy veins
you will leave my arms forlorn
that's the price a fiend must pay
on the hunt for unicorns
until then I breathe your lungs
as my pupils pulse with felony
you're the dream I'll never have
my damnation, my Persephone.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 12:22 AM UTC