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mari Oct 2018
hunger did nothing for me.
it gave me no new growth,
it did not give me strength
for my bones, it did not fill
me with wonder and longing.

hunger could not stay with me.
it romances with tiny spaces
and the idea of belonging,
but my stomach growls louder
than the wolves outside my bed.

i stretch, i shrink, i swallow;
hunger could not fill me up,
hunger cannot take up space,
hunger cannot hold my body
in my bed at night and tell me

it’s all going to be okay.
i swallow you, hunger,
i cast you out,
hunger gave me nothing
and i loved her as nothing, too.
Jo King Mar 2018
I have stomach aches
Caused from the hole deep within me
Where the butterflies ate away at the flesh that I was
You see butterflies are nasty little things
They like to come when you want…to come.
For that special someone
But I have butterflies for people that don’t know I do.
So I tried to fill the hole with honey
With vanilla
With anything that I could get my sticky fingers on.
The only thing my fingers got on was me
And then they got me off
Because I have this hole
This deep burning hole that gives me stomach aches
That I want to fill with peaches
With kiwi
With pomegranates
Sometimes the stomach aches come in the night
When I lay there in my peach colored sheets
Pulling at an old band tee shirt until it comes off
And I become a writhing mess in the witching hours
But sometimes my stomach aches for the boy that wears sweaters
It twist and turn and the hole will scream from my abdomen
“Give me”
I want to kiss his lips
I want to stain his sheets with my ***
But then the ache goes away
I’ll get an ache for the arrogant and snarky boy
When he sits there with long, admirable fingers
I want him to dig them into me
And sometimes my stomach aches for me
It aches for the day that I can completely satisfy myself
In every aspect a human ever could
Written on February 27, 2018
B L Jul 2018
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach . . .
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.

You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
                                                  You would burn it all.

To do a dance,
To wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
                                                  To look in a mirror . . .
             To tell an image, that it’s anything but you.

And it is in that moment, that you'll find
                                you tell the unfamiliar truth
As you bleed and feed your own obliterated youth . . .

To feel, and then
                          to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew

                          You would find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
                          of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
                          Back to you.


To betray, and to amuse
                                                          A­lone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
               For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.
                 Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.

And maybe, one day, one will choose
           the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
            Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
            until they find there’s nothing left.

To feel the flame within its breath consumed.

Wearing a mask,
To live a lie,
                And die a death,
                Whose dance you six-times misstep


                              And on the seventh, betrays you.

Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction :

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Débijonne Aug 2018
Almost asleep when my phone ticked;
'A notification,' it says.
Your name was there, you liked my photo.
And my stomach drowned in butterflies—
Scratch that—moths, surely they're moths.
Stronger, buzzier, like your power
To occupy and stay in my brain
With that single heart emoji beside your name.
Thinking that the double tap
Is as if you love me just the same.
Shoutout to those whose crushes follow them on instagram. Mine doesn't. :( HAHAHA
Part of healing
Is letting go
And I should forget
The way you looked
At me
But you're my
Own private hell
Burned into my mind
By our eyes
As much as it hurts
I wouldn't stop
If I could
You're the furthest
From breaking
I've ever come
It's been five months. Call me. (556666)
Pyrrha Jul 2018
I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky. The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you. I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination. So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe?

Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off. People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling. It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right. How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should?

I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds. I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper. When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection. Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is?

I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies. Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor. Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction.

Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same regardless of what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry. I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself  what it means to love you wholly, even if I have to find out from loving at a distance.
I don't understand why I write so many poems about love when I am not even in love. It is so frustrating to have words without a muse and a muse without words.
Srijani Sarkar Jul 2018
I am having writer's block
and experiencing all this anger
and hunger and love and regret,
I feel like I just don't have a bowl
for all these incredible feelings.
I just don't have enough respect for words anymore.
I want to make a cake out of this psychedelia
and I don't even have a sweet tooth.
Where do I put all of it?
Not how.... where?
I feel like drinking water without pills is vain.
Air left in my stomach
makes my mind a ****** stalker
who'll chase you down the road
suddenly have concussions and die in front of you
and make you call the police for a whole new different reason.
Writer's block is ghost town
and I am still human without a soul.
How to die beautifully?
Perhaps when the sun shines the brightest in the dusk
burning everyone more than ever.
gleck Mar 2016
Dehydrated skin, like leather
You being here doesn't make it better

Forehead against forehead
I feel my temperature rise

You make me sick to my stomach
Dear -
Darling -
My little stomach bug
chlorine Aug 2018
You are hell-bent,
nostalgic of the stitch in my stomach
and the simple repetition of my words.
A different season,
the same fears,
unknown intentions.
A lovers kiss feels like your drunken mistakes.
Fight-or-flight
perfectly masked underneath sarcasm and closed eyes.
Azurel Jul 2018
You call me
She, Her, Daughter, Girl
Shhhhh...
You speak with a blind mouth,
Look at me, see me
She isn't me,
Only a fantasy that you clutch till your knuckles grow pale.
I am not broken, I am free
But you hide behind a veil
Afraid to finally let go of...

Long hair, Lipstick, Lace dress
You question each time I show you my truth,
"Are you trying to hide your femininity?"
No, my femininity is simply not my definition.
Spend a day in my skin, in my cage,
And don't cry when the words start to pierce you like daggers,
Shhhh... Stay silent, don't worry, it's just a phase.
Now do you see that "She" just doesn't make sense?
You speak to me but your voice seems distant,
Bouncing off of me and echoing
Like I am the hollow statue of the girl you used to see.
"I am right in front of you, you know"
But my words are only heard when they come from her lips.
Do you see me now?

Mother, Children, Wife, Woman
A silent prayer each night for all the things I am not,
Stomach swollen, hair to my waist
The glow of an expecting mother on my face.
Curves, not edges,
Pink, not blue.
Delicate hands grasping the man who stands in my place.
Do you see me now?


Pants swollen, hair to my brow,
Along my jaw,
Down my legs,
Sprouting from my toes.
Do you see me now?
Bulged, Buzzed, Boy
Blood on my sheets, not between my legs
Stained by the girl who lies in her place
Fresh coat of gel and cologne,
Swirls of shaving cream.
Bare chest, Burning skin
Twitch of an Adam's apple when breath comes short,
Nervous fidgets with a tie,
tick tock,
"Pick me up at eight"
"Treat her right" "I will sir"
"Will you be my..."
"You're going to be a father!"
"You are the best daughter we could have asked for"
...."Son" I whispered.
But you didn't hear,
Please tell me
Do you see me now?
Any one who can relate to this but can’t say it, I hope I can be your voice.
Arianna G Apr 2014
I can feel them on my skin.
I feel their electricity, so powerfully pleasing, pulling me in.
Every glance, makes my stomach dance.
The longer it lingers, I ache for her fingers laced between mine.
Because,
it's only in those moments
that things seem fine.
bekka walker Apr 2014
Theres a pit in my stomach.
That must make me a peach.
My skin is so soft.
That must make me a peach.
I bruise.
That must make me a peach.
Sometimes I'm hard and bitter.
When you wait to see, I'm as sweet as can be.
That must make me a peach.
I must be a peach.
Mak Jul 2014
cameras flash
                                                           ­                                       lights blare
mother smiles
heart aches
                            stomach rumbles
                                                         ­   agent is pleased
skinny skinny skinny
                                                          ­                                          must be skinny
                                                         must be pretty
                                                          ­                                      must be perfect
must be good enough
                                                       not enough
                                                      neve­r enough
                                                     **** **** ****
why do people
                                                          ­                                           even like me
                                                     **** model
                                                     **** girl
                                                        hate­ me
        cutting carving creating
                                                        ­                                              scars
             ­                                            drink drank drunk
drip drip
                                                       hoping I'll
                                                            ­                                              just
bleed
        ­                      out.
Bella Jul 2018
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness
where my eyes can see
but it's like my head is just pitch black
and I almost wish I couldn't see anything,
like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while

sometimes I get stuck in this space
and I feel like my tears and my thoughts
are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat
blocking my airway
suffocating me from the inside

maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment
that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat

maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings
that don't take over my mind
crawl through my head like little worms
eating away at my brain
my thoughts
my skin

have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again
felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind
Shiver through your body
like it was a demon you let in through a memory-
through a word

maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed
because I wasn't strong enough
my depression fills me to the brim
fills my head and my chest
my arms and my fingers
I can feel it moving through my body
I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me
every last vein, nerve, *****, and tissue
how can you expect me to have the energy to fight
how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone
to open my mouth
how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel
I feel so worthless
in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything
it's taking everything but my skin
and it disgusts me

can you imagine the feeling,
having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately
It felt like you needed to be cleansed
like you needed a shower
take that feeling
now imagine it being under your skin
imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you
imagine all you wanted to do was to
GET
IT
OFF
and you can't
no matter how hard you try
you can't scrape it off
you can't claw It off

imagine you're scared of spiders
now imagine you're covered in spiders
and someone's holding down your arms
so you can't get them off
imagine them walking on your skin
in your mouth
crawling on your open eyes
in your ears
you're cringing at your own skin
You can feel them going down your throat
Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach
in every crevice of your body
their tunneling under your skin
and you can't get them off
what are you supposed to do
but cry
My best friend's mom who doesn't believe in depression asked why I never told her I was depressed...
Butterflies turn to moths in the drapery of your stomach.
They spread,
And the feast begins on the fabric lining the masonry of your summit.

Your satin sheets,
The place you come to cradle dreams.
Who knew,
Were vulnerable to these wing'd beasts.
Missing an ending tbh.
Skaidrum Jun 2015
•□•  Can't shake this mist  •□•
Draggin' paged swords down my stomach,
Split my opal skin
wide open
ccrack
find a sunset gushing out
¤twist¤
can't swap the dead sea
and the larkstone coffin
in my cherry-blossom throat
°scatter°
All these razor droplets
'◇quiver,◇'
bronze scraping at my jawline
/|*groan/|\
And look yonder---
a lonely crow
whispered louder than thunder
'''
scratch'''
•□•  Can't shake this mist  •□•
....
Come back to haunt me,
but my poetry already has me
six feet under.
¥ Demons ¥
€ squirm €
in
the
₩ Soil. ₩
"We aren't any different now, are we?"

.
I'm done fighting.
This might be goodbye.
Dear Dragon and Wolf

© Copywrite
Corvus Mar 2018
Some things don't end smoothly.
It's not the slow braking of a car,
A seamless transition from driving to a standstill.
Sometimes you need to slam on.
And it never happens silently,
There's always a screech or a thud or a gasp,
It takes you by surprise and it lurches you forward.
You have to hold on for dear life.
The unexpected nature of it wreaks havoc on your insides;
Butterflies are woken up from your stomach and become nausea.
You check to see if all your limbs are intact, or in fragments.
Then you do the same for your heart,
Searching to see if it went through the windshield
Or if it managed to stay held inside by your unyielding ribs,
Only ever collapsing under the strain of breaths,
Hyperventilating into an airbag.
Some things don't end smoothly.
It's not the steady sigh of relief,
It's the jagged, shaky breaths that never fully extend
In or out, and there's no calming halt afterwards,
Just a process of continuously hitting the brakes.
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