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Zoe taylor Dec 2024
I opened my mouth to speak, and a throatful of datura glistened on my lips, lavish and ripe,
Thrashing through me, the silken flowers coiled viciously within my windpipe,

My neck was wrung with nightshade, flesh clawed with rashes,
Swollen blotches left my skin blooming and glassy with supple gashes,

Apologies from a verdant jaw trickled out of me like a botanic river,
Yet belladonna still churned in my gut and shrilled within my liver,

Violent coughs racked my body in waves of efflorescence,
And my capillaries burst with burgeoning buds of opalescence,

Ripping my pores apart, petals tore gaping holes in my teeth,
The oral garden of poison flowered like coral fluttering in a fertile reef,
So I looked at myself in the gilded vanity, bruised and young,
Reaching into the reflection, I plucked out my own tongue.
This poem is a metaphor I've made about oversharing. The poisonous nightshade represents words of a rant coming out in full flow, and the rashes and pain are basically supposed to represent regret and internal pain caused by telling others about personal experiences or feelings. This regret finally builds up into the plucking of the tongue, the catalyst representing a voluntary suppression speech. I'd love to hear what you think of it so dont be afraid to leave a comment and give feedback!
Nargis Parveen Jul 2019
Throughout my life I love the blue sky,
There I seek happiness and consolation of sigh.
Then a blue bird was gifted from heaven high.

Was there no any other color?
Why was my heart tinged with blue pallor?
Now I only see blue shadow as sad killer.

I requested for another color to the rainbow,
But it was silent with seven-color show.
And kept all colors occupied in sky hollow.

I want red, I want yellow, everspring,
Not blue, give me red, revolutionary bleeding,
I want to be colorful fairy, horizon with infrared shading.

My fate laughs out with big sound,
I wish to shatter this blue belt around,
But my crush for blue instantly makes me bound.

This human being created from nectar is throatful poisonous,
Society, customs sorrounding whisper in words blue vicious,
The Love bird also contains whistle of blue malicoius.
This is the legacy that lockdown has left
and we have been shot in the dark.

Not a wedding, Barmitzvah,
no bars that can fix ya
that after-work drink,

just think of it and who would have done it,
this web that we're in and the faceless have spun it.

I am hopeful that a throatful of Listerine
can wash out the taste of this bad dream.

can't even go fishin'

— The End —