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Dennis Willis Oct 2018
People passing up
for playfulness

I say

had it

serious you

fearful you

stuck in you


Oh and
Broken ******' hearted u


So if
any of thems

Unpack your funny bone
and slap the universe

in the ***
with it

Nothing changes
Of course

You're laughing


Okay even

tha's way better
an' more tractive

Fun Now

Getting you
to listen

to me
talking to myself

and thinkin'
's 'bout you

's not
Kora Sani Sep 2018
The truth
Can free your soul
Take back all the things
That your memories once stole

Unpack your demons
Let them disperse
Through thin air
Release of the curse

The truth
Can ignite a flame or two
Your worst nightmare
With a spectacular view

Forcing your hands
To carry the heat
Well maybe that's better
Than admitting defeat

Sometimes I lie a little
To make myself feel good
It puts a smile on my face
And that’s more than the truth could
Lawrence Hall Jul 2018
On the Packing of Intersectionality: A Cross-Cultural Study

By M. Poncy Hector-Tworbst, B.A., M.Ed., Ph.D. Candidate

Unpack that intersectionality
And privilege transphile autonomy
Unite the paradigm’s hegemony
In the diaspora of agency

Cross-gender all peripherality
In post-colonial diversity
Dialogue augmented reality
And deconstruct avatar identity

All for the cause of authenticity
(But mostly I’m all about me, me, me)
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Grace Jan 8
I tried to dance with the devil
But they weren't ready for me
The next time around
You are first in line they said
The fast track to the coffin
Or ashes on your mantle
But they weren't finished with me yet

Death was never inviting
Nor was it daunting
Hell had a welcome mat
And home was overflowing with your bones

They always said
"There's more than this"
An aching dull
That you can't quite place
A numbness that rings
Echos between your ribs
A lack of certainty
Or safety
That is bone deep

It took half a decade
To unpack the ideas
You boxed into my head
My voice has shut yours out
Drawn the blinds on the window
And I will never look back
It does get better
BLT May 9
Boy, does she sparkle when hung around someone's
proverbial tree...

The sad thing is that's the only time she feels value.
Shines with metallic brilliance so bright that you
squint, just a bit, whenever looking her way,
like the noon sun on a summer's day.
Glittering but reflecting the disapproval of her peers
for they've seen her like this for years and years.
Months will pass and she'll be discarded,
used up and sent away, barely regarded,
waiting for another to unpack her again,
wearing her like holiday decoration and then
once more, gaudy, showy and bright,
hoping this lasts for one more night.
Tinsel deserves so much, much more
than to end up in shreds on the living room floor,
swept up and sent to the trash heap as waste-
what once was shiny, now disgraced.
She will count the days, there on the shelf
alone in her box- hating herself
for she can't comprehend that she doesn't have to be
with someone else to finally see
that she has worth, lo and behold-
all that glitters is not gold.

effy Jan 1
forty five minutes until midnight
the year will end and with it begin again, another tally at the end of a signed this date document
it is the cusp between death and fool which have always been me and you,
dying out to start again, skirting around the tower to look for the world we want behind it
maybe in the new year you won't have to do for me again what you tried to in the last
but no resolution is going to change our fundmental states of being
magician or not, the year will die
the tides will change
the date will climb higher and higher toward an infinity we won't get to see but pretend to understand
you will still be you
and i will still be me
twenty five minutes is not enough time to unpack all of that
i hope in 2019 he still coughs when he takes the first drag
Kewayne Wadley Oct 2018
Her heart is an apartment.
A building I know well.
Well lit, comfortably nestled in the center of her chest.
Free from rent.
The trouble of pink slips.
Delinquent notices of insecurity.
Broken promises.
Each of our memories kept safe, behind each & every door.
A winding case of stairs.
With us the occupants of every  floor.
Tiny peep holes with welcome mats beneath the door.
It's times like this when I think how big the world really is.
The countless number of steps taken.
Helping each other unpack our bags.
On the outside of each sliding door is a patio.
The stars never seemed so close.
Long uninterrupted stares.
Peering back and forth.
Our belongings all lined up.
A dresser that holds every piece of clothing.
My arms, legs.
All slid into the thought of you.
Her heart is a apartment.
A building I know well.
She loved old things.
Her heart sterdy, each piece of mail addressed with a kiss.
The only knock heard, goes without embarrassment.
The tenants.
spend most of our time visiting ourselves.
Running up and down the stairs.
Moving in was the best decision I ever made
Azaria Jun 9
yellow potential
******* you like
summer heat
i love where we are
right now
time zones and vibes
compatible like growing
together and not apart
my tongue on the surface
of you
pink and in full bloom
you decorate the air
with your subtle changes
perfume and pollen
your influence the dichotomy
of first love and growth


all this time
but no resolution
all this space to unpack
but the words are
so cumbersome
tommy, i can’t believe you died
on a road all alone when you
spent your life surrounded by
the same people
mikayla, i’m sorry about the
way time (or i) worked against us
i know you’re listening to tyler’s
new album and it’s great, isn’t it?
uncle tyger, you used to be the epitome of
my childhood and now as an adult
i can’t recognize you
unresolved pimples
nothing coming to a head
i want certainty
and all this time back
Patrick Long Aug 2018
For months she'd grown colder, she'd stiffened like a board
No longer warm and tender nor the girl that I adored
It wasn't like it faded out but like she threw a switch
Arrested in a sudden jolt, like falling in a ditch

Though softly I would ask her, she couldn't tell me what
Something that I said or did or trauma long forgot
And though the words would choke me, I brought it to a head
I'm worth more than the second best she gave now love was dead

There were no words of anger, no recriminating jeers
But mostly she just seemed relieved while I welled up with tears
With nothing left to salvage I quickly left with grace
and went where I could be alone to give myself some space

So there I sat a day or two, and hoping she might call
I sat there playing solitaire and staring at the wall
Finally then I shook myself and rallied from this pause
and started to unpack my things, just to give myself a cause

But when I reached into this box the memories flooded in
Though like a dagger to the heart, yet still begot a grin
A bygone time she showered love, or so at least it seems
with funny little novel gifts, for the one man of her dreams.

There was a set of dog tags where she inscribed my name
and a plaque proclaiming all my feats in country music fame
I reached again into the box and found a heating pack
A thoughtful gift she'd bought for me to ease my aching back

I remembered then grand final day, as I reached into the box,
and drew out this blue bow tie with matching Cowboy's socks
Then finally just one more gift I added to the stack
With a slogan that she wrote herself, was a running medal rack

And part of me just reminisced and part of me asked why
the love that brought me all these gifts would mysteriously die
And I could rage in anger and curse the God above
or I could I just be grateful for, gifts given with such love

The page is turning over now, this chapter to its close
And where my journey leads me now, nobody really knows
If I should venture not again to love with all its rifts
At least I have this moment now this box of treasured gifts.
steel tulips Nov 2018
Love drifts
like a stream of water it can gradually and quietly ware out a new path off course if you don't pay attention to it
small adjustments over time accomulate
small stones  around my heart  
that took up space you left
grew into piles and then pyramids
in that space he also slipped in,
or the idea of him
the idea of being loved the way i needed
the way i needed brought me down a stream i didnt except and i made a mistake,
i left too much space between the stones
But as always you have the patience and strength of those tall pines we saw in Washington
and your loving hands warm the stones around my heart and slowly unpack the pyramids into piles, and the piles into just a handful where the idea of him has slipped away
as you take back the space you had left
and love streams make their way back to you
sarah ann May 30
i'm overwhelmed. everyone here is so well dressed & put together & i feel so out of place. i miss the woods, i miss not having to speak for days at a time & being away from this anxiety. i really wish i could hear your voice see your face, wish you could be here with me.
wherever you are i feel at home. i loved visiting you in Greensboro, having a place to ourselves somewhere i could feed you vegetables & walk luna would make me so happy. i did not really think france through, i'm in a city, nowhere near forests or mountains & surrounded by people that dont share the same values as me. i feel like i have to change my appearance & my personality to feel comfortable. i dont want to exist in this kind of society. & theres no doggy here. i feel very uprooted. i'm picturing my mom doing this & how beautiful & strong she is.
need to
7h30 dinner
mail postcards
Sidney Chelle Nov 2018
the first time a girl put her hand up my shirt,
i discovered i have a, uh,
a, uh,
a, uh...
duh-uh-o, do you know the feeling when you're on the precipice of something and you're this close?
i was this close, and she asks me, "is this okay?" and i say,
f-f-f-fu-uck it f-feels guh-guh-guh-guh-uh-
GOD this feels bad, what i'm guh-getting at is i have a m-******* stutter!
yeah, maybe you won't hear it when we talk about class or work or that ******* **** that we met yesterday, but press those lips to my neck and chuh-chuh-check it out y'all!
my verbal clutter is my diaphragm's way of bouncing out ***** talk, chalk it up to muscles aflutter or some mental shudder when it comes to confronting my fee-ee-eelings, but eh-eh-every time she fu-ucking touches me my brain runs off squealing!
she turns to me, she says, “what's going on?” i say, oh buh-uh-uh-baby, i'm way too far gone.
y-your h-hands are bur-urning me up, i thi-ink i might ruh-uh-upture something if you g-get too close.
you know i want you the muh-uh-ost but guh-god my ******* tuh-uh-ongue isn't wuh-working, can i buh-orrow yours?
i took speech classes. i know how to enunciate, pontificate, exonerate, and yet never in ******* debate did i learn what to do when your anxiety won't abate.
i know this is a spate of splutter, i'm trying my best to utter what's going on in my mind, gorgeous, but my larynx is moving like a tortoise on crack, my mutter is trying to thwart us and i just can't fight back!
she says “take a deep breath,” i say g-god, give me death (and a ******* thesaurus).
let me delineate this a little more. sure, my attitude acts slack but what's wack is i asphyxiate when i step out of my comfort zone like i just stepped into outer space.
you might associate me talking like a chuh-chuh-chuh-cheap drum track with h-humiliating ****** encounters, but let me beg to differ.
i'm a p-pro at initiating, i give her wh-what she wants even if i do have a lot to uh-unpack. what can i s-say? i deliver.
so here's my th-ee-esis, ladies.
if a girl says what that mouth do, i ask her, buh-baby, what're y-you in the m-mood f-for?
i'm a g-giver, this juh-aw cl-cl-learly moves quih-icker than hu-uman brains are suh-uh-pposed to be thinking, so how about we buh-board this oh-oh-oral migr-gr-graine and ta-ake a o-one-way tra-a-ain to an ear-earthquake-sized shiver?
my t-tongue may be t-******* in knots, but i have lots of other ways to communicate how i appreciate the way you look right now. i can elucidate any spots of confusion for a beautiful being as venusian as you, because boo, in seclusion, there’s no disillusion that these college cots simply can’t bear the fusion of something as incredible as us.
but what i don't want is for you to pretend like it's ****. to s-eh-ex me can be hard; we're gonna need some hand signals, some honest discussion, definitely some patience with every kiss.
but let me ask you this:
would you prefer silence?
this is way better when it's performed but i tried to transcribe it to writing as best as i could. i hope y'all like it!
Once there was a lost and lonely caterpillar
Searching for her glitter
But then She found you
Who helped her break through
Allowing time
To help her climb
You sheltered her, helped her transform
Which gave her the power to get through the storm
Letting her bloom
Away from the fumes
Now she has wings
It’s time to cut strings
No looking back
It’s time to unpack
She’s finally found her way
No more sky’s full of grey
No longer scared of the moon
This butterfly no longer needs her cocoon

Co written by
Lucy Burdon and Coco 07
We all go throw our own metamorphosis
No where to go
                                 but his spirit's free
                                   Trying to escape
                        from a world that left him lonely

                   With thoughts  of what he  left behind
                             or what may lay in store
                            He drifts from town to town
                             and floats along the shore

                            Serenity, a place he seeks
                              from life, he cannot hide
                           Forever,  he'll chase the wind
                         and forever, he'll follow the tide
                            A friend,  he'll be for a while
                                    A lover, for a night
                             With one blink he'll be gone
                                before the morning light
                      ­       He may leave a trail of tears
                          But he knows he can't look back
                            He may rest from time to time
                             But his bag he won't unpack

                            His shadow is his only friend
                                    a man on the run
                        Some may say they knew him well
                         but his number will always be one

The Lost Poet
Third Eye Candy Jul 2018
This Love Song seemed like a safe place to unpack my ****.
But a safe place is where Lyrics go to die.
And this is Not a Song.

and it starts like this. all the time.


i fella sleep in a widdle boat and told a seagull that i was having a dream
about talking to seagulls and he was astonished to have the pleasure of meeting a boat
that had the good sense to plug the hole with a poet…. because they never wake up
and they do so with extreme prejudice. that simply screams Resident.
In Fact!

He’d never even seen a boat. So there’s THAT. I offered Seagull “ The Cool -Side of The Pillow. “
So I could sit upright for a moment and jot this down. He was like “ What’s a pillow? “
And I had no idea what it was that brushed against my legs
but It was There. then It was Gone. when i stopped using the metaphor.

I was treading a fathom
of pixie dust and transgender proto-gods, all cuddling in a huddle of metaphysics
as adorable as a radioactive abrupt



Ah yes… someone was cooking bacon… and bacon is sleep’s kryptonite. so the dream was a wrap.
and i had a bird’s nest woven from the silk of my discarded cocoon. codename: Chrysalis.
and my mouth was dry. a stubborn dry that follows a deluge of phantasmagoria  
on a Futon that is a God to cat hair. My Futon is Oblique and Omnipotent.

Uber Mecca for Cat Hair. I fell asleep on that.
LP S Apr 5
I cleansed myself of everything that was left of you.
So in turn,
I disappeared too.
For so much of me,
had been you, for so long,
I wasn’t sure there would be anything else.
You had crawled under my skin,
made your home in my headspace,
and you just... lived there.
Unkempt and untamed.
Wreaking havoc.
Weaving your smirk through the darkest corners
like the cobwebs that never seem to have a keeper.
Appearing in dark corners with no other evidence of the architect.
You were the spider,
that left your masterpieces for me to stumble upon
before retreating underneath the memories you thought I’d never unpack.
The pile of film reels,
Our first kiss,
the last kiss..
Everything in-between.
There, you hid waiting,
for my guard to come down,
Something, anything, to remind me of you
giving you time to weave your last words to me
in your silken strands
So that when I returned from nostalgia,
there they were.
You needed time.
You needed space.
You were sorry,
because I really was great
But it wasn’t the right time...
All the *******.
All the lies.
Enough now.
So I went into every corner,
cleaned out every crevice,
scrubbed down every wall with bleach,
until all the remained of you,
and therefore all that remained of me,
was that empty room,
and a hollowed chest.
And when I finally found you,
cowering underneath the last cardboard box,
the one with the last of the memories
of how you used to look at me,
I killed you with my shoe,
walked out of that room,
and slammed the ******* door behind me.
ian Jan 29
dear **,

what are they doing to you?

i would love to say it gets better but

my memory is too spotty to remember

and i’m not really an expert on this sort of thing.

hard to tell you it gets better

when everything’s gonna get so much worse first

when the water’s at your knees but soon it’ll be closing over your head

but the tide will wash away,

i promise.

we are the world’s trickiest

combination lock and

i’m still struggling to figure out the code.

lord knows you have no idea how to unpack yourself now

but you’re pulling and pulling –

please just know:

it’s okay to leave it be.

i know your life moves like a bullet train

but it’s okay to figure yourself out slow.

so please

just enjoy yourself.

love the idea of your first girlfriend even though you don’t love the girl herself,

remember your first kiss, because lord knows I’ve forgotten near all of it

take your time, babe.

one day these scattered pieces will click together and

relief will pour over you like your 2014 ice bucket challenge

but for know,

be yourself

even if you’re not sure how that is yet.

be raw and unfiltered and

like girls or boys or everyone or no one or

stand up to your friends and tell them that for god’s sake you don’t know,

cut your hair and wear uniform pants and

when your classmates laugh at you for looking boyish

laugh back.


if you do nothing else

savor the freedom of knowing nothing of who you are

because knowledge comes with expectations

and you will never be freer than you are now.

my little boy?

with your name that doesn’t fit quite right and

body that’s never matched up,

right now you

are the king of the social studies club

wear that crown with honor.


Derrick Jones Aug 2018
If values come from facts
That will axe a hefty tax
Relax a heavy burden on our backs
Unpack the despair of uncertainty
Track repair by rationality
With slack we can finally see
The factual reality
And actually move humanity
Past our shallow vanity
And into an eternity
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at
Thanks for reading!

— The End —