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"unskinned" poems
you read those books where they build girl angels in laboratories who fall in love with lonely boys. you like hearing your poems read back to you in english accents and you like your accents licking on your poems because, if I recall, you’re heart-broken --no I haven’t forgotten, yes I remember, you were the curvaceous queen of unskinned knees; I was ****** in jeans. you got partway through Swann’s Way, but gave up last November, when I was hitting walls hard. the last words you read were the last on your mind, “Happiness is beneficial for the body--” and you stopped, that was fine enough for a tattoo. (happy needle, breast imbrue) Well grief taught me, grief bought me, and I was hitting walls hard. But straight back for you, to boys kissing boys and you’re too old for toys and you think it’s pathetic how girls go to get it with silicon and plastic oh go on, tell me how you’re a heart-breaker, ha, because you showed them your ******* like an angel. you like to remind me how skinny you are now, and you still love to dance. There is no equivalent factory making boy angels.
0
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 10:47 PM UTC
unrepentive passive-aggressive finds happiness because time is unjust
Her name was this unforgettable charm I was overwhelmed By her sky like beauty Ever widening Into separate heavens, Her voice Will promise you The song of forever She is enigmatic, Pressing into my ribs Like a ghost does When it flies back home, She was firm As two cantaloupes Dripping and dripping I love her; Her core to her sky Once, twice, into eternity There’s a crater That matches her hand Scarred into my heart Maybe and often entangled together She appear as daydreams But she is real, I feel it more Then I care to admit, Like a Plath’s poem She pinches the heart Of her reader, She can lick the truth From your false face O’ her eyes, Can start a drama, As her friend Isabelle says, She reads books Of only dead people, So does she talks to their ghosts, Slowly she moves Like a never fading colour, Filling up your tea cup Maybe with something more than tea, You’ll know her more When her honey dripping voice fills your ears, Nothing is new Nothing is mystery Apparently She is Fragile Fervent She is unskinned And Red
0
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC
Red