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Literature Text
My therapist owns more of
my words than I do—
called into the court of biased
opinion, I’m sued for the
cost of my psychological napalm
spreading its fingers between
the ribs of this anorexic city.
It started with combat boots
of youth—
spreading the hole in the soul,
scattering secrets inside the sixth
dimension floating iridescent
between where I thought in the closet
with a machete head & the work that
actualized from my termite-
bitten shoulders.
Each year I lay a place marker, a duck,
where the sealed record of thought
& the seeping elitist self-esteem
are buried under manuscripts—
the auto-systematic behavior
traits & medication maze sitting heavy
& bulbous on the horizon line.
The boxcar romantic of poetry rolls
its wheels against my grain—
with tree-ringed skin & the
name of hate carved into
my barking I cannot escape
the circumstances of its
siren song.
my words than I do—
called into the court of biased
opinion, I’m sued for the
cost of my psychological napalm
spreading its fingers between
the ribs of this anorexic city.
It started with combat boots
of youth—
spreading the hole in the soul,
scattering secrets inside the sixth
dimension floating iridescent
between where I thought in the closet
with a machete head & the work that
actualized from my termite-
bitten shoulders.
Each year I lay a place marker, a duck,
where the sealed record of thought
& the seeping elitist self-esteem
are buried under manuscripts—
the auto-systematic behavior
traits & medication maze sitting heavy
& bulbous on the horizon line.
The boxcar romantic of poetry rolls
its wheels against my grain—
with tree-ringed skin & the
name of hate carved into
my barking I cannot escape
the circumstances of its
siren song.
Literature
The First Heat of Summer
Atoms stroke each other in the epidermis
Vitamin D on Golden rays
Salt and nectar winds
Thrown off the sullen blankets of winter
Plastic rubbing between your toes
Coarse sand and pink sunsets
The breath taken out of your lungs by the icy water
Atoms stroke each other in the epidermis
You learn to love yourself again
Literature
love your mistakes
I've fumbled around with hearts before,
and let them fall. Cracked fingernails, walked into
doorframes, bumped into people and hesitated too long
to open my mouth. Moments passed me by, often.
Occasionally, I was brave, and fell hard on my nose.
Was bleeding and embarrassed for the pain;
and the proof of it, the blood.
Said "sorry, but," or didn't say sorry at all, ate my feelings
or starved myself for them, carried my guilt around with me
until it made me sick and lose my appetite,
drowned my hand soap in the toilet,
didn't stretch after exercise and was sore for days,
kept my distance to those reaching out to me.
Pushed my pain asid
Literature
Love?
I cannot imagine why Love,
my love,
my anger,
my guilt
at this moment,
consumes the remainder
of my pleasure.
It seems that
despite the silence,
my wounds
are not healing.
It doesn’t matter…
I weep in agony
and my heart
is nothing but a shackle
to bind my pulse;
my existence in this…
comfortable destruction.
Emotional walls do talk;
much like a silent smile
can break across a face,
and tears can betray.
Perfectly good emotions
fester in the soul,
and what were once traces
of complete and tender
caresses of passion while
resting in comforting arms…
are now scars;
numb,
deep,
and cold
Suggested Collections
good, bad, maybe sad?
(if you ask real nice
i'll tell you what this is about
((i can't decide if it's clear)))
(if you ask real nice
i'll tell you what this is about
((i can't decide if it's clear)))
© 2013 - 2024 schriftsteller
Comments3
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I wanted those combat boots so badly <.<>.>
I'm pretty sure I know what it's about, but that could just be because I'm me and you're you and we know these things
Also, I'm very proud of you for posting this one.
I'm pretty sure I know what it's about, but that could just be because I'm me and you're you and we know these things
Also, I'm very proud of you for posting this one.