Poems from B&W and the B&W era
Poetry
I want to write. I want to know what happens next, but that’s not how any of this works. Creation peels itself one onion layer at a time. Leaves fall from olive trees when they’re ready to unwind. So I nurture, I water, I feed, I order, I
Poetry
I think I might need aftercare from cuddles. Every step I’ve taken in this direction has been a struggle. In my mind it’s pretty simple: Pretty girls deserve pretty words pretty things pretty touches pretty rings. But in the light the ache turns inwards. I deserve to hide
Poetry
My eyes are open But I do not want to see I cannot bear the conjuring escape reality What was right in front of me? What kind of monster looked at me? Eyes were hesitant to meet It was the beast I had to greet That night I fought for
Poetry
Fear of what the light doesn’t touch. Why do I find myself in a rush? Look away, focus on the gloom, I need this delay, trade weapons for tools. Intention. An important distinction. One fools fail to mention. Wield colorless tinctures. Open to new customs, I begin to try.
Poetry
My thoughts skewed by past pressures, I am afraid to be seen. Scared you’ll take storge for eros, but that isn’t what I mean, that’s what strangers have seen. So I’ve taken this devotion, This urge to be kind, Keep it secret, Keep it safe, But
Poetry
I want to take away my tenderness Give it back! But I can’t undo the agony of a willing heart attack My muscle aches from every bitty bite you eagerly snatched Bleeding out from forced shapes we willingly mismatched So instead I’ll learn to fail Switch up the
Poetry
Once upon a time there was a brave and gentle knight. Her armor polished to the point it reflected the palest moonlight. She heard tall tales of a princess captured by a terrifying beast. To everyone’s surprise, the dragon was a brilliant shade of pink! She rode across hot
Poetry
I am not an open book anymore. I am available to be opened. Ink spills over countless pages, You’d need a lifetime to turn them. I don’t want to watch you read, sit idly by in clear blue sky, Please let me read your pages well, your shoulder
Poetry
Would you water your plants more often if you could see their pots shedding tears of relief?
Poetry
There’s something in a name. Identity boiled down to it’s essence. The name you chose for me seemed to spill out, Never a question. Certainty, The death of curiosity. There was joy in your voice, Elation at the choice, But when I looked into your eyes, Peeking, painfully
Poetry
What if there’s nothing wrong with being a bit of a bitch? Who demands the wounded to sew up their own stitch? What if the real problem lies not within but without? The failing lies not in feeling, but having none to talk about pain. Bottled up it causes
Poetry
She wears a necklace with a sparkly red heart He chooses a fitting silver knife Both chains made of steel Truth in the spark He stabs his necklace Straight through her art