Unserious poetry by an unhinged poet
Poetry
Black and white pictures hang on the walls Curdling talent Secrets unsung Knuckle stains from her brawl The blood in her mind covers scribbles in oil Rip out my whimsy Poison my lungs Remains willingly toil A gift from the ocean Colorful silks Mechanical oil Magic grows sick Package me
Poetry
It's never too late Your hair may be turning gray The moon shines brighter through the beauty of your age Will we really be estranged? Your love saved my life Am I not allowed to repay? I will cherish my wife Don't make me run away
Poetry
You were supposed to teach me how to swim Instead you held my head underwater Salt clogged up my lungs Slowed my circulation Hands stay cold Devoid Whirlpools in my chest suck the life out of everything But my heart still fell in love Ripped from the sun Through crashing
Poetry
Would you hold my hand when I tell you this? I love you. These words are insufficient. I desire you. I want you. I fixate on every detail. You are the most special of my interests. I'm cooking in the pressure of these urges, an endless tide eroding
Poetry
Shoutout Uzi for the collab his key Mother serves me up on a silver platter My dad wants my reality to shatter Invisible wire tightens around freshly grown wings It frightens me yet I prevail even when it stings Parroting back sharp words of the monster with which she lays
Poetry
I wake from slumber Logic sleeps don't have your number There's one connection I'd like to keep do you really notice me? I cannot share this delicate ache this feels like a mistake I'd make You've little monsters to escape
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
Writing
Icicles cling, but they don't often stab. They hold on tight to tilted roofs and drip-drop their way to the ground. One drop at a time. Taking their time. What's the rush when the sun doesn't shine? I want to be an icicle. Maybe
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