Poetry

Ayy

A small of a soul A symphony of scrap A scoop of stupid A smattering of syrup A scorch of sunshine A sash of silver A shell of a smile A slash of sadness A shape of a star A star of the sea A stroke of sky A stab of snow A speck of a spot A spike of sentience A sound of silence A Song of Songs A science of seduction A street of sex A slither of a snake A shake of a seed A shingle of a sigh A swarm of skill A surface of spies A summit of semantics A satiation of science A saint of satisfaction A sweetness of sixty A slight of a scout A shed of skin A scuffle of a shot A sight of sorrow A snatch of separation A slip of a spark A scene of strength Assured of solitude.

Toujours en guerre avec moi-même

It’s a constant battle To march to the beat of their drum. I’m fighting a war for the away team Who doesn’t even know I’m there. Things were supposed to get better I was supposed to fall in line And not cry to sleep at night. I tried to play their game. I’m losing. I tried to make this world into my own image. I lost. Take my pound of flesh, I have no fight left. I’ve been playing war games for so long, I’ve forgotten to dream.

First Day of School

Let me break it down for ya: Every time I force myself into a new situation, Feels like the first day of school. I’m the new girl, nobody knows me. Small talk threatens my mental health, And fuck those little shits who can go up to complete strangers and make a new friend. My resting face scares people, and for good reason. Smiling gives you wrinkles. Your sagging, submissive skin shall sprint from your skeleton, Mine will be taut, tight, and trouncing towards Gomorrah. Teacher calls roll. I’m in the back, fading away scribbling my thoughts for the day on the fresh blank page, dreading what I know is next. Jane Doe. Here. John Jones. Here. Goo-lee-un? Jillian with a soft J? Gilligan? That’s can’t be right. I’m going to butcher this name, forgive me! Uh… Pa-cheek-o? My classmates know of me but none come to my aid, offer sympathy.…

Déchirure dans la lumière fantastique

Free Verse Fridays are biweekly poems written on a whim, inspired by my studio audience or whatever’s going on at the moment. Feel free to submit a theme, form, or idea for me in the comments below! Screaming into the wind Silenced by the rush That whips by the open window Intrusive thoughts from the top down Grandparent, parent, child, apo Unable to unfold itself With the snap of gods finger, the air calmed and I was left with the scars on my skin And the blood on the page. With no explanation No response to the questions that rips Into the light fantastic.

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