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Literature Text
i have a buildup
of black holes
suffocating my arteries,
having swallowed down
the bitter taste of too many
girls with galaxies traveling
the length of their spines.
i ate them in mouthfuls,
gaping & sad like a binge
reaching for the skies-
unable to hold them all in.
i don’t think the universe
is as vast
& wondrous
as it used to be,
thriving
between the
intercostal spaces
of my ribs;
i am hungry.
& with a collection
of moon sighs
as a reminder
in my pockets,
i will just have to learn
how to calm this swollen
indigo pulse
while eating.
Literature
Before I Can Become a Writer
Develop insomnia. Develop
problems with substance abuse,
nothing serious, but enough
that I can say “write drunk,
edit sober” and mean it.
Drink tea. Write about drinking
tea. Take up smoking, ignore
the thoughts about it being
a slower suicide. Write about
suicide. Don’t mean it.
Write about sunsets and
ink veins. Mean it.
Fall in love with someone
who will never love me back.
Lament. Write a million
crappy poems and two good
ones. Never show him.
Move on. Write a few more
bad poems. Fall in love with
someone perfect. Screw it up.
Fall in love with someone awful.
Call him perfect. Screw it up.
Cry. Cry for the inevitab
Literature
ellipsis
she goes to sleep
clawing at her chest with pinpoint accuracy
for an emptiness she can’t describe,
but hates all the same. tomorrow
she will write a letter: “dear boy,
i always wanted to be somebody’s
flowery poem, but the verses carved in my arms
are riddled with ugly clichés. & you are why
i don’t sleep through the night. if
we were a language, i was the
subordinating conjunction, you were
the punctuation.
i remember you in staccato
conclusions, solemn absences
of goodbye”
Literature
handle with care
there are 206 bones in the
human body. it only takes one good
squeeze and your neck can snap as
easily as a twig.
once, when i was at the grocery
store, i came across a crate of
peaches. they were on sale because
every single one was bruised and it
made me think, "we're all just pieces of fruit
left to rot. as soon as we've been dropped on the
floor, no one wants to help us back up."
i've forgotten how to think in poetics.
three months ago i would have
compared people to roses. pretty little petals
that can be crushed with just
one little pinch and thorny stems that
whisper "don't touch me."
but now,
i think we're more like
bombshel
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i don't know what to say about this one.
i'm just going to go hide now because i don't like anything i write anymore.
i'm just going to go hide now because i don't like anything i write anymore.
Comments74
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Overall Vision Originality Technique ImpactWOW THAT IS THE MOST PERFECT POEM I'VE EVER READ ON HERE. I have an eating disorder and recantly been suffering more with the binge eating side of the damn thing. I love the imigary you used. I can relate to this poem well.
"thriving
between the
intercostal spaces
of my ribs;"
That really jumped out at me and how you had that one line stanza "i am hungry." That was great!
Seriously this poem is amazing and it is great you approaching such a sensitive issue and being brave enough to post it online!
Keep up the good work!