socks

shoes too clung to wear

no where outside the house,

high knees and socks

and stockings taking inventory,

locking up my legs,

being pressed

to clad my calves
in anything

that can tap the

scale’s amorphous flow of

love you reign on me,

nestled closer than my clothes

could ever be,

plump purple

and i’m

just

plum peachy.

2 weeks ago 1 note
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•••
nevver:

You’ll know…
1 month ago 5,564 notes Via nevver
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forgive me nots

theres no way a will
could possess me to misjudge
the lie in believe
and look past the a hole making
eyes in teams,
splitting hairs with
rabbits who thought they fooled
us turtles into thinking
we were running
the same race.
forgiven or forgotten,
apologies are like flowers:
shitty, cheap and
dead on arrival.

1 month ago 2 notes
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don’t call me

if i’m driftwood…

you’re erosion,

blasting down

eons-

small sediments,

tears that lap the side

of monuments to

people in love

with important jobs and

people who wouldn’t

hurt a fly

but would kill to go psycho

on the girl in the shower

that got up from their

shared bed.

if i’m black and white…

then that gray area

where hitchcock

made morbids of our grandparents

who pretended to fear

grasped the seat with

nails clawed in

abandon;

at last

some sandblasting

to the rockface of

decency.

if i’m being frank,

then i’ll call you shirley

and you wouldn’t

hurt a fly-

but you would

carve initials in a tree

for me

instead of

wasting precipices

on

other forests…

surely?

1 month ago 2 notes
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coat shopping

i’m sure you say 

my bark’s worse,

but my bites

are long in the tooth

and 

a bit too bright

for being such a 

bad thing. 

my bite is worse than my 

wear, 

that’s for sure.

my wear is sweaters
and scarves

around your neck-

even in winter, a little too

warm, too clung
and makes

skin slick.

my wear is worse than

your bark;

you bark up the wrong trees
and

thinly coat all things, like 

homeless people keeping warm with

drinks hugged inside of 

paper bags.

i stand in all my sweaters,

speaking (sweating) and screaming.

your bark is silent,

cold,

coveted. 

my bark spits fire and 

you melt. 

1 month ago 5 notes
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mathematics

corner me.

sting and sleuth me,

find my factors and

size me up

acutely.

if there’s equations in

odysseys

then we ought

to find cause

in probably’s.

i am victim to

slum slacking,

not traversing

trigonometry.

cool me off in a clubhouse

and

teach me arithmetic

in bubblegum tongued

dirty bedroomed,

beered and

blushing teen

fraternity.

3 months ago 2 notes
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april

ive become expert an at 

sight reading

the back of your

head.

turned away

in bed

to face 

doors more open

than i could ever be,

breezes fogging, 

(and

i’m sure)

caressing

your face in ways

you need.

i see it

when you ask me to

leave

the place i came

to ask you the same.

and i see it 

getting smaller

the more you decide i am a 

martyr

and a murder 

of crows with

molting

motives.

you’ve always hated

deceit

and i see

your head turning 

to check if i’m 

wearing a mask.

april fool,

i’m not. 

4 months ago 1 note
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nineteenp

crisp air swats curls against
my cheeks and im transported
to a quiet moment,
transposed and fully traversing
walking backward on
my hands to see
you once more where the
wind blew in from
the window of our room.

your bed was small
and i thought myself sly
slipping in the back door
right after she had left
to sweep you up
like the line of dust
you can never lift from your
pile.

i realize now
the dynamo and the corrosion
of our bones slamming together
like bricks that fall into the wrong
spot.

we ground each other to grit
for purchase;
we eroded ourselves
for fear of telling the truth,
we blew hot breath
like smoke
and my mind can’t
air the ashes.

4 months ago 1 note
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two tears

am i doomed
to study salinger quotes
and hang onto holden
like he holds truths
my dumb brain
cant keep its
footing in?
i turn to words of
long dead classic lit
to lick my wounds with
poets to pound
into my boiling binary.
when i feel
your grip
on my interest tarry,
i kiss kurt vonnegut
to keep tears in their
bucket.
mother fuck it.

4 months ago 2 notes
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i am the germ that shows its ass
for the tired scientist
behind the magnifying glass,
where slides separate our makeup
but my wiles wiggling
awaken eurekas in his scope
and he pencils me in
somewhere between
deadly and designer,
sells me for shortchange,
and sleeps me off with some
hot tea and
nosebleeds.

5 months ago 0 notes
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