Tag: angry poetry

Poem: Surface tension (poolside dreams)

distantcaveLeave a comment

I saw the skinniest girls at the pool today
They were all bone, with graceful flat stomachs
I started to hate myself again
And I considered if
Maybe I was going too far
Maybe they have scars to hide too
But I traced their gentle bodies with my disturbing eyes
And I couldn’t find a somber disguise
Or any evidence that they hate themselves too

Maybe I didn’t look deep enough
What’s on the surface conceals what’s underneath

I toss and turn wildly in my bedsheets
And maybe the spaces of my ribs and the lights in-between
No longer shine, no longer gleam
I look dirty even when I’m entirely clean
I try to smile, but I can’t hold back that I’m so, so mean

They splashed each other while in the water
I knew if I smiled I’d only bother
But maybe they were growing sick of each other
At that point, I’d be a newfound lover
But when it rains it decays what’s left of me
I only feel blissful when I’m swimming in the sea (I feel like it’s a part of me)
I am opalescent in matters of blue
Your favourite shades of Hunter green
Writing poetry with a ruptured spleen
I miss being a fragile and innocent young teen
Didn’t stop you from touching me

Didn’t stop you from touching me
You claimed that you were teaching me
But my skin turned dark like you were leaching me
I’d have the strongest, most bizarre of nightmares
Wake up sweating, alone, and scared
A modest, timid girl
Too small to be bared
You dragged my body up the crystallized stairs

What’s on the surface conceals what’s underneath
When the gun started firing, the bed I hid beneath
Is it always as rosy as the daydream makes it seem?
My God, being dead sounds so fucking serene

My God, being dead sounds so fucking serene

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Poem: Fading, gracefully

distantcaveLeave a comment

Poem: Fading, gracefully

My passion is in my work but sometimes it fades
I dress up, I’m ready, to have the most perfect of days
Something charcoal and black gets in my way

A peaceful slumber, I’ve rested
Breakfast is toast
Licking jam off my fingers
The scent of your cologne
I have nothing to do today but write, write, write

Born an academic
I found my love on the field
Pointing straight at my target– focus and press
Down on the trigger, life’s a sweet mess
Baby, we eventually do our best

He said my name sounds expensive

He said my name sounds expensive
Like a luxurious bath
Candles and Ella Fitzgerald in the back
I’m curious about my own tastes
I’m establishing a new state of rebuilding an identity that I lost when we broke off the engagement
Led to a crisp stalemate
And what it necessitates
Is a return to sensuality and glamour
Floral dresses because flowers are part of my soul even though I don’t believe in humanistic psychology
However,
I do like what the existentialists posed
I’m no longer scared to see of what dust I am composed
I stay asleep on such a heavy dose

The rain falls like sugar into a small child’s fragile hands

You shouldn’t be scared of me either
When it rains I’m like in the garden of Eden
You and me, we’re on the same page, something is even
But when I’m alone
I rip out the pages, shivering down to my bones
I let the call ring then hang up the telephone
No service in my castle, but I’m in my zone
Wait for the beat to drop
Babe you’re acting so nonchalant
It’s okay, it’s enough, it’s time to stop
The beautiful rainfall begins to drop
It shimmers
Across my spine

Stick out my tongue because rain tastes heavy
Move my arms up like I’m soaking already
Stick out my tongue because rain tastes heavy
Move my arms down like I’m dead already

Move my arms down like I’m dead already

Nothing like Chicago rainfall


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