[lifeinpoetry]

Dear Crazy

I vacillate between feeling everything and nothing at all. If I told you that you’ve won would you leave me alone?

— Diamond Sharp, from Super Sad Black Girl

[lifeinpoetry]

I tell you, I need space, but boundaries are hard to press down onto, put into place, spread apart. If I tell you I don’t want to have sex, will you tell me it’s okay? The vampire in me draws you in, but as soon as I have you, I don’t know what to do with you. The only way I know desire is to watch you salivate over me, as I smell the blood moving forcefully through your veins.

— Eli Tareq El Bechelany-Lynch, from "[Dear friends, lovers, and in-betweens]," Knot Body

[lifeinpoetry]

in the therapist’s office you become dissociative flesh & from above you can see your interior’s ecology

— Scott-Patrick Mitchell, from "embodied," Clean: Faith, Abuse and George Pell

[lovevelyy-deactivated20230702]

[lifeinpoetry]

That first star: it can do nothing to save us from ourselves, from those men, all ivory and ache. The first star weeps. Because to bear witness is a burden. And we cannot sleep. Leave your body: as ghost step into atramentous.

— Scott-Patrick Mitchell, from "The Mourning Star," Clean: Faith, Abuse and George Pell

[twerklina]

[bugboy111]

[lifeinpoetry]

girl hungry girl you unstitched razor girl blade girl grubby necked & spitting girl or swallowing headdown girl stomach pitted fine girl gumming to sidewalk catcalled girl escape girl o plucking bones from graves girl rising girl rising & rising girl teach me again how to live that loose that tumble down before I slit the vein girl & never mother us whole

— Jennifer Givhan, from "Rubble Girl," Belly to the Brutal

[lifeinpoetry]

We burn ourselves alive from the inside.

— Scott-Patrick Mitchell, from "Co-Dependency (How Terror Forms)," Clean: Faith, Abuse and George Pell

[nonolithic]

No Ceiling

[z-o-mby]

ФЅ FДГДL ЄЯЯФЯ, ЧФЦ ДЯЄ ІИFЄҀГЄↁ !! (#ﾟДﾟ)

[milksockets]

fétiches + fétichismes - jean-michel ribettes (1999)

[lifeinpoetry]

When I go to the doctor, they hand me paperwork with a chart to locate my pain. I can’t pinpoint it. I “X” my whole body. My entire life.

— Glenis Redmond, from "I Stay Sick," The Listening Skin

[27-moons]

[arcadebroke]

[lifeinpoetry]

My mother says he has to be in the ground for these poems to be born.

The tree in our front yard I machete to its milk heart.

— Alexandra Regalado, from "Escape Room," Relinquenda

[bugboy111]