poetry blog

we interact from @cotton-pikkin but system main is @eptck

[birdhouse-poetry]

many guys here

some of the poems we write are not in our perspective . unfortunately it’s hard to tell a lot of the time , but try checking the tags ! if it’s from the perspective of a character of ours , a character from media , etc . we'll do our best to specify there

many of our poems will include triggering content . we will do our best to tag these poems , but we may not always get every tag and some stuff will probably slip through . please tell us to add tags if you see something that needs it . we will absolutely do so

[birdhouse-poetry]

what is god if not womanhood itself?

[birdhouse-poetry]

sorry to all screen reader users who encounter tjis post, but it is kind of intended to be increasingly incomprehensible

[gaysie]

headline from the nature briefing today / Map of the World, seperis

[birdhouse-poetry]

All living things glow until they die

plants and animals emit a glow which

disappears after death.

This raw poison— let a few photos acrue

enter in by energy—

in process with cells. ice

And fire tear

[birdhouse-poetry]

The Flesh Seceded

Making way for the new flesh,

the old must wilt.

Pressing out through the layers of muscle and bone,

the skin becomes clear--

ripe for the making,

the doing, and the moving.

Yet if there is no new,

the old does not know how to stay in spite of it.

It must fall away, as is its nature,

and unknown red shall be left.

And in red, I take a slice.

Preparing my body for the creation of more flesh, as is needed to keep my health.

I do not offer to share.

"I still love you," reads the note,

but presence unknown keeps itself rotting.

The pleasures and the pains still burn.

[birdhouse-poetry]

Crude Poem

If I could lay with my head

In your crotch all day, I would.

I would smell your beautiful scents

And nuzzle my nose deep into your bush,

Kissing the delicate skin beneath.

I would sigh and smile like a good dog

As you sat above,

One hand running through my hair,

The other scrolling--

Both aimless, peaceful.

I would feel your insides jump

When something made you laugh,

Trace my eyes up your happy trail

To watch your easy breathing.

I wish you could live closer

Or I could run away to meet you

So we could spend our days naked together

Feeling the sun on our bare skin

And taking in each other's odor.

[birdhouse-poetry]

I'll Make You Forget

I felt it rut against our skin

Like the ground is pressed into by a hot metal grate;

It rended our flesh in two.

I cried out for it to stop

She scraped our vocal chords against each other

And we made no sound in the wind.

And the howling did not stop when the pain had dulled--

It echoed long against my ears.

The lump in my throat only grew,

Like our damaged esophagus was sloughing away

Inside me.

I scratched at my neck to get it out.

It felt raw, it felt hot.

And I watched my insides purple.

Like a sunset;

Like a souring;

Like the wilting of a sun-burnt flower.

And I watched as she fell away.

[birdhouse-poetry]

To Dust

i stare up at God

and i eat the dirt at His feet.

i am nothing.

i am nothing.

i am bug,

i am mite,

i am disgusting wormy thing.

i deserve nothing of this land

but the dust of countless dead--

satan and his demons

and those they tricked into dying here,

consumed now

by the nothing before Him.

the dust

swallows dust

and settles

as He gazes

down at the sorry ground.

[birdhouse-poetry]

Alight, Your Skin

I am burning;

I am burning;

Like the sun and the stars

And the candle that you hold to your skin.

Do you feel the hot wax on your flesh?

Does it hurt?

Do you like it?

Will you put the candle down and leave it there,

Or is your flesh made to burn like mine is?

The hot sun stains you red;

The stars only flicker away.

Do you ever wish

That the stars were close enough to feel?

And do you ever wish

The sun was at a colder distance?

Does the burning make you feel alive,

Or does it just hurt?

[birdhouse-poetry]

Resilience

The pieces of me reach out

Trying to find some semblance

Of warmth here in the dark.

Pulled from my roots was I.

As many times as

They wanted me gone,

Chopped down and thrown to the side.

Yet still, I live.

Can I know the reason?

Is there any at all?

Still, I've found something.

My roots have begun to grow,

Creeping into some vacant form.

Maybe it's what I was, once.

Maybe it's you.

But you feel like warm, loamy soil.

You feel like the brightest sun.

I hope you are these things,

And not the life I'm consuming.

For all I can do is reach

Toward the warmth, toward the structure.

All I can do

Is grab hold of it

And pray this does not hurt you.

For I feel if I ever let go

I would not survive the fall.

[birdhouse-poetry]

Y-Shaped Top Surgery Scar

I had a dream when I was young

Of dissecting myself for an autopsy.

I stood as the mortician

Scalpel in hand

And I laid on the table nude.

My chest was flat

And then it was cut open.

I moved like a ghost in the body

Of the man holding the scalpel,

And I felt it like a beast in the body

Of the man lying dead.

I know just what it feels like

To dissect yourself and then forget

Because I weighed my squishy pink organs,

I knew my final meal-- felt the sensations of death--

And it was gone by the time I woke up.

It felt like the sensation

Of forgetting a thought when you're on it.

A quick, quiet fear.

A churning in the gut.

In the... what?

It felt like something went missing,

Or something was settling in.

A dark cloud,

Or a loose connection?

A... something.

[birdhouse-poetry]

Come Back

Beside the lake

There's a tree

Where we were all told to meet.

You're watching the water.

I'm watching you.

They're telling us the plan.

We can feel the tension in the air,

But I call it excitement.

I am anxious to embrace -

- I take your hand.

"Are you ready?"

You swallow hard.

"Yes."

"I knew you'd make

The right choice."

We go down

And it feels like the water.

And it feels like the sun.

And I no longer feel your hand in mine.

But I know you will make

The

Right

Choice.

I know you will come back to me.

You will!

You will.

You

Will

...

Right?

Lucy?

[birdhouse-poetry]

OK

Out of the frying pan

Into the fire.

Partake

Of the honey;

Forget

You're a liar.

This rage

In your

Heart--

It cannot

Be fought.

You

Killed

Your best

Friend,

But it's

You

Who will

Rot.

[birdhouse-poetry]

Tough Love and a Hard Bastard

I spit salt in wounds--

Mine and yours.

Unkempt,

Unholy,

Unsanitized.

And I hope somehow

You will not hate me.

And I hope somehow

It will remind you to live.

[birdhouse-poetry]

Hope and Her Daughter Hatred

I am light

And fire

And hurt

And hope

Of a thousand voices--

Of a thousand lives.

I am knowing,

And I am hating to know.

I am forgiving,

And I am hating to forgive.

And I am going

And I am moving forward

And I am climbing out

And I am living

Again.

[birdhouse-poetry]

I Am Not

I am not the willow branch

Shaking in the storm.

I am not the cloak of love

Which failed to keep me warm.

I am not a damaged ship

Sinking in the night.

I am not an animal

Rearing for a fight.

What I am is not as clear

As the things that I am not,

But what I am is something, dear,

Far more than what they wrought.

[birdhouse-poetry]

Devotion as of an Angel

I am nothing without You.

You called me into perfection.

You tasked me with being Your messenger,

And who am I to deny a God His dues?

Devotion as of a Sacrifice

I am nothing without You.

You cast Your judgement upon us all.

You have called for my blood to be shed,

And who am I to deny a God His dues?