Pointless Poet @p0intless-p0et - Tumblr Blog

c.a.v.i.t.y

I’ll cut it from my chest

I’ll cut it from my chest and grab quickly at gravel, sand, pebbles and there will be nothing pretty in the way I pack in every crevice.

I’ll cut it from my chest and with it I will gasp out the only true breath, light and unburdened, I will ever know. Before was before

and then will be air filtered through fine filament packed deep packed thorough, packed so that nothing may ever grow there again.

It will be gritty. From the sand, from the dirt amongst the gravel and the half crushed bugs beneath pebbles, all caked in and around my finger nails.

And no,

I won’t wrap it,

It will be placed in front of you.

Where you lay, half passed out on the floor,

It’s yours to keep

Its just getting too heavy, that’s all

For this chest

#writerscreed #poetry #spilled ink

ivyvolturra-poetry

My mother still talks about my hair in the past tense.

She remembers it straight.

She remembers brushing it before school, parting it neatly, sending it down my back in a dark line.

I remember that too.

But somewhere between then and now, it changed.

A bend at the ends. A wave where there wasn't one before.

Then more.

Now, when I wash it, it gathers into curls and curves before anyone can tell it not to.

My mother says it used to be straight.

As though the past is proof.

As though change needs permission.

As though the child she remembers is more real than the girl standing in front of her.

But every morning,

the mirror and I conspire against her memory.

Reflected and refracted out of existence

At what point does a mask stop being a mask

I think it’s when superglue fuses fast to flesh

When I speak to you

It won’t be long till you’re speaking to you

And maybe that’s how I spent 10 years with someone I despised

They loved me till they didn’t

They loved themselves

Until they didn’t

The glue did not peel easily

Exposed raw secretions

A town of people who hate me and with good reason

Their spit becomes salvation

Because it’s me they hate. My true face.

It’s with that face,

I met them

Sweet alien child, ancient Bigfoot cryptid,

A puddle of buckfast and nicotine, it makes a pleasing flood of goo

Eye balls rolled up into view and then

They said

Hey, how cool, you’re goo too

#writerscreed #poetry #spilled ink

trans-yaoi

whenever I get overstimulated I should be able to shake it off like this

mindflamer

nobody talks about how humiliating it is to have chronic fatigue before you know what fatigue is 😭 just going through life constantly miserable & feeling like you are failing everything but you can never explain why beyond saying "i'm too tired" which just sounds pathetic & like you don't care (it shouldn't but it does). tired is what healthy people feel after a long productive day & they restore it with sleep. fatigue is your body never making the energy in the first place

girls4losers

i gotta remember this

quaintpanic

I WAS BORN YESTERDAY. I JUST BLEW IN FROM STUPID TOWN. THIS IS MY FIRST RODEO. PLEASE BE PATIENT WITH ME.

cockbarff-deactivated20150220

Politics is not fun.

And I never asked to be political.

But,

My body is political. The skin that I want to pluck and peel free of. It’s political.

I’ll go non verbal before I get to tell you, to beg you-

please don’t debate me out of existence.

In the subsequent silence, as you forcibly shed all I have left, you’ll stand tall and proud, oh so proud, and tell me, speak deep in to the shrivelled husk that is all that I can be, unpolitically political,

‘not once have i had a complaint about anyone feeling unsafe and unwanted’

I felt unsafe, I felt unsafe to say I felt unsafe, to say my body, my political body, felt unwanted.

My political body you robbed me of, my political body you robbed me of but it’s okay because debating is fun, let’s have a fun debate,

And Why are you shrinking, god you’re so shrivelled, it’s just a debate, now repeat after me

‘not once have i had a complaint about anyone feeling unsafe and unwanted’

In a pink salmon shirt he holds his gun. In a red beret he has his fun.

#writerscreed #poetry

There’s friendship in your black tin,

I’ve come for second hand smoke beneath a tree of drizzle forming fat rain drops.

It’s offered with instruction, as I must admit to naivety, my foolish limbs soak up fat fat rain drops.

Can you tell as I pinch your snuff that I’m sniffing up your kindness and fat fat fatter rain drops.

A quenching of many kinds.

#writerscreed #poetry #poetry portal #spilled ink

I suppose this is less a poem

And more a question

How do you call the Samaritans

When your voice has been stolen

Do they reach through the phone

Right through

Further still

Pull and pluck at the darkness in your chest

Until finally, you can take a breath

I don’t know

I just think, if they can find the room, they should put that on the poster too

#writerscreed #poetry #spilled ink

dragon-in-a-fez

the phrase "this machine kills fascists" has gone through enough layers of meaning that I think it's come all the way back around to where the funniest thing you could put it on would be a gun