evie @piercetheeviexo - Tumblr Blog

shamanfox

I am

a hurricane strumming a washboard

by the cherry-plucked creek-side bed.

I carry unfiltered honey in my purse,

to remind myself I dream

of being a bee charmer.

It smells like cyber-space

as the sun rises at 5 a.m.,

I am status, lying on a magic carpet,

while the small world forgets

how the King still takes what’s “his”

from an uncivilized society,

blinded by the broken machine.

He told me to watch for falling parts,

and maybe we can steampunk them revolutionary,

while they war over organic farm eggs in the Midwest,

calling in credit checks

on cash cards with no real value,

just the sound of chips falling like river ripples

on stone-cold words

of washboarding poets.

literaryvein

L. V., wasting words (x)

winter to spring

we're sitting and saving

the best of the daylight,

a safeness settling between

the road and a speckled sky.

we're saving our speed,

die idling at a red light

before admitting we're wrong.

i swear i've given up

but i'm still here waiting on you

and you haven't left yet;

both of us stewing,

silent and wonderless,

the winter thawing

until we can't see our breath .

sorry I cant come today my mom is mad at me and my clothes don't fit and i'm dirty all over. my hands are sweaty and I have homework and you died five summers ago. im not allowed to walk in the dark and sometimes im cold like your ghost and im capable of only darkness

#spilled words #poems and poetry #poetry #spilled thoughts #poems on tumblr #spilled poetry #original poem #spilled writing #writers and poets #my poem #this is shit #I only open this app when I'm depressed

jeanforrester

and I was born in spring

I was born with everything

and yet I don't remember it at all

all the beauty and pain

of

coming in

out of my history

and I did not wake up till some winter ago

and I opened my eyes in the white, white snow

and I got up

and looked

and knew

something is dead

but I woke up too late

to see it's

birth,

it's death,

it's dying

and I've found I've been around awhile

and yet I had only just been born

so I got up

walking tall, but feeling smaller

I'm not sure I'll ever grow up now

I don't know what died or how

but something is gone

even in the shade,

i'll keep you in my pocket,

your heart in my hand,

petrified like stone and formed up from ashes.

though i pulled it from the blood,

splashed like hot candle wax,

it'll beat against my palm.

and when the weather is right,

i'll hold it up to the sunlight,

and i'll bathe in the warmth

like a worm on the road.

when the dentist drills into my tooth,

my hand will tighten on the arm of the chair.

i know who's arm it's supposed to be.

i miss you at my most childish.

i miss you in my pain and

wonder how i could get through

the pain of losing you

without the very you to talk me through it

when i am in pain i cut up the pages of my mothers bible.

have any been killed for refusing to worship this image?

i am contending with two ferocious beasts.

with shaking hands i plan

of my own corrupt religion.

i feel the pain of those ahead of me

while writhing in my chains.

i shudder with remembrance of what you told me;

fruits of my labour could prove to be all too bitter.

i sit in my fear, quiet and ready to strike,

craving a leader

Today I am thinking of the deer I saw on the road.

I was in the car, next to my mom, driving back from my very first time at a support group for teens with dead parents or family members.

it was smeared twenty feet,

organs and blood and eyeballs and all.

it hadn't been in the road on the drive to our location, and only was seen after an hour and a half of discussing what we would say to our dead parents if they suddenly appeared in front of us.

and suddenly I knew the answer.

"that's horrible. it's fresh, too. it's probably still warm."

and I knew what my mom would say

"it's probably still warm." She echoed.

there is more poetry there I cannot yet find, because the idea is too raw.

it's horrible. it's fresh, too. it's probably still warm.

the worst part is it

buzzes

in the background.

you are a body of water

and i am swimming in it.

i am a map and

you are the blue lines.

i swallow my breath and dive,

you're caught in the fishing line.

i am vast,

you are unexplored

YOUR POETRY IS FIRE!!! <333333

you are literally so sweet

fakesurprise

someone told me about safety in numbers while making a joke no one should repeat i used to think people were safer together but there is a poem that is not only words a poem that is a boy who is eleven grinning through pages saying there are two of him

there is a title to the poem i dare not speak to name a thing is to give it power of a sort and this feels too dangerous by far already

the book casts shadows behind veils even of sanity: words that can only enlighten and who wants to be changed so deeply?

i closed the book but the poem remained like a song in my head trying to break free & i don't know how long i can contain

your scent-

a gun, a hot rag, the jaws of time-

it lingers.

when i smell my clothes it burns my nose and

i feel like i could die.

i only knew you so long.

there is a fine line between hot and searing-

and its been blurred.

and when you

polish your gun and

wipe your wounds and

bite as hard as you can-

i'll be there.

bleeding, wiping, biting

i used to be shattered.

you hugged me like a

mortar and pestle and kissed me like

a lighter and spoon and

you spoke to me like i was to be diffused

you were cautious, not like with the glass that i was but like you were

deciding which wire to cut

and at night there were no wires

and it was smooth because it

had to be and

you cut and you cut and there was nothing to sever and i begged

and you cut and there

was nothing to

cut but you moved your hands with

striking precision,

hacking and

i felt sick and it was dark and

it was cold and you were there but

i was alone and i could've stopped cutting and you could've stopped helping

but here i am cut and set off and

you are gone and i was alone just

like i thought i was.

and when it was done you

said goodnight and i

turned off the light and i said a prayer

and i dont remeber who i asked but i said

please and i turned away because i couldn't

look at my face and because i knew

there was more

to be cut

god is real and i can

touch him if i try-

he is not one of us.

he has body glitter and wet clothes.

i can feel the warmth from

so far away,

i can feel the bugs squirm between my toes-

i believe you.

i believe you, and i know you can hear me

do you believe me, too?

god is not real,

and my mother is his friend-

god cannot hear you,

but my computer runs at a high frequency.

he is not here, and the river is wet as it is warm,

and it is winter, and my fingers tremble and

he is not real and

i can feel his hands and

he's just as real as you.

i can't feel him, and the trees are bare

and the snow is wet as it is cold.

god is not real, but he is next to me.

Hi, just here to say I am obsessed with your new poem, thank you for putting it into words <3

this made me cry lolol 😭 thank you so much.

#on poetry #on writing #answered asks #asks #ask blog #poetsandwriters #writers and poets #poets on tumblr

there's is something rotten far deep inside of me.

and when it swells i moan and ache and cry

and clutch anything i can

because it hurts.

it's dark and strong and it beats in my ears like a drum

until its soothed

i bite and scratch because i can feel it,

behind my throat,

somewhere between my stomach and my spine

the rhythm slips through my fingers

and down my arms,

it throbs in my chest, hands hanging at my sides

and it can't be swallowed.

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