My two beautiful sons forgor and rember

oozey mess
noise dept.
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
NASA
trying on a metaphor

if i look back, i am lost

Kiana Khansmith
Not today Justin
No title available
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
KIROKAZE
Show & Tell
Misplaced Lens Cap
sheepfilms
No title available
Mike Driver
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

Andulka
🪼
wallacepolsom
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@sirimirial
My two beautiful sons forgor and rember
exercise in numerology
11:11 ticks by and settles in, pauses for its 60 seconds of fame and of course, i think of you, cliche and all
i don't necessarily know why but it feels natural to hand my wishes over to you, to hope tides turn in your favor, wash a bit of peace up on the shore
so, i continue to do so, i tuck my lucky numbers into your pockets tie my faux rabbit's foot to your keys press collages of four leaf clovers
i'd even pass you the lotion i wore for every calc test because it made me feel brave because there's not a lot i can do from here
but keep you on my mind
acidic
i bitten finger-nail scrabble against the back of my own throat claw my way down, swallowed scream raw from this practiced ache
knowing i'd be too loud before i ever spoke, knowing my fear takes up too much space, has come to expect its own seat at the table
i dissolve my anxiety on my tongue, take it with a flat ginger ale stuff my insecurity into my back pocket, hoping no one notices how much it eats me
i look too much like our apricot tree, when the beetle problem is poorly managed a bare bones sort of structure at this rate
i hope one day there might not be anything to notice
tenderhearted
i let softness sit in my chest cotton candy woven between ribs sweet and light and a bit sticky to the touch, hard to untangle oneself from
i let softness take a seat at the table fold its hands in its lap smile, nod, and listen with joy such polite company, the kind you hope stays late
i let softness make its home here to the best of my ability welcome it openly and appreciate its presence try and return its kindness
documentarian
some moments are their own poems paint their own portraits are art without trying
the thought that i should hold on to this, to sink my nails into the memory digs its way into my gray matter curls through like smoke
until im so consumed with remembering that i no longer exist here, i am not living this im watching myself as a historian
with recollection, the thought thuds, rings dull and hollow, unwilling to be confined to mind’s microscope slide
heliotropic
a room filled up with sun, like a tall clear cup, sloshing with bright dappled over the windowsill, where a litany of plants lay
stretching warm fingers across the carpet wrapping around wrists and ankles intertwined amidst my fingers, like a parent leading a little one through a crosswalk
something reassuring and kind, a reminder that things which loom bigger than us do not mind our presence
a star nearly a 100 million miles away burns, radiates into the empty black, and we hear her laughter here
reconsideration (2/18/2019)
i have no interest in hollow affection disdain, a wolf under the sheep’s clothing of pity do not keep me around if i am not wanted
at least my own company is earnest i tolerate myself and am upfront when i wish i did not have to which is not uncommon, however
i would rather be alone, than an afterthought.
liability (2/12/2019)
guilt has something sweet to it.
sickly like cough medicine, stuck to the tongue, slithering down your throat
a familiar squirm discomfort for the sake of soothe a step in the process
obligatory sadness and fake bubblegum become one and the same
your throat is still scratchy in the morning
punica
there is something visceral about pomegranates
red stained fingertips, tart on the tongue, transparent and gleaming
there’s something more visceral still about standing curled like a question mark over the kitchen sink,
gently picking at membranes meticulously gathering arils ruby dark, staring back
a shadow of lady macbeth a nod to persephone acts of rebellion, time honored
there is something traditional about pomegranates
frayed edges
i have a thimble tongue, clumsy, but safe locked away better off stilled
i have a pincushion heart used to dealing with sharp expecting it, really
something patchwork, reluctantly functional
11/30/2018: acatalepsy
sit back, pause and take stock everything around you seems so big already and there is more around that, and that
so on and so forth, reminding you that you are so small compared to much else
embrace what you are, just some recycled carbon a speck of dust in some star’s orbit
the universe isn’t watching and it doesn’t expect you to know it
11/29/2018: oneiric
heavy eyelids, fluttering in their deep sleep gone to the world
hidden away from reality’s barbs surreal and saturated in color, content to stay somewhere intangible
as long as it means some peace
11/28/2018: funambulist
a living balancing act, another girl, lovely, in danger her rope waving hello under its weight
dipping down, a kiss blown to the crowd with its eyes locked on her, unblinking captivated by her bravery,
and intoxicated by the unthinkable
11/27/2018: camisado
sharp things stay tucked away in dark corners, shadowed edges where they can forget their prick, drip blood
or hope no one ever notices what they were capable of
knives curled up like smiles, blades tucked up pink sleeves
11/26/2018: hiraeth
i exist as a half thing lost the spot where i fit circle peg, square hole
unsure if i ever fit or if i thought i could dream one up
11/25/2018: sun-grazing
come close to grace, bask in its light for a moment shining in your own right
enjoy your audience with glory your 15 minutes to be remembered for your moment worth remembering
then zip past, back into the black-cold trying to recall what warmth felt like
11/24/2018: lygodesma
stand tall, moon girl not brittle or stiff, but defiant in your flexible
spine curved like a bow vertebrae arrow notch breath string taut
empty your quiver make them remember you, crescent sharp smile
give them something to tell stories about