#coolkidpoetsnet

[badgerjolras]

Badgerjolras' Poetry Blog

I made a poetry blog!! There’s not much on there yet, but I’ve got a lot more coming up!

[iliacl]

your mouth tastes like november the sixth. treason stains your lips, wine-dark and haunting.

[ london’s burning ] a.g.

[iliacl]

1. you told me you'd keep my gifts forever. the wrapping paper, the empty boxes, the pocketwatch i'd found in a chinatown stall next to the opium pipes and kissing cousins. that same evening i downed half a tumbler of my dad's whiskey and we laughed over how the world would have to deal with us one day.  2. you kiss like fear. this mighty, this lost, this godlike epiphany lapping at my canine teeth. you are terrible. you are providence. you are sex and death and monochrome and my utter ruination. 3. i can't help but wonder which drawer you will shove me into. will it be the one on the bedside left, with the condoms and the leaking playboy cartridges, dribbling with battery acid and spit? will it be the one under your bed, stained from your trainers and my trainers and both of our heads knocking into it at once? how will you enrapture me? how will we be thrown away? 4. we argued once about religion. you said fanaticism caused death and riotous fire. i argued that it was different on the other side of your hands.

conversations with my boyfriend // a.g.

[deermouth]

Technically I stole these from my school

[iliacl]

there's a special kind of hate reserved for people you're in love with.  a devouring. a burning. a longing with teeth.  i've not written anything in months. i don't know if that's your fault, or mine,  or simply because i'm happy.

// spring // 

[iliacl]

dear siken: do you remember that poem about pulling bodies out of lakes and dressing them in warm clothes again? i tried it, four pairs of hands hauling blood and flesh out of the reservoir, until the rot seeped from their bones and onto our palms in puddles. the grass was soft and green under the cheap fur coats, the crochet scarves, the ugly corduroys he insisted on bringing because dying never looked so homely. we mixed drinks in a diner and drank them together, arms crossed, like new years eve. it was supposed to be romantic. kitschy. you would love him too, i promise; his mouth is full of block-cut diamonds until you can barely taste yourself. there's something about his hands, too, his stitches, his devouring mouth. he fills me up with his empires i throw them up the night after, alexandria a stain on my bathroom floor. your writing leaves blood on my toothbrush in in the mornings, a kick to the spine, rattling that one joint between my palm and my thumb, singing down deep. just tell me: how all of this, and love too, will save us? was it like this for you? siken, unapologetic, a faith against night, so much more than human. when you look at the night i wonder -- what colours are your stars?

dear siken, by aliya g 

richardsiken-poet

[deermouth]

a queen and the knight she loves, who for her goes willingly to slaughter

you bit your lips—i remember this, you bit your lips and saideverything would be fine said you knew how to slay the dragonssaid you’d done it a million timesin your mindlikeyou didn’t have your fingers wrapped around my heart

made it a bit hard to breathe, you knowbut i suppose it was good becausewhen i couldinhale exhale again i knewit was time to grieve

how to grieve?how to be a dragon.exhale flames.exhale your heart.