#rough draft poem

[sophieisapoet]

after ishmael

I’d always thought,

     oh, what a blessing, being Human!—

     we’ve severed the savage tethers binding us

     to nature, we’ve elevated ourselves above

     the dreadful Rest of life

‎

but ishmael has shown me

     that our distinct position is in truth

     a curse, damning us to

     an isolated death

     in a prison of our own design.

[trash-feels]

i do not want to

[sophieisapoet]

writing in poetry class

do I look sexy when i write, i ask, or do i look deranged?—counting each and every syllable in binary on massive, twitching hands that dance across the page?—who knows.

i wish I did. i have an image etched in the wrinkles of my grey matter, clear as her wide, round glasses casting siren-song entrancement on her bearer, begging her for freedom, fighting her for life.

[trash-feels]

Rough draft #1

[pizzapizzadickz]

It's cold This time of year Winter nips Bites It's dark Darker than you thought Is this night? The pond has Frozen No one would Know No one would know

[rosecoloredframesandbrokenglass]

Words don’t mean the same things to others that they mean to you, You can’t keep spilling your soul at the end of periods for them. You are much like a blueberry, You smash yourself purple, And peel yourself green with jealousy You’ve been blue for sooo long that people wonder if oxygen ever touches your blood.