Socks im also curious abt ur poetry……… i love poetry >:]
hnngggg fine AUGH
you guys have broken me down. I was gonna post PLANETARY! but it's like 3-4 pages long on a google doc so idk about that. So have Criticism to Her Gossip. sorry most of my poems are really long. this one is only like a page and a half though.
disclaimer, the poem cant format correctly on Tumblr as I intended. I'll put a screenshot below so you may have a better idea of what it's supposed to read as. however, since Tumblr ruins quality I'll copy and paste it under cut as well.
“Criticism to Her Gossip”
A shame. My mother was a lonely woman. My mother called me an angel.
I could hear her humming watering her white-bred orchids behind the ivy wall.
My mother once raised me to believe that
Stars were stalls where the midnight souls sold their weary wares.
My mother
Was raised by a woman alone. She had ash and dust for a father
Who blew plumes of starlint and smoke.
Spotted geckos buried into
her spine, crawling up and
Burrowing homes into the nape of her neck.
They would trip the light fantastic in the cavity of her chest,
Singing songs that were too throaty for the native tongue.
As a little girl I held the soft flesh of your speckled
Sagging beautiful skin
in the angles of my palms
I once thought that the look you managed to
reply with was an adumbrate to
maybe something beautiful
I find myself overusing that term with her.
In which my soft feet would fit right onto the branches of the lemon tree
And so I’d climb to pick the ripest flesh, pores from the yellow rind
Dotted with red ants. Me, my mother and hers would all squat scrubbing
Course white salt into cabbage heads in beer crates, sipping rice wine in the
Evening right under the rattling fan.
My mother smells of acetone and sweat, dotting her brow and upper lip,
Cuticles swollen and blistered from hours
Clocked in.
My mother once pointed at the wine dark sky reminding, warning,
We would only be allowed to become brighter versions of ourselves once
We let truth into our greedy souls like the first breath of space, rushing into
The previously lonely existence.
My mother drunkenly mumbled into my ear, leaning against the lotto vending machine, asking me for my lucky numbers.
4, 7, 30.
She threw her hair back and shook her head. My mother once told me I was her angel.
But I didn't have wings. So my mother said to bring her wood and a reason and she’d build me
A ladder and so I could visit whenever she was gone but lonely
