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Literature Text
your voice grates on my nerves like the old dependable classics,
like nails screeching down a chalkboard and utensils scraping across a plate
it grates like:
stepping in dog shit while looking for a towel,
a pickaxe lifting the back of my skull,
coconut shavings in desert;
like that feeling of moss growing on the back of my teeth and
the breakdown of language and i can't remember words or letters or ...
like nails screeching down a chalkboard and utensils scraping across a plate
it grates like:
stepping in dog shit while looking for a towel,
a pickaxe lifting the back of my skull,
coconut shavings in desert;
like that feeling of moss growing on the back of my teeth and
the breakdown of language and i can't remember words or letters or ...
Literature
Fifty
Please understand: I do not want
to want this (you).
I realized at poem nineteen-of-fifty:
You (college-borne) are a new you,
I (weaponized) am a new me,
and the new me still wants the new you.
Literature
Plow
It's finally snowing again,
blankets of peace falling
with a freshness that lacks innocence.
Nearly forgotten, they're here as expected,
clearing the streets,
trying to push aside all the worry
that makes things unsafe, but
the steel mouth askew grates against my heart;
its thick bass scrape pushing more than piles of white aside,
it pushes my blood aside too,
piling it up in the corner of this pumping vessel that falters,
ice-caked and bitten, stiffened,
and keeps faltering,
again,
and again,
and again,
until the air is silent
and the street no longer shivers in torture.
The only evidence is the blanket of white
that keeps
Literature
still,
"i want grandchildren."
that car ride ruined some things
threw a wine bottle at the wall
15 years sitting
it was good enough or
it wasn't good enough
all the silence forced
my pride to jump out the window
if any rested in her
she showed it off like a speech bubble
tied it to her teeth
slammed it in the door
had it under her pillow for months
and years and years and years
there was no statement
there was no outstretched hand
just steering wheel clenching
knuckles white and jaw taut
(all because who i bed was not her mindful of
timeline perfection)
i still think i'm a tumor
--
she shows it off like a speeding ticket
i
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okay so i'm doing a ten day meme, let's see how well i actually stick to finishing this.
Day One: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.
i'm breaking this up and doing each person separately. mostly because i've been having trouble writing this past month, and i just want to ease back into things.
Day One: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.
i'm breaking this up and doing each person separately. mostly because i've been having trouble writing this past month, and i just want to ease back into things.
© 2011 - 2024 the-balcony-scene
Comments3
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I've felt like this about people before...I love the line with the moss behind the teeth