vessel
rinse your rice before
you cook it
become the waxy
woven fabric
wash yourself free of sins
but be careful not
to flood your veins
with blackened blood
sins are like holy water
infinitely concentrated
my body is a vessel
a canvas
a trench
i am the ocean
the painter
the sea floor
you are the diver
the critic
the darkness
creeping over my life
like blackened blood
i do not care
what i have created
myself to be
as long as you
take those parts of me away
dilute my sins
vessel.
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shepherds warning
my mind is a maze
of red thread
that unravels itself
to find the means
to the end
(you understand me in the silence
but when the morning breaks
it dawns on you
that my silence isn鈥檛 enough
to believe in)
the red thread finds itself
i say nothing.
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the shape of the moon
the whisper of a breeze
echoes through the house
we鈥檒l never live in
it kicks up dust聽
from your unused wicker chair
and rustles the dead flowers
on the windowsill
outside the overgrown garden
aches to be frolicked in聽
our bones feed the flowers
wild the way you wanted to be
growing free as our house rots
a perfect sphere
shining in the moonlight
the moon put the wind in your bones
so you could visit once more
without considering how hard
it would be to leave again
easy for her to say
she ebbs and flows
but we鈥檙e only buried once
we fall apart聽
slowly, slowly.
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kinetic energy
connections
potential but not quite
a prodigy
if a midnight love
is not enough
then perhaps
you are asking
too much
if your ugly duckling
narrative
refuses to unfurl
if your metamorphosis
leaves you a creature
of the night
perhaps
you expect
more than the world
is destined
to give you
perhaps it is time
to spread your wings
and fly to the moon
trailing silver blood
and forgotten dreams.
-
turmeric prompt from @writeblrcafe - bingo!
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candlelit corridors
and other goodbyes
wax on your fingers
and wool over your eyes
candlelit corridors
mercurial highs
the distance stretches
and so do your lies
candlelit corridors
and orange skies
bittersweet endings
broken-voiced cries
-
cinnamon from @writeblrcafe's spice prompt bingo
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she never stays long
a hurricane of orange
a glimpse of sunlight
-
star anise prompt from @writeblrcafe's spice bingo :)
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belated happy one year to this little account :) i don't really post my poems here anymore, but i still love it when ur notes pop up in my emails! it's lovely to think that people read my poems even when i've forgotten about them.
love always,
lee.
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my tree changes with
the seasons. i watch, and wait
till i do the same.
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the word tastes like coffee
spilling out of your mouth
it鈥檚 bitter and dark and i
wanna take your tongue out
when you call me a villain
with your hands on my body
do you hear yourself and
find the truth in my pain?
will you call me a victim
just while you鈥檙e mourning?
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Book
ghosts fall from pages
you pick up their feelings, wait
to be loved again.
Human
My bookshelf holds ghosts.
Despite this, I feel the same
feelings they once felt.
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closed ecosystem
i'm tethered to this room
according to you it smells like me
but i think i'm keeping you here
like the houseplants dying on my windowsill
you'd rather be climbing trees
than watching the seasons
change the one outside.
i can't let go of this space
you haunt it like a ghost
last night i cried because
there were birds in my tree
and now i watch the spring leaves grow
i'm tethered to this room
according to mum i need to get out
my tears soak into the pillows
i can't remember when you left
but i might if i let go.
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i fill my books with letters
addressed to my friends,
they only make it as far as the fire
but they'll come back when it ends
and the streets have started wobbling
i can't even cross the road
without tripping over a metaphor
or all the words i never wrote
and dear diary, i'm aching
to just write about this pain
but there is no escaping
the poems that fall like the rain.
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in media-res
[slow zoom from
outer space] first
showing the orange
ocean and the
black clouds
and the lack of animals
the disappearance of trees
war and plague and apocalypse
[slow pan around to
show a small house] in which
a teenager sits and lets
ink bleed from their pen
[close up of the paper
and what they鈥檝e drawn]
pink hearts and love
poems
so the audience realises
the micro-scope
that this teenager
has.
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my body beneath
the ocean, buried in a
sea of words i've lost.
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tiny pieces of me
flaking off like the paint
from the side of the house
i helped my grandad paint
now i'm too tired
to go to sleep and all
my grandad taught me
was how to hold a paintbrush
tiny pieces of me
lost to the sea breeze
it could be worse
it could be worse.
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a
drift
my muscles ache and the sky dulls the bright roar
of life
if i was stronger i would write a poem about her
if i was stronger i would write a poem about you
and the way your breath feels on my cheek
or the back of my neck
soft
like the gentle slap of waves against the bottom of a boat
lonely in the sky
lonely in the sea
a
drift
apart
but not like you
if i was stronger
if i was stronger.
saw a boat today that looked so soft and so lonely, if I was stronger maybe I would write a poem about her
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then again,
a million stars
and you couldn't save one
even if you tried.
the stars will rise again
supernova, supernova,
a million ways
to give up.
There are a million
Ways to give up, sometimes I
Think I've tried them all
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