have you ever loved someone so much
that even after they break your heart
you just want them to be okay
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last summer
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The hands of my lover yesterday praised my whole body. Made angels from my lips. Ave Maria. Full of Grace
All the Dead Boys Look Like Me, Christopher Soto
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Alternative: The Epilog to Orion Fanzine | Poem and artwork by Gerry Downes, 1976
*Disclaimer: these images have been censored slightly to include less "nudity" because tumblr's ai moderation is both strict and inaccurate. I have decided I still want to post them in this altered state because they can be appreciated regardless, but to see full versions please click here, here, and here. I have not compromised the integrity of the art (in my opinion) and hold full respect for the author and artist Gerry Downes.
-- keep reading for poem in plain text --
"Love--
What strange paths we take
and oh! the things we do
for those few moments in the sun.
You found me once
when I was lost
and touched me with your mind.
Warm and soft and golden
thoughts you gave to me,
revealing with no shame at last
your soul to me,
your very life,
and freely then
the hidden sweet
emotions you don't have
and I call --
love.
It was all too brief a time
that you were deep inside me.
Still darkness fled
and when you left
the light remained behind
to stay with me and tell me --
now and always --
I am loved.
You may not understand this,
perhaps I cannot explain,
but this you can believe --
love does endure, and Spock --
through all this universe
we know and share
this love
yours and mine
our one bright time together
in that precious starlit instant
we both knew it --
Love's enough."
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please just hold me
softly
gently
but with an undertone of desperation
show me i’m wanted and cherished
all the things i never thought i’d be
kiss me
softly
gently
but passionately. maybe bruise me.
leave a mark if you’d like.
i have no problem being bruised by you.
bruise my lips with the way you love me.
i need the marks you leave. you leave them so lovingly.
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she kisses me in her parents bedroom and says
SOLILOQUIZE THIS, MOTHERFUCKER,
like a threat, like a promise,
like she’s saying, TURN THIS INTO POETRY AND I’LL KILL YOU
or maybe TURN THIS INTO POETRY AND I’LL LOVE YOU EVEN MORE.
i can never tell what she means when she kisses me like that.
she says THE STRETCH MARKS ON YOUR INNER THIGHS LOOK LIKE THE SURFACE OF MARS
I say, «baby, i’ve got no idea what that means.»
she says
IT MEANS WE’RE THE UNIVERSE LOOKING DOWN AT ITSELF
and
I LIKE YOU EVEN MORE WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK AND UNSATISFIED
and
IF YOU WANT TO BE EUROPA I’LL BE JUPITER AND YOU CAN JUST STAY IN MY ORBIT FOREVER.
i say «tell me we’re dead and i’ll love you even more»
and she tells me STOP QUOTING OTHER POETS WHEN YOU TELL ME YOU LOVE ME
and i say «i’ve never been more than quotes from other poets, if you didn’t want that, why are you still kissing me?»
and she says
WHY DO YOU ALWAYS EXPECT ME TO KNOW THE ANSWERS TO YOUR PROBLEMS?
we kiss in her parents bedroom and she says
WHAT DO YOU WANT, BABY?
and i say «i want you to kill me in the middle of sex so i can die feeling good.»
for a second, she’s quiet, and then she says WHAT? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?
and i try to say i’ve never know love without violence
or maybe i’m scared of dying scared
or maybe when they told me that abraham’s love for isaac was the reason for the sacrifice, i didnt understand that he was being asked to kill in spite of that love, not for it.
and instead i say «nothing i say means anything. that’s why i’m a poet.»
we sit outside while i smoke and i say
«i watched hacksaw ridge yesterday, and it was the craziest thing, because i thought they were exaggerating the story, but it turns out it was actually even weirder.»
and she says I WISH YOU TALKED ABOUT YOURSELF MORE.
and it sounds too real, so i pretend i dont hear it.
we are kissing in her parents bedroom
when i grab a handful of fat, blood-full bedbugs and say «‘how long will you refuse to humble yourself before me? let my people go, so that they may worship me’.»
and she says I WISH YOU TALKED ABOUT YOURSELF MORE
and i say
«i am talking about myself»
we are standing at the bus stop waiting for the bus to come and she says
MY DAD ALWAYS TOLD ME TO NEVER TRUST AN ADDICT
and i ask «do you really want me to write your dialogue in all capitals even though no one can see it?»
and she says I NEVER ASKED YOU TO DO THAT.
we eat dinner together and she says I LIKE WHEN YOU DRINK AND DON’T TAKE YOUR MEDICINE AND ACT LIKE A FUCKING CRAZY PERSON
and i say «no, you don’t, i’m a bad acid trip dressed like a boyfriend.»
and she says WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME IT WAS GOING TO START RAINING?
and i say «i thought it’d be more romantic
if we didnt have an umbrella.»
we sit like distant planets and she says STOP QUOTING OTHER POETS WHEN YOU TELL ME YOU LOVE ME
and i say «i dont know how»
and she says STOP USING MY NAME TO TALK TO YOURSELF
and then, finally quiet, i dont like it when you use me to justify your own self hatred. stop putting mean words in my mouth.
and i say, «i am talking about myself.»
and she says, baby, I know —
that’s the problem.
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i think there’s a reason
why former love tears us apart
it’s so one day
when we find our other half
we know what it feels like
to truly be whole
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"POISON APPLE"
A poem dedicated to Albert Wesker. I was challenged to write a love poem for him in a discord I'm in! I really really enjoyed making this one!
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Your falling in love with it, your caressing it like a woman,
Means there will come to you a strong one,
A companion who rescues a friend.
He will be mighty in the land, strength will be his,
Like the force of heaven so mighty will be his strength.
You will fall in love with him and caress him like a woman.
He will be mighty and rescue you time and time again.
— Epic of Gilgamesh, I, 11. 268-74
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(about a love so big it tears me apart)
A poem I've written last year, from Kaveh to Alhaitham.
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Touch Forbidden
i have never known how to be human
i watch them, and i mimic
try to replicate their gestures,
the way they breathe, move, speak, love
my hands itch
for touch forbidden
so instead i’ll bury my hands in soil
grow a garden in barren land
watch plants starve
for light they have never known
as they inch closer, closer, closer to the sun
i’ll light flames from my fingertips
and paint the whole sky
until time crashes
and all my creations
explode in supernovas
i’ll stroke piano keys
no, pummel them
until i or the instrument bleed
i’ll drown the silence in the violence
of grieving sonatas
let the black and white between my fingers
blur into shades of gray
as i try not to think of how your hands
would feel interlaced with mine instead
i’ll write you love letters you will never read
until my hand cramps and breaks
until i run out of ink or my veins are drained
i’ll sink to the bottom of endless bottles of liquor
until the image of you is a cloudy haze
until i can’t feel my skin anymore
crying out for the touch of yours
i’ll render my hands useless
as i grip the wheel of my car
and try to outrun my thoughts
bolting out at lightspeed
going interstellar
and try to find a home
hidden among dead planets
that have never known warmth
i’ll dig myself a hole there
and become rootbound
maybe then
my soiled hands will forget your shape
my skin will dissolve and cry no more
for touch forbidden
Alexander Anthony Mar
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he loves me.
i am broken
i am bloody
i am bruised
but he loves me.
he is constant and unwavering
as the sun
he shines on me and i am warm
because he loves me.
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I crave the little moments.
I crave the soft squeeze of his hand on my shoulder, or the way he hides his face when I’ve tripped him up on his words. I crave the way he looks at me with a smile when he thinks I don’t see. I crave his hand in mine, and his hands on my face. (A feeling I have yet to feel.)
I crave his warmth and his laugh and the crinkle by his eyes. I crave his smile lines and the dyed bits of his hair. I crave his joyous energy and his childlike nature and the sweetness that’s so very present in his soul.
I crave him, all the time. A want, a hankering, a longing to exist in his space if only to look and observe and feel.
.
Right now he has no idea I’m writing about him with heed and care, he’s too busy wondering if he’s upset me. He’s too sweet for his own good. He’s new to this and I’m new to his love. I think I’ll write about him forever,
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