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inside me
I want you inside me.
I want your face to settle behind my eyes
so even when I drift into fever-hot sleep,
I feel your arm tucked neatly
over my shoulder.
You remain here,
shuttered from howling summer winds,
in my brain, in the moments
between hazy meetings, past-due bills.
In this place, we’re still in love.
Together, we lay on our favorite hill,
awash in light dancing its way
between red-winged blackbirds,
suspended in mid-flight
and new, unfurling oak leaves.
Here, we find a piece of warmth, keeping it for ourselves,
and whenever I wish you would kiss me, you do
an answer without a question.
Then, we fall and become one with the grass,
forever green and growing.
Your eyes like to follow the scattered shards of sky
which peek between those oak leaves,
and in that moment we know
the trees are more alive than we are.
#poem#poemsoftheday#poems on life#love#lovepoem#poetry#new poetry#new poets on tumblr#new poets society#lgbtq#lgbt art#alive#quietness
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Your mind evolved to keep you alive, not to keep you safe
You have to be intentional about bringing joy into your life.
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the only thing that still bugs me, a year after breaking up with you
The only thing that I can't let go of, after ending things with you and fully coming to terms with how badly you treated me is:
you think you're the good guy
you think I'm worse off without you
you think I'm still depressed, anxious, maybe even more so now that I've let you go
you think that I envy you
you think that I miss you
and I wish I could make you feel how much joy I have without you, how I have grown so far beyond you. I wish I could make you understand how deep and wide my heart has grown, now that I've learned to be unafraid of it. I wish you could see how repulsed I am by you, how I want absolutely nothing to do with you.
Once I learned to love myself unconditionally, I realized I never really loved you. My love for myself, now, runs so much deeper than you would ever let mine run for you.
I hate you not because of what you did to me, but what you did to her - the wide-eyed girl I was when I was fifteen. Some anger is righteous, right?
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Abusers will cross your boundaries on purpose, harass you, drive you to guilt, discomfort, sleeplessness, make you so paranoid you make mistakes and then point a finger at you and say “see? It’s all your own fault.”
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Photo
Submitted by @pennilessphotographer:
“Fear of Being Exposed”
Artist–Zeren Badar
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why I love you
You make it feel like there is green grass growing in my heart.
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when you only remember after it happened
TW- SA
Do you fear what your mind crafts lies while you sleep?
Did you make it up,
the blue fist across collar bone,
turning you over,
the cool pillow on your feverish cheek?
Was that a lie,
a lie like that which persuaded you
to take his plastic drugs?
Your dreams, cerulean and orange
expand beyond your fragile skull.
You are nothing,
and in that nothingness there is everything.
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I’m not interested in being innocent
and I’m not interested in being ashamed.
#poetry#poets on tumblr#poets corner#new poetry#new poets society#trauma#exfundie#exmormon#healing#purityculture#mental health#heal
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on being the daughter of colonizers
The horizon spares no one,
not even you, small girl hiding in prairie grass.
You play in mounds
carved by buffalo, long dead,
a victim of your ancestors’ tirades.
Land, land, more land,
we consume until we find our tails in the pit
of our sallow stomach.
You, girl, are the one who stumbled
across fossilized dung and cast shadows
across outlaw graves.
The blood earth holds them safe,
and you slide over bedrock
on a raft of your own making.
Ghosts of spring rains churn the soil,
bringing up dead leaves from the fall
from the safety of ancient mud.
Everything rots.
Even your grandmother,
willowing into the leather couch.
Blue light flickers across her hallowing cheekbones,
flesh melting, candle wax.
This is your failure:
the shotgun, cool in the shadow of the big bed.
There, you plays hide and seek,
falling asleep
clutching the barrel close to your baby-fat,
dreaming of your birthright:
imitation.
#landback#socialism#poetry#anticapitalist#onepercent#colonizer#new poetry#new poets community#writers and poets#poets on tumblr#intersectional feminism#genz#social#history#oklahoma#social justice#reperations
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tributary
I would kiss you, as a tributary kisses sea.
Your altar is a familiar place in a strange land.
You offer help off the floor, hold my hair.
You witness my rotten vices-
the pill bottles spilling their contents into my nightstand drawer,
the stories of the girl I loved before I knew
I would be strong enough to unfurl linen masts,
pull the splinters from my palm,
search for myself and find
you.
She, Venus, soft and tall
moon-milk skin, breath of hibiscus.
Her hair rippled and fell, silk across her shoulders,
the shoulders I’ve kissed
the shoulders I’ve bruised.
She, the siren
She, the bright-eyed doe.
You, Jupiter, small and sinew,
voice deep, a hunting horn
echoing over rolling hills and rabbit holes
to the base of the mountain.
This mountain I have known,
longer than I’ve known my name.
This climb,
too sacred to be taken.
But you set up camp at the peak,
so tall you reach up and brush space.
You grin, and offer a hand,
and together we watch the sun’s death-rattle rays
kiss the ocean.
#love#poetry#poemsworld#poets corner#newpoetry#lgbt#lgbtq#lgbtq poem#gen z culture#sadboy#healing#peace#bi
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on losing your virginity and your religion
Compromising is an art:
giving a purity ring for a twin xl mattress,
sinking into a couch cushion
instead of hiding in the basement
defying the black funnel,
a descendant of the dust your great grandfather
fortified the little white house against.
He fought with newspaper and washcloth,
fought to think more about staying than leaving.
Now, his descendant watches the funnels,
the thunder and black clouds and dreams
of running with lightening
across straw and beetle-nest.
Her soft heel toughens against thorns and snakes.
She hears the rattle and laughs,
voice rising, twisting until it settles above the boiling sky.
Her cotton shirt lifts across her bare breast,
bearing witness:
no sermon can revoke a body or a body's rot.
Her tongue knows this taste,
bitter perfume traced across neck and knee
metallic ring through a soft nipple.
You never heal, you only forget.
The storm is in the rain.
#poetry#poets on tumblr#poets corner#new poetry#new poets society#new poets on tumblr#trauma#mental health#gen z culture#fundie#exmormon#religous trauma#healing#purity culture#critical thinking#fyp2021
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