#modern poetry

[sweatermuppet]

Blessed Be by Sol Rios, published in Ghost of my Ghosts

[luciferslilith7]

"They both failed at the end-She couldn't hate him and he couldn't love her" ~Anonymous

[wutheringvibe]

i wish you loved me to the point of insanity, to the point where flesh meets dust, where skin becomes memory, where the air crackles with something that isn't quite a sound but a vibration, a pull, a calling. love me to the point where heaven becomes hell, where the lines blur and the fire in your eyes is all i can see, all i can feel, all i can know. to the point where existence becomes nihil, where everything outside of you and me crumbles into irrelevance, like the static between radio stations, like the spaces between stars. i want it to be a love that isn’t about you or me, not about words spoken or actions taken, no rights, no wrongs, no questions, no answers, no fights, no reparations, just the sheer force of it, the madness of it. love me like a storm that doesn’t care what it destroys. love me like the roots of trees splitting sidewalks, like the sea eating the shore. i don’t want it neat or polite, i don’t want it reasonable. i want it raw and feverish, the kind of love that burns everything down just to light a cigarette off the ashes. and my love, i want to love you back just as madly, with no beginning and no end, no borders, no sense. love you until your breath becomes my breath, until your thoughts bleed into mine, until i can’t tell where i stop and you begin. love you in the way that defies everything we were ever taught about love. just love. mad love. the kind that turns the world inside out, leaves it unrecognizable, leaves us unrecognizable.

[sorata-ayumi]

El sol y sus flores, Rupi Kaur

[mkhancock]

“A Life on Paper”

By M.K. Hancock

We start so small,

Charming zygotes, ganglions, cells

Sparks of electrical communication

Joining together and making new

Formations that bind us together

We live if we’re lucky

We grow tall or short, until we stop

And then we begin to shrink

The space between most

Currently living skeleton’s discs

Disintegrates little by little

If we don’t care for our bodies

They shrink rapidly, with our backs and necks

Curled downward to our core

As though ready to leave at a moment’s notice

Snuffing out the light inside so

The soul can join again with

The electric Earth,

The body to the soil,

Warm in the sun

Soon to grow

New life

[whattheduckjules]

arm's length

we were standing on your balcony under the starry sky

and smoked cigarette after cigarette

this was the perfect time

to tell you my little secret

that you're the one I really like

but I chocked on my words so I didn't say a thing

and as you took my hand I felt ashamed

that's when I noticed I can't cope with romantic feelings

no even worse, I'm afraid

and I can't talk about feelings without cracking a joke

feeling guilt and acting immature

comedy is my protection shield, that's my mechanism to cope

I can't allow myself being vulnerable and because of my avoidant behaviour I react with misplaced humour

-Jules

[bones-ivy-breath]

Inward by Yung Pueblo

[nwarrior777]

Remember i said i writing a poem

[pomegranateandcoffee]

Forough Farrokhzad poetry for today

[coffeexxcigarettes]

I don't want nudes.

Tell me why you cry

On that random Tuesday in April;

Why you were born with a dusting

Of stars across your cheeks,

And who taught you to hide them.

x

..

..

.. @nosebleedclub Dec 1st; Dusting

[mylittlepoemworld]

when did I stop looking up at the sky and wondering about the endless space? when to beauty did I turn a blind eye and youth's sparkle disappeared from my face?

was it somewhere down this sinuous road that I lost track of who I was before? was it when I began to bear this load that I noticed I was enough no more?

I want again to lay under the sun like a kid, play and lose track of the time I want to run through green hills and have fun and don't give a damn if my verses rhyme

I want to change, to be worthy of you I want you to know the child I once knew

[sweatermuppet]

What if I’m Simply a Dirty Earthworm? What If I’m a Dirty Man, What Then? What If I’m Nothing But a Sexless Worm? by Megan Borocki, published in Beaver Magazine

[Text ID: Do you still think of when I was small catching earthworms in my socks, face smashed in the mud, my soft fingertips digging for wet bodies to throw at my brother? I still miss your voice. Do you remember when you would hold my wrist above my head hissing grow into a clean woman? /End ID]

[e-mptyflowerfields]

I’d crawl into his ribcage if he let me, like Leonardo DiCaprio in The Revenant, I’d curl up in him like he was a dead horse and I was desperate for warmth

[wutheringvibe]

Grief is a cruel promise. Everyone says it will get better, as if that’s some consolation, as if that’s not the greatest tragedy of all. Because one day, I’ll wake up, and the edges of this pain will be dulled. The world will turn a little softer, the weight on my chest a little lighter. And that feels like betrayal. It feels dishonorable to live in a world where the hurt doesn’t claw at my insides with the same ferocity. Because I’ll still be here, and they won’t, and it feels obscene to move forward when they cannot. I don’t want it to get better. I want this grief to linger, to carve itself into my bones, to nestle deep inside my chest, close to the heart that still aches for them. This pain is the last gift they left me; it’s the proof that they mattered. That they shook my world and left it unsteady, that they changed the shape of my days and nights. It’s the scar their love left behind, the tender reminder that I was once touched by a life that has slipped away. I’m in no hurry to be better. I want this ache to echo for as long as it can, like a name spoken into the wind, like a memory that refuses to fade. Because in this grief, I find traces of them still—teaching me in silence, guiding me through the darkness they left behind. It is a broken kind of wisdom, one that reminds me that to love is to lose and still reach out with trembling hands.

[givreencres]

[mkhancock]

“The Gravity of Yearning”

By M.K. Hancock

Night, a steadfast show

of the cosmic unknown

Dark air and emptiness yet

Space for things to shine

The moon itself glows

From seeing the sun

Shine so brightly

Mystical untouchable

Celestial bodies rotating and

Revolutioning in cycles

Romancing Earth’s fields and tides in turns

Waves licking the horizon

The gravity of Earth’s yearning

Soft fractal clouds

Find lost water new forms in

Dew on wheat, mist on wind

Which greets the world

Reborn again alive

Anew yet ancient