I just wanted to take a little time to showcase a little bit more of my poetry for anybody that might be interested in what I have to offer creatively, and let everybody know about the collection of poetry I'm working on. There's still more work to be done but the body of it is there and I'm really looking forward to trying to make that work and publish something I can be proud of.
So that being said, here's some poems:
I Was Born With Glass Bones and Paper Skin
I always feel like
There’s some part of me
Bursting
At the seams.
And everything I wanted to say
At the tip
Of my tongue.
Like I have many layers
All of the inner layers
Fragile
But the outer bounces back
While the inner layers rebuild
To where I hold it all together
To where I feel my muscles contract.
Like the way you pull my hair.
All the ways of driving me wild
I want to express
All that I feel
Before the outer layer collapses
Before I stop rebuilding.
Before.
Brown Butter and Sage
I crawled out from the dirt in your garden,
Careful not to tear out the roots,
But they got caught anyways.
Once I breached I smelled your fresh sage leaves.
I tied them up until they made a formless effigy,
Set it ablaze.
Reckless purity.
A warming sensation.
I watched myself become
A stick of butter
Melting into your pan.
You mix,
You stir,
You season,
You’re in complete control,
Of my temperature.
Behind you your garden is ablaze,
But we’re having too much fun.
You just want a taste.
Brown butter and sage.
Dreaded Pressure Test
I felt their gloved hands touch my warm flesh and move me towards the chopping block.
They moved with grace like there was a fire in their heart that worked its way up to their hands.
They move the handle in just the right way.
The weight falls.
I am secured.
I am a safe temperature.
I am required to be handled with care or else small bugs and other malfunctions begin to crawl underneath the surface.
I am filled to the brim with moisture and ready to be enjoyed.
The dial is set.
Perhaps my fate is sealed.
The blade continues to move and move and move and move and move and move
Until I am but a shell of what I once was.
Fascinating really, how quickly I am replaced.
Signed, sealed, caught and released.
I can’t stop thinking about the way you still hang my gifts on your walls.
Are they trophies?
I awake.
I’m entrapped.
I am surrounded.
The walls are made of pink flesh and my hands smell like toasted sesame seeds and talcum powder.
The room heats to 200 degrees and I lay down and watch as the walls slowly cook, dripping onto the floor.
It feels like this room is falling from the sky but in fact its more sturdy than ever.
It just needs its temperature to be checked every couple of hours.
Then it will be safe to consume.
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