Poetic Stories

and the evil in me

you are the tide crashing

over my head, the stitched

lips leaving words unsaid

a bright hue turned ashen

the quiet wood’s passion

soothing song of the dead

you are the wisp of smoke

to my soft hearted choke

and the ache in my thighs

the darkest black of night

every dream i awoke, my

only thought to provoke

you are a gossamer line

a needful way to unwind

an every path to the future

the every past left to suture

amidst a lacemaker mind

when i was in fifth grade, (and

again in tenth), i had to memorize

the Preamble of the Constitution.

(we the people, of the united states...)

do kids still do that? do they still sit

in dusty classrooms without enough

books, in homes with no heat, no ac,

no food and read the words written

in the last quarter of the 18th century,

by dead white men who held pens in

one hand, bloody whips in the other?

are they still taught those self-evident

truths from that hoary old parchment,

do they see it born of an abattoir, inked

with words -- breathing, living, document.

the fruit of the tree of liberty, watered

with the blood of the poor? or are they

still taught the pyrite gleam of life,

liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?

Not understanding what I have done,

To deserve all that you have done to me,

Praying each day that God will allow me to survive,

To not be poisoned by your cruelty,

Ensuring that I live to see another day,

For it took everything within me to not end it all...

©️fallencalliope

Watch the sunset into the sea

By the ocean

On the beach.

Lost in each other's eyes

In the golden rays

falling on the skins.

Hold my waist

I'll hold your neck

Time stands still

For our love's sake.

Let me rest my head

on your shoulder,

My safe place

The eighth wonder.

Fingers tangled

Unbreakable faith

Coming back in every life

Like the ocean waves.

Growing old with you

My secret wish

Can't help falling in love

It's a magical bliss.

Planets

There, there, little Planet,

that is,

how little time so deemed,

away your frozen tears

how prideful, to be

and be

Queers,

queer folk,

that is,

othered and strange

eccentric in vivid ways

in the gravity of savage taste

The eccentric orbit of Pluto, so far

away in the dark, skipping gayly

past Neptune’s trident, sharp,

that is,

a pilgrim on his way

to taste a lick of Sun

oh,

you're one of

those characters

i met long ago in a book,

when i was much younger

impressionable, i dare say

still grasping at straws

regarding being

and who i would be...

but i recognize you now,

in all of your lack

and questionable morals,

values, and character...

i didn't like you back then

or maybe i just knew

i never wanted

to be like you

back then...

and i still don't want

to be like you,

today

.

sayonara sucker,

~ @pocketfullofpoesies

The sky is clear

Flowers are blooming

Butterflies are flying

In the garden

I next to you

Sitting under the lemon tree

I'm leaning on your shoulder

While enjoying the beautiful atmosphere

You smile

I smile

I enjoy this moment

We are happy

You are my love

-J.Wool

La intimidad reside en conocer a una persona, y el amor en descubrir su verdad completa y aun así elegirla. El crecimiento consiste en permitir que te vea, aunque no todo sea mágico. El amor acepta la realidad, incluso cuando nos ofrece sueños.

an orchestra of wolves

howling for their maker

i wept in the meadow

the back of an old church

dense forest, hollowed

paths seeping into lakes

a stark autumnal shell

leaves crunched under

brown weathered boots

our vow of skin and bone

an offering to relinquish

the nobility of a name

holy water filled lungs

visions a cowardice red

mixed with bare revival

As capitalist warriors

We're always about something

Talking about something

Thinking about something

Confused about something

something

something

something

But

I had this revolutionary idea that

Perhaps

No one ever thought of:

Let's do nothing.

Wow :0

Did I just see your eyes

Twinkle ✨️?

Yes

To be terrible,

My words are cookie cut,

I clock in at the factory,

I take another gulp

of anhedonia

on the rocks

but it's drinking me

under the moon.

The world

will spin on

regardless of how

my jaw may clench,

regardless of the way

my fist pounds against

the florid afterbirth

and comes away

riddled with purple excuses