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Stag pt. 1 đwritten by Blossum P. Thanks for asking. âWhat does my existence feel likeâ â #goodmorning #askmorequestions #myexistence #stagnation #words #ask #nonprose #flow #read #comment #like4like #follow4follow #poetry #socialanxiety #familybusiness #socialconstruct #askmeanything (at Baton Rouge, Louisiana)
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for blog rates: the last movie i watched beauty and the beast (1991), and the last book i read was the prisoner of azkaban (hp) :^)
URL: sorry, I donât get it | okay | GOOD | great | amazing | Iâm jealous
Icon: sorry, I donât get it | okay | GOOD | great | amazing | holy wow
Theme: okay | good | nice | GREAT | amazing | thatâs gorgeous how the hell ??
Posts: not really my thing, sorry | okay | nice | pretty good | GREAT | perfect
Overall: okay | good | GREAT | amazing | I love you
Following: no, but youâre great! | I am now | YES | always
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I was dying.
First I was dying to finish high school and start college. And then I was dying to finish college and start college. And then I was dying to marry and have children. And then I was dying for my children to grow old enough for school so I could return to work. And then I was dying to retire. And now I am dying⊠and suddenly I realize I forgot how to live.
down, where you like me best
forget your name
and Iâll strip myself clean
Iâll bare, Iâll exorcise what my naive fingers can work off
letâs
empty out experienceÂ
undress the pea-coats, the trouser socks of the past
drop them at my stoop
I couldnât say I knew it all
who says I know anything
my last life I was a pilot
where I must have been hung between the clouds
here I might have been something forgotten, forsaken amongst the cityâs sidewalks
whatever I am
help me lose myself
on my way to you
exposed and apprehensive for
I want
want
 your unwashed skin
the one that covers hard, wiry arms
the humâ the copper tones of your heroin voice
merging into my ears
filling them up
filing down
 down between my lips
down
 where you like me best
drip
intoÂ
me
like you mean to
were I something magnificent and mild
 mine my incomparability
and marvel
marvel andÂ
mold onto and meld into me
and
maybe Iâll be ready
maybe youâll be good
 at least weâll have tried
wide enough
Tell me how you loved me First In my green dress A little too much lipstick Painting my mouth Wider Wide enough to swallow midtownâs lights Your nervous syllables Peppering the infrequent silence Me delighting in the taste of your smell There on my patient lips Heart in your throat Tell me How you loved me Deep in the shallow powder There on the early morning wind Sailing into my sober arms Unspoiled Loose lips Easy promises Meeting our mouths like it was free Tell me when You will forget her curls Her unmarred olive skin Or I the memory of his arms or his lies Maybe we can find each other again In the gray sheets of the dawn Singing your early morning lullabies As if weâd never seen love before Ask me to be yours Far too soon And this time Iâll just nod my head Neck tired enough to snap And you wonât forget And I wonât forget And maybe youâll tell me When we can start again
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1st Floor
I imagine a full blown fight.
Hand gesticulations
And wild snarls.
You with your 4 inches looking down on her.
YOU are the head if this household.
YOU hold the reins.
"ALRIGHT!" is the only real yell I've heard.
Yet I would imagine that you've been saying worse things than you yell.
Your bark is worse than your bite.
And after that,
After you scare my mother
Disown my brother
Malign my sister
You touch me with your angry hands
Draining love into me after I pull away.
You want to be the father you never had
But I just want to escape.
I almost want you to scream at me.
I want a reason to leave.
I want your cold religion banished.
I want my beliefs proven.
The afterbirth of your wrath is always so sad.
You apologize with your hands
But your apologies nauseate me.
Sometimes your anger comes through hard eyes and assured arguments.
You scold me for nothing I did
and remain oblivious to the rebellions I conspire.
 You've lost all your eyelashes.
Those soft protectors have fallen out and now your eyes are wet stones looking down. Their blue fades like a cloudless day with an anticlimactic end.
The skin around your nose is angry, as if to warn off potential kisses.
And the teeth in your mouth grow further apart like the spaces between love and me.
I can't help but grow cold when your skin is so impenetrable, your ideas so infallible, and your shoes so practical. If one shoe differs, then both must be thrown out.
At your end I'll whisper appreciation in your ears and wet the top of your head with my tears so your hair turns black. I'll wish I had loved you more. But in this Paleozoic era of my evolution, I'll scream shorn truths into my hands. I'll let kudzu invade my mind. And I'll keep my mouth shut like a daughter should.
Is it just me or is the term 'prose' a bit equivocal? I dictionaried it and all I could conclude was that my previous conclusions were inconclusive. I'd appreciate any feedback as to the true meaning. For instance, would this be classified as prose? And if not, what exactly would it be classified as?
