Tag: new poets society

words. sand
on an 
endless
ocean shore
slip through outstretched fingers
slip through my mind
bucket by 
bucket
strain out the gold and
stuff my pockets with
little puzzle pieces 
a mosaic of words 
i string together to 
make a key 
to the locks on 
hearts and minds.

the process of poetry // a.s.m

i’m not yours to keep
wriggling between fingers
that grip so hard. 
drooping
wilting
pulled out of my vase
for too long. 
why this famine? 
your touch is no longer
gentle, no longer
soft. 
i’ve had enough. 
line the streets with
my fallen petals and
when the wind blows, watch
them spell my name.

i am stronger now // a.s.m

The people you love are flowers that take root in your heart. Some of them have shallow roots– they are easy to pluck and be forever rid of. However, some have strong, deep roots that intertwine with your veins– roots that you cannot remove without drawing blood. And when you try to yank them out of your heart, no matter how hard you pull, you will almost always leave some root underneath the surface. There are some people you will never fully rid yourself of– there are some people that will always have the tiniest parts of their roots still splintering your heart.

i will never know how deep your roots go, but i know you’re still here // a.s.m

i’m still dreaming
about razor blade kisses
on my thighs
on my arms
teasing tongue
on my neck.
my first kiss
ever,
always threatening
to be my last.
the only kiss
to ever make me feel
something.

i still dream of razorblade kisses // a.s.m

ice cube 
goosebumps,
kiss me with snowball
lips. melt the ice
stuck between my teeth; 
melt me.
pour me in a pitcher, 
swallow me whole
so i may glide past your heart
to osmotize into
your cells
and never leave.

i just want to be the water in your body; i want you to need me to survive // a.s.m

a 19-year-old virgin,
i am broken because
the cover of ‘Cosmo’ says 
“20 tips for the best sex ever" 
and instead of it sparking
curiosity, i cringe. 

a 19-year-old something–  
something that i’m not quite 
sure of yet– 
i am broken because i am the only one 
in my group of friends 
who hasn’t given a blow job, 
i am the only one who doesn’t understand
what ‘horny’ feels like. 

a 19-year-old something: 
something i am growing to hate and
to be embarrassed of
i am broken because the words 
on the magazines don’t talk about 
soul mates or "20 tips for the best
heart-to-heart 3-am pillow fort 
conversations with your partner
ever." 
instead of wanting what is sold, 
i am longing for something that doesn’t 
seem to exist. 

a 19-year-old someone 
who has learned that
words can steal the roof off your home
and leave you
exposed
i am broken because 
they can pull you apart,
they can dissect you and stick you
under a microscope,
they can make you feel less than
whole. 

a 20-year old demisexual, 
i am learning
i am not broken because
ten letters can be the foundation
of a home, a family,
to knowing you are not 
alone. 
ten letters can help you 
find yourself.

for people who say labels are stupid: i want you to understand why sometimes they aren’t // a.s.m

where your life’s supposed to start
to fall apart
to see the world
to burn the one i made for myself
to find home
to leave the only one i’ve ever known
to start a life
has nothing before this counted as ‘life’? 
to figure out
you can’t figure it all out
there’s nothing new after this
it’s the same life in a different light
you’ll be fine.