spilt ink – Page 20

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

tucking flowers behind your ears
watching the sun dance in the sky
waiting for the air to clear
i never want to leave your side.

from this hill we see the town
i twist my fingers between yours
to keep myself from falling down
because your love my soul secures.

and when the earth begins to shake
fear will not grip my stuttering heart
because with you i know i’m safe
though the world begins to fall apart.

love poem for nobody // a.s.m

craving the structure of a rhyme
to cry out a word and find
one like fingers intertwined
the need for the steady beat
of pounding feet on dirt trails
the answers to an existence
with no right answers.

i’ve been writing in rhythm lately // a.s.m

Silence is not always peaceful, and peace is not always found in silence.

but once you are at peace in yourself, your soul will always be still // a.s.m

the floor of my room is
covered in color-coded
boxes with labels
and yet i can’t quite fit
myself into one.

i am between two universes:
not quite home, not quite
ready to build a new one.
not quite me, not quite
sure who ‘me’ even is.

embracing ambiguity
was never my strong suit;
i’ll fold my body into a box
of my winter clothes
in hopes that
i will dig myself
out in
a few months.

finding me, leaving home. how can i pack my entire childhood into a box? // 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.

scarlet skies shout
bloody
rage
at the sci-fi
horror story human society
has become.
there is
no more peace in the blackness
of night. only gunshots,
only cries for
justice
and the children who
are gone now.
in a time where
empty hands aren’t a crime
unless those hands aren’t white.

sooty-black skies
yell one hundred and thirty five names in the night
you say their names, you say their names
but don’t tell them their rights.
in a time where living in
the Land of the Free means
people must fight for their lives.

these sidewalks are not
battlefields and
these streets were not paved to be
cemeteries.
who will protect you from the ones
who were supposed to be
protecting us?
in a time where we preach equality
but continue to sweep
injustice under the rug.

for every unarmed black man and woman who has been killed by police, for their families and friends, for all people of color who have to fight for the basic human right to live when they shouldn’t have to. black lives matter. // a.s.m

my heart hangs
from the ceiling fan; a kite
i never really learned
how to fly.
a bloody carousel
i paid too much
to ride.
an exhibit
to be displayed for the rest
of my life, my remains sit
behind plastic wrap walls
that
leave no handprints,
eternally orbiting
emptiness.

modern art bleeding heart // a.s.m