compulsively
she straightens her hair
work out the knots
it erases anxiety
she melts her worries into a stream of liquid hair
the thoughts of minerals are weighing her down.
my darling drowned girl
your pulse sounds like a wretch in the rain.
fainting spells of precious reds
smooth my flesh with hot sandpaper
i'm still rough, still rough just chisel me gorgeous
throw me into the rock-tumbler .
in time my pockmarks fill with honey
and i will emerge
a tender gem
my crater-like wounds will be
worn by salt water
so you can return
to shove gold down my throat.
repulsion
Comments
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this is so amazing taylor.
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throw me into the rock-tumbler .
in time my pockmarks fill with honey
and i will emerge
a tender gem
I am amazed that more people haven't come by and commented on this incredible piece of pure poetry. The action and unique phrasing is like a stuttering strobe-light in the fact of the reader, exquisitely drawn in crooked lines yet with enough breadcrumbs that any one can follow its richly scented path.
I think that a sign of good poetry is when each sentence gives its own benediction and can serve as its own ending.
So yes, this is good poetry.
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finally.
i always like the processes such as the one shown here. they inevitably end up on a positive note, but one that's hard to figure out how to take with all the negative that precedes. this is a strong piece though. each like works as a really nice stand alone image while integrating well with the rest of the poem. some favorite parts: thoughts of minerals weighing her down/your pulse like a wretch in the rain
a perfect ending for a succinct write. esp. really like the words 'tender gem' together. i expect on one hand something incredibly strong solid and on the other a softness/warmness that emerged from shit gone through in the journey. a beautiful dissonance of young beauty/old grace to me. more to come soon? maybe?
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thanks so much<33333ahhh =]
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