#my poetry

[scriptastra]

[kameneva]

girl poetry VIII

@kameneva

[strokeofserenity]

John Augutus Shedd, “Salt from my Attic.”

[khloodsadek]

[mrshamill]

Our bed is cold, without you in it. Since you’ve been gone, I’ve noticed a lot of things, like how quiet it is without your snores how much the cat misses your lap how badly I eat when cooking for myself how boring TV is without someone else to comment on it But mostly I notice how quiet it is especially at night, because I’m used to hearing you breathe, snore, rustle and there’s silence instead. Things go undone; laundry not folded, sheets not laundered (I can’t bear to give up even the smallest scent of you) kitchen not cleaned. I think, why bother? It’s only me who’ll notice these things. And I don’t. My bed is cold without you in it. My life is cold without you in it. I miss you.

[seraphinesaintclair]

“Wisteria and Rebirth” by Seraphine Saintclair from Suisun Valley Review magazine issue 41

[zelphafrost]

Pocket Spaces

As a man, 

you’ve never had

 to ask questions 

about pockets. 

Never had to 

really give them 

any more than 

a cursory thought. 

Just took for granted

 that they were

always there. 

How lucky you are

that the world has

just always given 

you pockets,

like it was 

your birthright. 

Like it just

came with the penis. 

That you would 

always have 

sheathing pockets, 

readily available for you. 

Like the world just

owed you those pockets. 

The imbalanced and 

unearned entitlement 

for your pockety sheaths. 

Always something to 

stick your hands in. 

No fumbling around 

in the air for something 

to do when situations 

get awkward. 

Just shove your hand 

right in those 

pockety spaces. 

Meanwhile, we’re 

over here trying 

to figure out 

what to do. 

The required purse straps

biting into our shoulder. 

We grip it, uncomfortably. 

A nervous twitter. 

What I wouldn’t give

for a pocket big enough

for a six inch blade. 

I can wrap my hand

around the hilt 

when things feel dangerous. 

When the anxiety

about retaining agency 

over my own body 

comes knocking 

because you're 

not sure what 

his next move will be. 

[sanddollarpoems]

Are we disposable,

only valuable when we're firm

and ripe?

Are we simply worth

what we can produce;

a giver of life

to be thrown away

when the effort we expend

drains us of life?

Is this what it is to be woman?

Is this our fate?

[sepias0litude]

Should I be ashamed that I didn't die quietly, like the hero from their tales?

little teaser of my writing

[scriptastra]

[candiedspit]

my only goal of the day was to write a singular paragraph

[mumblesplash]

i say if you’re gonna have the mysterious entities speak in rhyme you might as well commit (EDIT: part 2!)

(posting an unprecedented Part 1 of At Least 3 bc i actually have the entire script and most of the storyboarding for this done already)

[for-flowers-sake]

[tini-ballerini]

in echoes and repeats

[echoesoftheinfinite]

I told the moon about you, And she cried.

— Echoes of the Infinite