shameless bump

Thank you Harold & Peccy

Ah, wonderful MsWiz

Much like love, baring ones soul
can be like a volcano erupting.
This sounds like a cliché, but wait...
There is a deeper message here.

The volcano boils and broils internally,
heaving in its inner turmoil; then writhes
and spews in the eruptive state, before
exploding out all its lava guts... much like
festering sea from a sick whale's blow hole.
All surrounding terrain is affected.
Later things cool off. The earth is left
scarred, and things once living are now
dead and erased. It is an event, not to be
taken lightly.

In baring ones soul to another, the burden
donor boils and broils internally, heaving in
inner turmoil; before writhing then spewing
in the eruptive state. Words are exploded
out from the gut, like festering sea from a
sick whale's blow hole. Both the receptor of
secrets and the burden donor are affected.
Later things cool off, leaving the soul barer
scarred. Trust dies and becomes erased.
It is an event, not to be taken lightly.

If secrets could be fractured into billions of
tiny particles... just small enough, I wonder
if, with the help of the alchemist's hand, they
could be converted into white light,

...and erased?

Singular pronouns both you and I
Each living a singular, lonely life
Why had we, the sum of you and I,
The plural pronoun never arrived?

We would have loved in the nominative
Love would have found us in the accusative
A love that would have been ours in the genitive
Had love came to us in the dative

We may be a plural grammatical unit
But a single word in black and white
Unlike you and I, two singular grammatical units
Forever separate entities to speak of and write

Two singular pronouns both you and I
The sum of which never materialized
But even if only in syntax and semantics
Even if only as linguistics
I think we would have been truly romantic
And we would have been immortalized

Thank you, sweets

Thank you

Harold
Socratease
MsWiz
Mystique
pkd
Mom

Thank you Raven & MsWiz

Thank you Mom & jimz

Very nice write

Thank you Up2Us & mteagle

1. Amaretto
2. Almond
3. Blackberry
4. Black Licorice
5. Carrot
6. Clove
7. Cherry
8. Caramel
9. Cola
10. Ginger
11. Juniper
12. Lemon
13. Molasses
14. Nutmeg
15. Orange
16. Prune
17. Plum
18. Pepper
19. Root Beer
20. Rum
21. Raspberry
22. Tomato
23. Vanilla

mystery.
gone.

Thank you s1ow & Poetic

i stand before you
take off my clothing
piece by piece
you see my imperfect body
bared to you
its scars and bruises and freckles
stretch marks and moles
not at all vulnerable

i tear open my chest
reveal my pumping heart
in the bloody gaping wound
peel off the suit of my skin
nerves and muscles
nothing
i stand before you
bared
not at all vulnerable

but your knowledge of the invisible
scars and bruises
old wounds scabbed over
scabby wounds unhealed
you see them all
you know where to kick and scratch
and you do
you want nothing of me
take nothing with you when you leave
you see the tears i hide
you cultivate and harvest them
to crush into a sour wine
you later throw into my face
and you laugh
and you laugh

even though i am not prostrated
by your feet
even though i do not beg or plea
i am vulnerable then

Thank you kc :flowerforyou & H

I am a miracle worker by force of you,
deaf and dumb to my advances,
you fumble unfulfilled in a cold, love-starved room.
In your isolation I implore,
let me lead you to my fire.
Let me smash your muted mantra of loneliness
into a million beautiful fractures.
Let me pick up the pieces and
cut myself on the sharp edges of
our potential
and bleed voice to your silent agony.
Let my surgeon hands transplant
my heart to your chest.
Let my wrecking-ball words
swing at your self-imposed solitude.
Let me let you love me.
Look at me
and understand.

Very nice, Jason

Even in the sickles of your
half-closed eyes there are
elements of riddles, questions
and answers unmatched.

This is not the mystery of
the drifting transparent dead.
This is not the mystery of the
tallest ladder’s rungs, those
who clutch their heads and speak
in tongues, taken over by the fire.
This is not the mystery of the
liar and the disappearing
assistant.

This is the question of the city
in the morning, the persistent
daily surprise that things go on.
Lights are lit, pistons pump.
That people button, buckle, leave
their shelter, eat. The first surprise
as tires move on streets, as feet
press pedals in a way that preserves
glass and metal. This is the uncanny
way people, planes, cars move in
their directions absent a single
guiding intention.

For a second I look away
and you’re asleep. Tomorrow
I’ll play at knowing motives,
say I may know what
you’re thinking. But I only
know you surface and sink,
that the hour for sleep comes
easily and you rise at dawn. I know this
like I know your blinking eyes –
every second always here and always gone.

sometimes at night
I lay in bed
and the night seems to
push itself on me,
the monsters have been
under my bed
for as long as I can remember
with their claws and teeth
putrid fur and acidic saliva,
used to be
my dad would chase them away.

lately
at night
its just me and them
and sometimes
the tears come,
its hard to breathe
with them staring at me
stark truths
show in their blank irises
and their teeth are so shiny
when they tear into me
and take out all your favorite pieces.

maybe someday
this night light need
will fade.

Thank you

Poetic
KY
Different
pkd
Harold