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#poetry
Topaz Winters, from Portrait of My Body as a Crime I'm Still Committing; “High Specific Heat”
[Text ID: “When you smiled, the morning blushed pink / & gold. Violent & tender. Horrifying & warm. / My ache left me behind. I thought: okay. / I could get used to this. / & I did. I got used to you. You became a habit / & god knows I can never get rid of habits. / You, who told me I was worthy. / You, full of ink that tasted like wine—you / translucent & dreaming of flight.”]
I am unnamed
I am unloved
By ground below and gods above
Second founder
Child exalt
The unhatched egg in an untouched vault
I stand unclothed, without story
I’m the ugly
I’m the boring
I’m potential
Stark and blank
Untold future, broken bank
I’ll wait for them to let me in
Only fodder
Bargain bin
But they will fall in love with me
and give me my identity
I’m naught to lose and all to gain
And until then
I am unnamed.
good god this poem sent me somewhere. man. It’s awesome. I love it. I’m sad.
every time it rains i think of that raymond carver poem. poetry is like prayer to me methinks. or an incantation
this one btw
[ID: poem titled "Rain," which reads,
"Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.
Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.
Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgivable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes."
/end ID]
too many girls who like snoopy and poetry and healing. personally I never heal and all I think about is the flaming skull
