miercuri, 26 iunie 2013

You should never attack a poet,

we are the best at exploiting weakness.

the night you took a scalpel to my chest
& fed my heart to the stars, 
you told me i could hate you 
if i needed to. 

with an exorcism 
i tried to cast you out 
of my body.  

i was contorted limbs:
the language of tongues 
trying to find myself 
in the cosmos 
of lit kerosene fingertips, 

& the kinds of habits 
that only choke me at 3am -
when my eyes aren’t yet heavy 
enough for sleep;

my mind tells me to do awful things.

between fucking & 
i-don’t-know-who-i-am-
anymore,
you are the calories 
in the mathematical equation 
scribbled &
    scratched out 
of me. 

i think of shy moons 
and i don’t eat for three days.

admit it;
you only liked me
when this poetic tongue 
licked compliments
up 
    & down 
your scars.  

but, 
space shrapnel aside- 

you’re too far down now 
for even the stars 
to graph you into their maps.

This poetry is NOT mine. I do not have any copyright on it.
All the rights belong to *DearPoetry, on deviantArt.

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