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all my missing pieces or all my hoarded holes



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Tue Jun 01, 2021 1:29 am
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whatchamacallit says...



she hoards holes like handmedowns

I've been thinking of making a thread like this for a while now, so here it is finally! I'm going to use this as a place to store poems I don't necessarily want a review on and drafts that I want to come back to at some point in the future.

This is also me trying to make myself semi accountable to keep up the NaPo habit of writing poems more frequently, since I really enjoyed doing that - and I can't be trusted not to go 6 months without writing any more poetry just because I'm busy *cough* read: lazy *cough*

On the topic of goals, some random stuff I'm aiming for and may or may not get around to!
  1. Write something every week
  2. Structures/forms: prose poetry, spoken word, limericks (serious??), villanelles
  3. Experiment with second and third person
  4. Try out themes...other than angst?? I know, sounds weird to me as well >.>
u make me go wat cuz u so wat n u can always go what around u watcha

--SpiritedWolfe


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384 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 25947
Reviews: 384
Tue Jun 01, 2021 1:43 am
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whatchamacallit says...



table of contents

05/21/21
06/08/21
06/10/21
06/15/21
06/22/21
07/03/21
u make me go wat cuz u so wat n u can always go what around u watcha

--SpiritedWolfe


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Gender: Female
Points: 25947
Reviews: 384
Tue Jun 01, 2021 1:54 am
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whatchamacallit says...



05/21/21

i.
The deck is a minefield of amber leaf shells, discarded by trees who have moved on already. They don't need the reminders of months past clinging to their unfurled leaves like broken armour. Yet here I am, so desperate for reminders that I collect the sappy bits on the soles of my feet like badges. I keep memories glued to my heart like an envelope - over and over I lick the flap to seal it shut and then decide I'm not ready yet and leave it hanging open. This nostalgia tastes like acid teardrops on cracked lips.

ii.
I sit in the shade to avoid a sunburn and in the lull of birds chirping I notice it's windier here. The smell of gasoline seeps through the edge of the breeze and I wonder if someone is trying to convince the sun to rain fire.

iii.
Strings of spiderwebs hang like bungee cords and I can't help but believe that a brave caterpillar has swung on one, adrenaline filling its chubby torso. Ants crawl the wide trunk of a tree in front of me. Has one ever reached the highest branch, or do they think the canopy stretches onwards into eternity? If an ant ever made it that high it would faint.

iv.
Torn-up dandelions are heaped together. They have been run through a vintage filter, orange turning to green-gold and green turning to brown-olive. Or they're dying.
u make me go wat cuz u so wat n u can always go what around u watcha

--SpiritedWolfe


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Reviews: 384
Tue Jun 08, 2021 7:01 pm
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whatchamacallit says...



06/08/21

(draft)

there's something so simple in the way
a puppy lives. a leash means biting the handle
loop between your naive teeth,
and walking yourself on legs that still waddle.

there's something so daunting in the way
a puppy lives. feet that could stomp you out
mean toes to lick and shoes
to become improvised chew bones.

when kibbles lie too far away in their bowl,
you don't move to get them;
you bark at them until they respond.
(they don't, but it's the thought that counts.)

you eat everything, not because it smells
or looks good, but because it smells
and looks inedible and you refuse
to judge a substance by its outward appearance.

there's something so human in the way
a puppy sleeps peacefully with a stuffie at night,
and tears it to white stuffing in the morning.
u make me go wat cuz u so wat n u can always go what around u watcha

--SpiritedWolfe


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Gender: Female
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Fri Jun 11, 2021 2:02 am
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whatchamacallit says...



06/10/21


dandelion dares don't disappear down drains. "done" defies definition: don't declare decaying daylight done. dying dawn doesn't deem dark done. decisions dance down dunes, dredging dissolved danger-dregs despite dawdling doubts. decent discoveries deform dour during doom-depths. doting daisies doesn't discount damage, dear. dexterous distress doesn't debase damage, darling. don't default denial-dependence.
u make me go wat cuz u so wat n u can always go what around u watcha

--SpiritedWolfe


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Gender: Female
Points: 25947
Reviews: 384
Tue Jun 15, 2021 3:44 pm
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whatchamacallit says...



06/15/21

Rewrite and mash-up of confusion and No choice.

my mouth is a waterfall and these words tumble out:
they collect in a storm of white-froth confusion.
lies slip away like salmon climbing the rapids, and i
am helplessly pulled along on my end of the fishing line.
i try to dig in my heels, but the rocks are scaled in algae,
and the water is oily between my water-wrinkled fingers.
i look up, hoping to pluck a star from the sky: bait
for the renegade fish. but the night is brown with city-light
glare, and i can not reach far enough through the mud
to find the sunken reflections of sleeping constellations.
u make me go wat cuz u so wat n u can always go what around u watcha

--SpiritedWolfe


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Wed Jun 23, 2021 1:52 am
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whatchamacallit says...



06/22/21

i like to go swimming, but patience
sinks to the riverbed like a handful of scooped-up
sand and i find myself stirring mud, enticed by
the water-mixed dirt. and i find myself bathing
in mud-puddles, as i cry grit out of my eyes and
laugh gravel out of my throat. and i find
myself calling it a chocolate fondu, as i watch
the sweet broth trickle down my arms.
and i find myself washing it away with tears.
i wait long enough, and i find myself forgetting
the clear touch of a summer lake, because
all i ever wanted was to go swimming.
u make me go wat cuz u so wat n u can always go what around u watcha

--SpiritedWolfe


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384 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 25947
Reviews: 384
Fri Jul 09, 2021 1:38 pm
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whatchamacallit says...



07/03/21


I don't think this needs a rating, but it is pretty Big Sad, so if you're not in a good place for reading sad angst you might prefer skipping over this one <3

tears taste different at this time of night. they taste like lost wishes, leftover from this morning's dew. they taste like the precipitation of month-old clouds that settle behind the backs of my numb retina. because when the sky's heavy for long enough, eventually it grows too weak to hold back the rain and the blue paint flakes to the ground. and when i keep touching up the peeled blue, soon there are so many layers that the ceiling is weighed down with exoskeletons and crumbles away.

i lick my chapped lips at this time of night, hoping to find congealed words that i can redigest. and then maybe i can induce vomiting and they'll pour out of me like cotton candy, with break-tooth-hard nerds buried in the heart of it all. and the sour-lightning lemon nerds will whisper in their crunch, i don't want to sleep because then i have to wake up and feel a split-second of excitement. excitement before remembering that all the excitement has run off to the circus of nighttime dreamscape excitement. i don't want to sleep because the morning comes quicker when i do.

thoughts stop hiding at this time of night; the gently simmering frost boils up between every crack that emerges in the dark. there are so many crystallized water beads stabbing the backs of my eyelids that i cannot read anything except the constellation of you're always wrong. i cannot hear anything through the sleet of hailstones in my ears except the howling of you've always been a liar.

life smells different at this time of night. it smells like the petals of crushed memories, from a bouquet of poorly-pressed flowers. it smells like the earth in the downtrodden moment between two storms, grimy with the bodies of worms that i've crushed beneath my feet. it smells like a glass full of sour milk that collects grainy on my lips, and i know i have to swallow it all.

i snuff snot up my nostrils and sob myself to sleep at this time of night.
u make me go wat cuz u so wat n u can always go what around u watcha

--SpiritedWolfe


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Poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just don't get - and never would get.
— Benjamin Alire Saenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe