skeleton funerals

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in which i am asked the meaning of poetry

if you asked me what poetry is, i would
have no answer. and maybe that is explanation
enough: it is the unspoken words between
the spaces we fill, swallowing silent shadows
and lingering inside its pages. perhaps
it is always being discovered, never fully known.
after all, we can only understand it as much
as we understand ourselves.
she/her




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earth eulogy

the earth is a gentle entity. sometimes
i wish we did not need to know such
fragility. this world is so cruel and yet
we are forced to pretend it isn’t, that
what we feel is for something. nothing
just happens. the ground, the roots, the
water that holds this world together could
easily fall apart. i wonder how quickly
that could happen. i wonder how quickly
it could die before we do.
she/her




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graveyard of lost things

i cannot grow myself like a garden grows flowers. i was not built to blossom. and maybe that makes me a graveyard more than anything, made to mourn the parts of myself i've lost or never had.
she/her




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a shooting star is just a falling rock

and again we find ourselves cold and dark and alone, just two commas circling each other in a vast sea of black. if we were really stars, we could at least blame our dying on beauty. it is our downfall that is like a meteor shower: a slow-motion crash you can't look away from, lighting up the night in neon. we should not wish upon such silly things. we were born alone and we'll die misunderstood.
she/her




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transfiguration (n.)

definition: a complete change of form or appearance into a more beautiful or spiritual state

and i suppose change could be seen as something beautiful, if we count beauty by covering scars and burying bruises. washing away the pain. the ocean is best at this: sending memories off to sea and nipping at the shore of a new day. it carves its own future, changes the shape of its body like the switching seasons. but how does it know where to return to? how does it remember where it came from?
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the leftovers of us

you say: leave it in the past. yet my appetite does not edge towards the future. (i always end up empty when we part.)
she/her




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phantasmagoria

i want you to take me back to the summers
where we burned the bottoms of our feet &
belt out songs without a second thought. to days
that sunk seamlessly into nights that felt like
a dream. to lives that lived beyond our bodies.
she/her




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finally fitting into myself (or losing it)

most things break before they bend. in other words, they will not warn you before they betray you. this is the first lesson i learn that teaches me not to trust. so, i give away my faith like i give away my feelings: sparingly, and with caution. i don’t think anyone would understand this the way i do — i am a glass that refuses to be held because i’ve been broken and pieced together too many times to count.

(i let my mistakes live close with me so they don’t become me.)
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Spoiler
I've said this before and I'll say this again -- you have perfected the art of paragraph/prose poetry. Dang. The way you're able to create a smooth continuous flow of images, without the poem getting messy or off-track or confusing, is so impressive to me.

you say: leave it in the past. yet my appetite does not edge towards the future. (i always end up empty when we part.)

beautiful. <33

Incredible job with NaPo, figmoon!
When you're faced with something you don't understand, I think the most natural thing but also least interesting thing you can be is afraid.

-- Hank Green

they/them
(previously whatchamacallit and Seirre)




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counting your bones

there’s little you can do now. you’ve resigned
yourself to empty benches and quiet streets
carved out in the shape of your shadow. this.
this is how you fill a void. bottle up all your
ghosts and beg for them to turn back into the
body of yourself. (you are not truly alive if you
have missing pieces of your past haunting you.)
she/her




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a kind of loss

in the end, you have so little because you’ve lost so much. you think, in this way, that life is just defined by sacrifice. how many bones you break, how many memories you forget. you live on loop in this nightmare until you wake up and you meet the end. or maybe it’s the beginning. either way, you’ve given up everything you’ve had to become who you are.
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Spoiler
Congratulations on completing NaPo figmoon! Your poetry is really poignant, and vivid, and polished and you should definitely be proud of keeping such a high quality the whole month long - I'm really impressed and your thread is a favorite of mine this April!

One of my absolute favorites is "in which i am asked the meaning of poetry" it is so hard to write about writing or poetry without it coming across as cliche or a bit manufactured - but I love your reflections here and think it resonates.

Describing the earth as "gentle" really struck me in your earth eulogy. That was also a very beautiful poem in whole.

Also I just love this:
this is how you fill a void. bottle up all your
ghosts and beg for them to turn back into the
body of yourself.


AH! your last two poems are a little haunting and sad, but beautifully written. And the final line of your NaPo is wonderfully reflective and I'm a fan of how you used both the phrases "in the end" & "its the beginning" in there - it makes the whole thing very circular and makes the thread feel sort of reincarnated too, in finding life amidst death, hope amidst loss.

Have enjoyed reading every poem, thank you for sharing your work! And Congrats again! <3
you should know i am a time traveler &
there is no season as achingly temporary as now
but i have promised to return



Life is a banana peel and I am the fool who dared to tread on it.
— looseleaf