16.
Our women die lonely and weeping.
Disabused.
To tell the truth
is to tear my tongue from its
root and spill blood
into a glass so you can
drink it;
your mouth tasting
all I’d ever tasted in
love before—
before there were
roses on the benchtops and
kisses stolen between kisses
given and a hand on my hand
saying more in its touch than
you ever could with your words.
— I’d learnt that love
isn’t swallowing fists and blood between
meals.
I just want to be where you are.
I don’t know
if you’re going anywhere
I want to go or what secrets
are buried in the skin
of your wrists,
but I hope
you can find room for
me in the backseat
between the bags
of baggage
the other girls
have left.
loveinyourarms replied to your post: First kiss.
*throwws glass on floor* ANOTHER!!!
*kisses the heck out of*
YES ANOTHER. Well, it’s been a while and I’ve been struggling to write so SOMETHING had to happen uwu
First kiss.
I cannot go to
the river bank
where we first
kissed without tasting
you in my mouth.
(Like blood;
thick you stick
to the roof of my
mouth and I can’t
rinse you out.)
Unrequited Love Poem
Sierra DeMulder
A Poem Observed
Button PoetryI saw this live last night. Learning to let go is hard.
I could listen to this on repeat for days
Love, before I met you.
1) I was a blank canvas
for their hands to paint endearments
and childhood secrets on.
The bruises came later,
but bruises don’t talk and neither
will I.
2) A slammed door,
a raised fist and bloodied teeth and how
did we end up here, babe?
How did we fall out of love so heavily?
3) A knife,
they’d twist it in my gut
and hang my bleeding
corpse out to wait
for the next poor soul
to find me.
On Admitting You’re An Abuse Survivor-Sierra Demulder
“It will not happen the first time you forgive him. Or the second. Or the third. It will not happen the fourth time you break down in public…it will not happen when you write this poem. When you finally claim what happened to you as if it was a child you abandoned when you were too young to know better. “
god
