#female poets

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The First Word


i am the me between Demeter and deter,

the spine in supine absent you,

i am the gap in Agape,

the age in language after you.


i am the war in swarm,

the arm in swarm,

the vows inherent in vowels,

the asp writhed from grasp,

the tor at the top of the storm.


i am the i between deify and defy,

this axis aching inside

the migration of starlings,

the i between vapor and viper,

between mire and more,

i am the sword interred

between expire and explore,


i am that Eve—

she who broke

a fever to forever.


-Kalliope Amorphous

The day will still come

No matter how hard you close your eyes

The night will kiss the day goodbye

Painting colors in the sky

Welcome the darkness

Embrace the light

Don’t fight against the up’s and down’s of life

salemferrellofficial:

My whims are nothing more

Than passing fancies

My thoughts no more than a sprout

My dreams are nothing more

Than strange realities

My melancholy no more than an out.

-s.r.f (if we were poets)

I can hear the wind howl in my ear, the crackling of the fire, the sound of my breathing, and my heart beating.

I stand still, the rain falling on my face, my blood running cold.

A speck of my past lightens my heart, a memory of a smile.

I remember his laugh and the way his body moved; The taste of his lips, the feeling of his skin.

In my head, he’s in the rain, a ghost, a memory of his hands in my hair.

He was so warm and heavy.

I lift my face, frozen, burning, and numb.

Staring into the sky and the clouds overhead, I cry.

You don’t know me anymore,

but I’m still here

in the corner of your mind,

a lamp you turn off and on

whenever you please.

You left me in silence, with thin, thin skin

and cracked lips that tasted like iron

and salt.

The sound of my car

escaping your street like a long-ago train,

still rings in my ears.

You say you regret what you’ve done to me,

but I’ve been broken in places you’ve never seen.

If I was already cracked, already estranged-

What is left of me?

The sun rises

at the same time,

but the shadows are all new.

I remember your fingers,

frozen in time, from the last moment I saw you.

I can still feel them on my skin,

cold, so cold, and that’s all they are now.

They’re not the same,

and you can’t warm me up from the inside out

again.

The night falls,

and the world is nothing but a room.

Light strays into the darkness

and gets lost.

I know what it’s like to go missing, too.

I could love you from the bone-deep

familiarity of childhood, from the startled

adventure of adolescence, I could love you

with all the joy and grief of womanhood.

Without turning away, without losing my place.

I could love you.

I’ve been loved

by men who’ve shown me how a heart can break

and still be lucky.


I’m lucky to have had the time

to be silent with you,

to feel your heart beating with mine.


Lucky to have you disappear,

to learn how I will go on,

and find myself still intact.


Lucky to have answered your silence,

your absence,

with my own.

I’m the echo of a canyon

that’s been emptied of its rock, its rivers

without water. I’m nothing to the plants

that need me to live.

Some people arrive, like guests,

and stay longer than welcome.

Without a hint of grievance,

they leave, taking with them a part of you.

They leave behind their scent

in the places they’ve inhabited.

You realize you can’t live without them,

and their absence makes you want to die.

The moonlight pours through the blinds and penetrates the air like a sharpened blade.

My frosty fingers gently reach for the window, sliding the glass to reveal a winter breeze.

The luminescent moon touches my face and caresses my cheeks like a lost lover.

I take a deep breath, and my cold hands stroke the beds’ woolen blankets.

I am pulled back into the safety and comfort of slumber, and I remind myself I will be okay.

You taste like a lover I haven’t forgotten.

Your kiss sweet, yet not at all cloying.

The lingering traces of your lips left the faintest of scents,

only a whisper that fills my nose for a moment

before evaporating into nothing.

You’re taller than me, and my head rests in the crook of your neck

like a flower in a book,

and butterflies make my stomach their home.

I’m weightless for a moment, my feet supported by nothing at all.

I want to bury every moment with you in a diary,

but my fingers fumble as they try to keep up, and I’m left staring at an empty page.

I want to hold onto you and never let you go, but you’ve already flown far away.

You were once so close to me, and now, like so much else, you’re forever out of reach.

Leaving was a small thing,

a settling of the dust.

The single most abstract thing

I had ever done.

In that abstraction, I yearned for freedom.

But now I see that freedom

just means the ability to go anywhere

and still know that I’m loved.

I can’t taste the salt of my tears,

but I acknowledge them as my own.

Like I don’t need to see the moon

to know it’s full,

or to know that there’s a spoonful of light

sifting through the clouds over the bay.

I can tell from the heaviness of my eyes

that it’s time for bed.

I look out the window in my bedroom and stare above.

I try to imagine what it must be like to be a cloud,

dense as wool and shaped like cotton candy,

slipping between the stars.

What I wouldn’t give to be just another patch of darkness,

to fade into the sky.

But I can feel my body impounding me,

dragging me back to bed,

where I’ll sleep alone and wake up alone, too.

The sky changes colors like mood rings, each one

a testament to the pain of being seventeen.

Not a single tear,

but a continuous flow that runs down my face.

I catch it on my tongue,

and swallow it.

Without warning, the tide rolls in

and, for once, I don’t run for high ground.

I let the waves of sadness drown me,

and pull me under until I can’t breathe.

Until all I can feel is the cold of the world in its final moments,

and all I can see are my own dead eyes staring back at me.

And still, they’re beautiful.

The light blue irises in the murky depths of my own opaqueness.

The long eyelashes

that brush against my cheeks,

as I sink deeper into the sea.

The way the saltwater numbs

my lips, my face, and then my limbs.

Until I’m only waves,

and I become an extension of this world

that wants me to be something else.

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