head, heart abyss

write with lips what
can’t be said with
fingertips. the heart
grows dead if you
throw her hopes too
far into your head

flowers or weeds

air, i choose to read it over the words
i heard coming from your lips
because what you let slip from your tongue
tends to skip around and not quite hit
the bullseye of the emotions you truly feel
which is why i steal looks at the air
to see if it’s been killed, poisoned by
those hollow lies and half-assed replies
words are bodies, words, air, eyes, intent,
heart, foolishness, wisdom, and greed
plant all of those seeds, and see what grows
flowers or weeds

___
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: sympathy

hope in the grey

even shadows desire to
bring themselves out of
themselves – to step just
once into the heart of the sun

red

i breathe in, and the oxygen grabs hold
of my insides, staying inside
always stuck on the inside
you walk in, hiding, too
how have you turned this red room
blue, our eyes a cold hue, misted
over – let’s paint the truth in red
let it spill out across the room in
threads – let it run in dreams
within our heads

__
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: anticipate

the faces of the mirror

hot air bleeds from the shower,
wrapping its damp body against
the chilled mirror – i fear her, sometimes
especially when i’m minutes from midnight
and the glow of ugly lighting makes the angles
of my bones grow shadows around the hollows
of my eyes, slowly, the mirror is a sheet of milk
i could drape hearts across the surface
with my fingertips, but i don’t want to grip
her face and peel the skin away,
because then i’d be left staring back at myself,
trying not to let myself get in the way
i’m minutes from midnight, somewhere
in the grey

___
backdated Post a Day poem for August 26th, 2017

when stories are unmade

heartbeats running
pushing themselves
drumming their fingertips
along our ribcages, bookshelves
trying to contain the
many stories of our hearts
when a lover walks away
they’ve torn their pages out
leaving our stories
broken apart

walking kettles

blood boiling
eyes vaporizing
angry words bubble
across lips
overflowing with lies
poured out in cups
forced others to drink
later the words
said, are regretted
wishing they remained
broken in the sink

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