Submissions by Eerie
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
“Creation which cannot express itself becomes madness" ~Anais Nin
SELF POEM
Published
Today 00:40am
Today 00:40am
What Were You Expecting
Morning darkness lays
its web of lamentation across
these legs, numb and cold,
aching to move.
Its become a procedure to come
back from these dreams: anxiety reaches
a pinnacle and I have to coax
myself into being.
Connecting to anything
or anyone is jarring. It sometimes feels
as though my insides
are being squeezed through a shredder.
I'm not entirely sure I've properly
learned how to love people.
Or maybe I love too much, and it's
loss I can't reckon with; so I cover myself
in a...
its web of lamentation across
these legs, numb and cold,
aching to move.
Its become a procedure to come
back from these dreams: anxiety reaches
a pinnacle and I have to coax
myself into being.
Connecting to anything
or anyone is jarring. It sometimes feels
as though my insides
are being squeezed through a shredder.
I'm not entirely sure I've properly
learned how to love people.
Or maybe I love too much, and it's
loss I can't reckon with; so I cover myself
in a...
#identity
47 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
26th Jan 2023 12:55pm
26th Jan 2023 12:55pm
Buried
Lipstick smeared across basement walls
never made you a woman—
Red stains in white cotton never did, either.
Your fingers wandered into unfamiliar
caverns, coloring cheeks ruby red:
meanwhile, in some corner sat tiny
versions of a spirit collapsed.
Where was the kill switch—
The thing inside telling you to stop.
There is far too much recognition
in my developed psyche
to ever hand out a free pass,
but I burn truth and bury lies
because you clearly still have
the devil in your eyes.
never made you a woman—
Red stains in white cotton never did, either.
Your fingers wandered into unfamiliar
caverns, coloring cheeks ruby red:
meanwhile, in some corner sat tiny
versions of a spirit collapsed.
Where was the kill switch—
The thing inside telling you to stop.
There is far too much recognition
in my developed psyche
to ever hand out a free pass,
but I burn truth and bury lies
because you clearly still have
the devil in your eyes.
#sex
#abuse
#manipulation
76 reads
10 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
22nd Jan 2023 5:53pm
22nd Jan 2023 5:53pm
Gilded
A cold blanket
to cool the core
of all we know
to be hot and tangled.
Should we step
out of our wingless
cage, or—
Peck at hands
that comfort us.
to cool the core
of all we know
to be hot and tangled.
Should we step
out of our wingless
cage, or—
Peck at hands
that comfort us.
#spiritual
109 reads
22 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
21st Jan 2023 7:35pm
21st Jan 2023 7:35pm
Grief Isn’t Always Complicated
Your face had a look of true
peace, but your hands
betrayed Death,
with their bloodless, loose skin.
Just days earlier you were talking
about hearing angels sing,
and I wondered what it sounded like
I will never forget that open room,
the odd smell, my six-year-old,
curious about what an empty
body looked like, nearly pulling
the casket off the stand trying
to get a better look. My heart
stopped, and as I moved
to snatch her up, I heard you say:
Leave that baby alone,
she’s...
peace, but your hands
betrayed Death,
with their bloodless, loose skin.
Just days earlier you were talking
about hearing angels sing,
and I wondered what it sounded like
I will never forget that open room,
the odd smell, my six-year-old,
curious about what an empty
body looked like, nearly pulling
the casket off the stand trying
to get a better look. My heart
stopped, and as I moved
to snatch her up, I heard you say:
Leave that baby alone,
she’s...
#death
#memories
83 reads
10 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
16th Jan 2023 6:38pm
16th Jan 2023 6:38pm
The Thick of It
Here in the garden of paradox
lies a misshapen form acutely aware
of absolute, persistent denial.
Your fingers pulsate against
spongy flesh, finding
the sting of barbs.
Scarlet drops are absorbed
by a dust of hunger—
Let me sleep.
lies a misshapen form acutely aware
of absolute, persistent denial.
Your fingers pulsate against
spongy flesh, finding
the sting of barbs.
Scarlet drops are absorbed
by a dust of hunger—
Let me sleep.
#denial
103 reads
12 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
9th Oct 2022 10:47pm
9th Oct 2022 10:47pm
Eclipse
If this piece of me
casts too much light
over things that should
remain hidden, then so be it.
I will never open
spoiled cans of hidden
memories or moments
that tie together past and present.
Most days I think about
endless circles, and waiting to die.
Where is the meaning.
Where is my happiness.
casts too much light
over things that should
remain hidden, then so be it.
I will never open
spoiled cans of hidden
memories or moments
that tie together past and present.
Most days I think about
endless circles, and waiting to die.
Where is the meaning.
Where is my happiness.
#depression
#emptiness
#apathy
363 reads
24 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
2nd Jun 2022 00:08am
2nd Jun 2022 00:08am
Savage Daughter
I am a savage daughter.
I stomp into the earth, eyes
turning to the sun: wings clipped
by another’s undoing.
If I scatter misdeeds
like tiny seeds, call upon
the rain: let them sprout
their velvet petals so that I might
have a bed to slip into.
Let me wilt and whither: bleeding
dust into my Mother.
Let her swallow me so that
she may birth another.
I stomp into the earth, eyes
turning to the sun: wings clipped
by another’s undoing.
If I scatter misdeeds
like tiny seeds, call upon
the rain: let them sprout
their velvet petals so that I might
have a bed to slip into.
Let me wilt and whither: bleeding
dust into my Mother.
Let her swallow me so that
she may birth another.
#dreams
#nature
#sleep
384 reads
10 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
28th May 2022 1:29am
28th May 2022 1:29am
Thoughts at Your Funeral
Your death was nothing soothing
to a now apathetic heart.
I have other sensitivities connected
to your existence.
Today, that cord was cut.
You'll never know her, and I
suspect I won't either.
to a now apathetic heart.
I have other sensitivities connected
to your existence.
Today, that cord was cut.
You'll never know her, and I
suspect I won't either.
#father
#death
#daughter
272 reads
5 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
12th May 2022 3:45am
12th May 2022 3:45am
Longing
Summer has (almost) come:
windows open, air moving through curtains
billowing like astral clouds in a hurry
to get somewhere.
Shutter-speed quick,
comet flash, streak across
blow-foam walls,
lighting the atmosphere for one nanosecond,
and then the darkness returns
to wrap me in its sweet, breathy embrace.
The deep sounds, the night sounds, have me longing
for Autumn, for that time when death
settles into us, and magic weaves her fingers
around the best of what I am.
windows open, air moving through curtains
billowing like astral clouds in a hurry
to get somewhere.
Shutter-speed quick,
comet flash, streak across
blow-foam walls,
lighting the atmosphere for one nanosecond,
and then the darkness returns
to wrap me in its sweet, breathy embrace.
The deep sounds, the night sounds, have me longing
for Autumn, for that time when death
settles into us, and magic weaves her fingers
around the best of what I am.
#fall
#magic
352 reads
20 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th May 2022 4:56am
10th May 2022 4:56am
The Ache of Self Containment
Tuck me into the neat folds
of your skin. Liquid cells gather
minute details of information: they cling
to the hardest parts of me.
Your hands, in the safest places,
gathered at ribs below the pink tinge
of tissue. You let me ramble
in my measure, devoid of any plan.
But...{and this is the rabid conflagration
of devastation}...
...you peer inside these sawdust
eyes; dry films, each border lit
in vile neon: clicking one
empty cartridge after the next—
Yesterday’s Pain
Today’s Anger ...
of your skin. Liquid cells gather
minute details of information: they cling
to the hardest parts of me.
Your hands, in the safest places,
gathered at ribs below the pink tinge
of tissue. You let me ramble
in my measure, devoid of any plan.
But...{and this is the rabid conflagration
of devastation}...
...you peer inside these sawdust
eyes; dry films, each border lit
in vile neon: clicking one
empty cartridge after the next—
Yesterday’s Pain
Today’s Anger ...
#vampires
260 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
30th Apr 2022 3:40pm
30th Apr 2022 3:40pm
A Farewell
I’ve stopped sweeping myself
under this dirty rug.
To lay in debris day after day
is to snuff out every good thing
that I am.
I was holding on to so much
trauma that I covered myself
with prickly fibers to keep others
from coming in.
I walled off the best parts
and truly lost the essence
of my tender, sweet child.
I despaired in ever experiencing
her again, so set about a new course
that felt as though I had stretched
myself into someone else’s skin.
The fit was too tight, choking ...
under this dirty rug.
To lay in debris day after day
is to snuff out every good thing
that I am.
I was holding on to so much
trauma that I covered myself
with prickly fibers to keep others
from coming in.
I walled off the best parts
and truly lost the essence
of my tender, sweet child.
I despaired in ever experiencing
her again, so set about a new course
that felt as though I had stretched
myself into someone else’s skin.
The fit was too tight, choking ...
#NaPoWriMo2022
319 reads
17 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
30th Apr 2022 1:56am
30th Apr 2022 1:56am
The Queen
As a child, I rested bare feet
in shimmery cool waters
of a creek, nestled deep between
rows of ancient trees and prickly brush.
The heavenly scent of wild mint
arose from the murky banks
and wildflowers were carefully
chosen to adorn my hair.
I was the Queen of something
or other, and the fish my courtiers.
At night, under a bright moon
I would wade out to the bottom
of the small waterfall and bathe.
There is something magical
about listening to the babbling
of water over rock, nestled ...
in shimmery cool waters
of a creek, nestled deep between
rows of ancient trees and prickly brush.
The heavenly scent of wild mint
arose from the murky banks
and wildflowers were carefully
chosen to adorn my hair.
I was the Queen of something
or other, and the fish my courtiers.
At night, under a bright moon
I would wade out to the bottom
of the small waterfall and bathe.
There is something magical
about listening to the babbling
of water over rock, nestled ...
#NaPoWriMo2022
288 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Eerie
