Georgia Tell's Blog, page 8

Poem #762

I live to see your arms in fishnet sleeves
your shoulders peeking through spaghetti strap tank tops
your hair in various stages of decoration

I live for the mole surrounded by the flowers on your leg
your freckles spotting your face
your lips in a sultry pout

most of all though, I live for the calm of your voice
your patience seeping through every bit of you
your humor in a stolen moment

Poem #761

Sunday,
rich kids play cards at midnight at the local boba shop
I take my boba and go home
slurping loudly to get every last ball
no, my darling, you cannot sleep
until I finish my drink.
lightheaded and frustrated,
I choke on boba
what is this life?

Poem #760

I’m sorry, but
these poems
are everything that I am

Poem #759

the little sapling has hopes
she grows and grows and grows

before she knows it,
that little sapling,
she’s holding the whole world up
the stars drape over her
a glittering big top

a company of performers underneath
dancing and flipping and belting out

before she knows it,
that company of performers,
they’ve taken down the star canvas
they’ve got another world to entertain
but she remains

a big, strong tree without stars to hold up
waiting and crying and waiting

Poem #758 – sleep & grow

sleep
dreaming of arcades and big wins
pushing away those warm nightmare arms

grow
stretching out and up
a warm skyscraper made of bone and skin

devastate
winning problems and aches
splinters of bone crashing to the ground

exist
pretending to be mostly okay
creating my beige bone picket fence

Poem #757 – in which she orgasms when she speaks

she loves words
but that’s probably an understatement

she makes love to words
invoking them for the sheer joy
of the syllables on her lips
the schwa as delightful as a kiss

she recites long treatises
language is more than her toy
her tongue delights in the dips
and the rises of her waxing bliss

she loves words

Poem #756 – maybe I should be a vampire

they say we’re taller in the morning
our spines are puffed up sponges
I know this to be true
because I have to readjust my rear view mirror
every morning
and every evening after work
the day weighs heavy
pushing not just my soul down
but on my spine sponges, compressing them
I get shorter when the day steps on me

only night really likes me
she lets me sleep
and stokes my confidence and my body
to deal with day’s selfish demanding
she is the hero of our generation
she doesn’t demand productiv...

Poem #755 – gross

mortality throbs in my head
it’s my heart counting down to when
my body finally gives out
that’s why
that’s why I got a tattoo
that’s why I run around
trying to fit everything in
that’s why I cry so much
I’m mourning
that’s why my brain vibrates
shaking up the dirt
that’s why I kiss the dirt
once it’s loose around my grave
I get to take in a stolen breath
that’s why

I’m dead
I’m already decaying
only no one told my body
so, shhh, shut the fuck up

Poem #754

working in the dead hours of the morning
the accountant gets more done
it’s just her and the numbers
she wishes all the hours were dead hours

Poem #753

24 is one of those numbers
divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4
that beauty is a mental parkour

one might want to take this further
however it ain’t so gravy
with 362,880