you say I, i say i

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Do you write with or without capital letters? Why or why not?



i write without capital letters not for effect or affect
but because I’m unsure of myself, my words.



:thumb397341583: wilko's flea powder is full of permethrinhalfway through, words bloat like dead birds falling
out of your mouth.
sparrows nest every spring above my window and drop naked from the gutter and it's like this:
standing on the patio staring moronic at pink rows of skinbags,
three minutes behind discovering one alive.  
someone else is doing a bad impression of listening.  she scribbles two-tone down the wrong
side of the page, turns on the fan and all i can hear is a turbine
scooping up armfuls of air and vomiting
all over my neck and you talk
about stuff that happened
last night and i guess
i was there but
i'm not



it’s a question of taste, completely subjective
this is what i’m told.



:thumb407329375: Figmentthe sound
of oncoming rain
through an open window
somewhere laughter spills
like marbles
how to talk to girls at parties.two carnations hang on the wall, and you could be the reason
her leaves shiver as she slips off her skirt or her petals part
when she tells you that her father left when she was thirteen
but your roots are stuck in plaster, held fast by sticky doubt
that her pink is too perfect for your ruddy complexion, that
you’ve been picked at too many times by impatient fingers—
swallow your pride deep into your stem and tell her the way
she leans reminds you of a family picnic you went to where
all you did was sit against a tree with your sister and laugh



by whom? i forget,



pianomanglenn,
   the boy's a lullaby -
31 years dead and still singing me to sleep
        glenn,
the boy's a magician -
his aria turned my noose into
                         pearls on a string
The L-wordthe fear which follows                     lesbian
                    question mark
there’s no crucifix here, but for the way tongue slips down L-shape,
lips pause in question, like a cross-
ing, teeth flash white closing in.
tight-lipped, and so unlike how I entered the world
open             honest, with a scream to announce my pain
when the doctor laid his hands on me—
                                        a sound separating me from death
                                        the gift my momma gave me
I answered, no.
the science of sleep.i don't sleep anymore. or at least i don't think i do. it's one of those things i stopped keeping track of like the number of words that make my mother cry (cancer, lists). if i'm being honest, i stopped sleeping (maybe) around the time i started thinking in a series of parentheses.
because i don't sleep, my arteries demand too much air (oxygen, clean) from the space outside my window. i make my room my heart, cold. it fills with a wind only bricks can breathe, an ice only soil is willing to withstand. i am winter's soul.
the world becomes a different place when you stop noticing sound (mute, black and white film) and start noticing every movement your bones, your muscles and the acid in your organs make. you start twisting your spine to imitate the birds spreading through the branches like cancer and you force your fingers to bend in unnatural angles to stop the shaking. but aren't we all just mocking birds (mockingbirds)?
when you stop sleeping, your body becomes the experiment and y



maybe i read that in an interview in the paris review,
or at the writing workshop that i used to go to.



looking for an online loveri have ginger hands,
sandpaper skin,
tapioca nipples.
i wish my pores
were mestiza freckles.
no, no, no, they're not.
they are just pores:
acne aftermath.
i'm going for the truth here,
uploading unmanipulated
close up images
of my current age - 39.
by the way,
what do i look for
in a man?
i have no format or template.
but would you leave me in peace
at daytime?
so i can write poetry,
bake, talk to flowers...
and at night, would you
seduce me? i would very much
like you to.
your turn.
© 02.June.2012 :house:
:thumb370429418:


it could be completely aesthetic driven,



dead bodies floatsickly saccharine
paled purple
onto
finger-cuts bled
out, bomb raided
sacked and decapitated
river sphinx
splits
hair crease
forest burns
dead bodies float
And they said
just  go back to sleep



might have something to do with,
the look of the dot hanging out there, just above the i,



:thumb427717670: erosioni hunt you
always in the dim coriander shadow
shelves of thought.
it became a worry when
this  obsession
began
to taste like lemon
and burning walnut,
like myself,
       with an alien flame
roiling up inside
the sunken balsam-wood.
the grains in me bow
wherever you slay them
and a lash of cheek in the mirror
caught in the wrong light
when i turn
looks like your
hands unfolding
another map
as your knuckles
linger and
shake against the steering wheel
:thumb381016497:


like that.



i indent because. 
  my poetry
is a 
    contortionist
{i simply
            guide her spine}
 




© 2014 - 2024 Nichrysalis
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setmyworldintomotion's avatar
thank you for including my piece!
the main reason i write without capitals is because of equality amongst letters. i actually thought i was the only one who thought like this until i just read UnspecifiedUnknown's comment - yay! equalists(?) unite.