poetry critical

online poetry workshop

middle american

you stole me tonight.
you wrapped me in your blanket,
and bade my breath fall on your neck,
for my hands to unravel
and fuse again.
you come from a place
where women have cornfields
but no oceans.
where they need a curly haired you
to return with tales
made newly heavy by
and backbone.
to tell them
the scars make them beautiful.
your cries burden me.
they steep my clothes
in the saltless tears of pacifism
and push me further east.
i am insubstantial,
at the ends of your fingers,
however far they may reach.
a vessel for your jazz,
which curves like a malnourished spine.

10 Mar 10

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I like how you specified "tonight" because without it, it would be a different poem i think.
 — justagirlx3