poem : people-pleaser / ghost breeder

woke up to your fingers
painted on my skin / luminescent
lurid ,
in the dark. you’d taken
and taken me with everything
you had left / i hope
in the middle, just
before the end
that it made you happy to

push a hand
inside – wrist
and muscle, too,
laying it all to rest.

you buried your
lovers in my graveyard
and now, i grow round
on ghosts.



people-pleaser / ghost-breeder | talia b. ; @raggedhearts


















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poem : night-hearts

i can feel
it all coming undone
numb
to darkness
always, i’ve been – been afraid
of dying / loved the night & hated the way the light looked
as it was leaving

i lived for the stars, awhile
until the sun rose and claimed
what was hers
so i think

maybe death is like a
sunset
the night sky our
hearts i promise

( you won’t even know you’re gone )

– talia b. / @raggedhearts ×

 

poem : almost-free

i’m dreaming

of a world

i might die before

i see

but if even

one

of us gets to be

brown / black /

queer

and free

you’ll hear me

from the stars,

strung up somewhere

a thousand miles between your hands

and mine,

a whisper, of –
“we stood

and broke and

bled

so you could live

just a day

more / like this / like you’ve never known what

it means to hide

and the lights

are burning

and a heart beats hardest / before it beats

no more,
swelling

with an ages-old pride

and you

are all we fought for

and you , toppling walls,
( doing all we did

only in darkness, half-light,

shuttered up behind closet doors )
shining, loving, living

where it’s daytime bright,
you are  all i dreamed of

18, half-gone,  almost-there,

almost-free.”
talia b. ig : @raggedhearts 

poem : we have come to speak our history / and wake the marrow in your bones

there’s a warmth in her

voice. old grief, aged pain,

echoing voices on floorboards i

walk again, through her feet, in

her legs.

 

these are your slave-women

these are your fields

these are your homes

and untouchable brethren

these are the waves they dragged us over

this is the sun that cracked open

our scars

smell whip-leather / smell baby-blood / smell your death in the setting sun

and rage.

 

we have come to speak our history / and wake the marrow in your bones | talia b. ; @raggedhearts

poem : hanahaki

is it safe where you

lay? are the leaves speaking against your window / am i in your heart, because you are in mine / am i reflected in the

silver curves of that place’s half-moon / am i good

where they were

better? or bad? or shades of black / is my mouth stained with kisses-to-be ; your future mistakes ; i taste a name, half-remembered, on your skin – and

 

do you know that when you

carry a memory, i see

the smoke of it

convulsing behind your mirror-glass eyes?

 

is it warm, where you are? i will be waiting where you left me

i have been patient and the soil is dry; spring is

on our heels / come quick. come quick

before i am more flower

than fire.

 

  • hanahaki | t.b. ; @raggedhearts

 

[ h a n a h a k i  – n. a fictional illness, born from one-sided love, where the patient vomits flower petals as a result. ]

poem : sappho , hear me

mother, i cannot weave my writer’s song

my loom lies dead and the day is done before the sun has risen, my work finished

before it has begun.

 

mother, i cannot lift my head to rest in the bowl of your palms. leave me – i am in love

and by every god i swear that i shall wither;

rosy flesh unfurling

from lily bones,melancholy-soft, sweetly singing

of madness.

 

– sappho ; hear me | t.b / @raggedhearts

 

 

poem : rewinding the apocalypse

i can see your city / crumbling , colliding / milky horizons bleeding red / the stench of a dying world , clinging to your mouth’s

corners ; everything is a cycle / everything is a circle of the same to the same until i

break the connection where it thought

it was strongest

 

until i do the unthinkable /

until i break myself trying to be unbreakable. i will fill in

my cracks with silver. with steel, liquid fire / oily rage, with gold and silver / everything soft, everything bad and good and dark and rusted and our desire and i will bang metal hands against walls of flowers and thorns.

 

i can promise you blood / that i will fill in your cracks, too. we will not be fixed, but

broken / loving ourselves when we are at the brink. we will do what they thought was unthinkable

and live.

 

rewinding the apocalypse | talia b. ; @raggedhearts

poem : of dogs and their masters

eyes that cry never lie ( ? )

 

the untruth of it rustles (coloured in amusement, pink-yellow) under naivety. you want to

believe that they sob

for you? for you / pretty dog, called to heel, nuzzling at fingers that cl i ck – ! – and call the pet from its deathbed, back to the grave of

their arms (the hazy smell of your blood

in the cracks

of their palms) ;

 

you are better

when you are unlearning,

dull-eyed, blurry smile, dining on sugar-crusted death / dumb, lonely,

and lovely.

 

  • of dogs and their masters | t. bennett ; @raggedhearts

 

 

 

 

poem : worship / we’ll be electric tonight

we’ll be electric tonight

hand in hand with the power lines / ecstatic pain, pleasing the parts of

you that crave the sting / the bite & slap , the foot on your throat,

mouth to the dirt, smiling into an oily pavement.

 

you’ll ask me for degradation. you’ll ask me to take what you are – remake it ; and have my name

be the last thing you whisper to your pillow as it hits / the petit mort, the vibrant end /

say my name . say my name, lover,

and make it holy.

– worship | t.b ; @raggedhearts

 

 

a little context – one, i’m so sorry for disappearing. i’m sorry i keep disappearing and re-appearing and not posting here, but there’s been a lot on my plate. things are mostly stable at home, i’m handling school well, i got into the summer school programme i wanted (sutton trust summer school !!! at st. andrews !!!! me !!!!! i got in!!!)

but it’s ridiculously difficult, sometimes, to manage all of that …plus cross-posting to two different social media outlets, keeping at least six total accounts active all on my own; not adding in having a social life at all, trying to sleep, eat, pee and exist. it’s a ton, and i’m trying so, so hard.

but also – this poem is very different from anything i’ve written, because it’s about sex, and i’ve never written poetry about that before. it’s an interesting topic; how the poet chooses to describe it, what details (physical, or emotional, perhaps both) can provide a direct insight into their sexual tastes, their attitudes towards the act of it. sexuality and sex itself are, for many people, an important part of themselves. it’s a way to express love, affection; to self-harm, to cope; an addiction, or, for asexual individuals, something subject to change, not a thought for them at all, etc. sex is a big, complicated, fascinating topic, and this is just one of many pieces to come relating to it.

poem : i see him now & he is smiling .

all it took was seeing your face. i didn’t think i was so weak. you are so far inside me that you might as well be fucking me

( up & down like a broken merry go round )

all over again. you are like the marrow in my bones if it was eating me alive, i mean, you are like that acid and the poison and the end of the road and i don’t see anything when i see your eyes but the night you held me down and ended my life. i just hear the sheets & what it felt like . i see a body becoming a statistic & what should have been a crime scene

is just four walls and a green and blue bedspread.

i see him now & he is smiling | t.b. ; @raggedhearts