my life is a series of exclamation points
disguising themselves as periods.
I'm sorry you've misinterpreted my joy
I'm not so used to spreading myself out on a sheet of blank paper waiting for the needle to touch my skin
but I'll try for you
like I didn't with the rest.
I've noticed your tattoos
severe against the pale skin, accentuating the dark circles beneath your eyes but never out of place
did they hurt?
bah, nevermind
just weave your fingers through mine
and get on with it.
write on me
breathe air into my lungs
and when I gasp against you
let go and begin
the pain fades after awhile numb numb number
but I want it.
write on me
add lines to my simple punctuation
excite them and then me
I am a connect-the-dots dressed in pretty patterns and faux finery
I created the cheap seats
so pass me some more lettering,
ink in my veins.
write on me
is this divinity? I am divinity
you move back and hand me a mirror
the girl staring back smiles
she's the same but not
her punctuation has its own personality
flickering with a confidence that only oozes from the self-righteous.
now what? she seems to purr.
YOU ARE READING
little blue flowers
PoetryA collection of original poetry by Ella Petrichor. Highest Rank: #152 in Poetry (6/14/18) **COMPLETED** ::Excerpt:: "betrayal along the seams" A melancholic pallor lining her face She stood in the doorway Beating the shit out of that old rug As thou...
