Poetry

By Nix Carlson March 8 th   I think I might be an alcoholic. You confessed with fingers wrapped around  A glass of Bacardi. You broke your ribs, one by one, To lay bare your burnt and bloody heart. My fingers lightly traced the scars on your back –  I still haven’t asked for their history. You snapped shut, went outside to smoke. When you returned, you kissed me And I kissed you back As if sustained by the nicotine on your breath.  The next morning, I moved my liquor from the

By Nix Carlson And myself for a beating heart,  An abhorrent sight, All pulsing and oozing flesh. What I am trying to say is that I am defenseless, And I’m not sure if it’s by choice. What I am trying to say is that you are beautiful, Glinting in the sun, raised in defense Of your own heart, beaten in the cage of your ribs, Terrified of the tender thing before you. What I am trying to say is that I am leaving In twenty-nine days, thirteen hours, forty-five minutes, and  Twent

By Nix Carlson And of course it’s covered in thorns, drenched in Bacardi I’m not very lucky, but you already knew that. I’ve never caught the bouquet before and,  Lord knows, I’ll probably never have the chance to throw one. If I do, I hope my careless aim sends it clear across state lines  To your velvet couch where the love of your night sleeps  While you sit on the balcony with a cigarette.  Naturally, you have left me shattered and,  Without fail, I lose my fucking shit o

By Nix Carlson Ciao / take care / see you later / drive safe / make sure you don’t enjoy the cheers when you tap dance tonight / I’m serious / no fun / anyway, I’ll talk to you after /  Wait, what do you mean? / S hit  / You’re serious? / I don’t understand, two months ago you said you love my friendship / yes, I know you don’t remember, blackout drunk spilling the depths of your guts and mind onto the pavement / I know  / but last month you said you loved me  / I know it was

By Nix Carlson September / I asked you to be soft / float gently into mornings steeped in chai and smoke / flannels wrapped around mugs / of cinnamon coffee / reciting books of poetry while suns fold their light into winter / I don’t believe the stars have any say in the minds of lovers / but I etched my horoscope onto my ribs anyway / we all agreed / you’d stay gentle / and I know you are just time / marching around the sun / millennia after millennia / so I can’t blame you

By Nix Carlson I walk through fishbowl vertigo  into a dim-lit dive.  You’re losing billiards   and twenties.  Drunk.  Disheveled.  Coat collar torn,  hair blown into a trend  you aren’t setting.  You see me  and your face cracks blue,  pull me tight for a hug.  The space  where shoulder kisses neck  smells of vetiver  and nicotine,  enough to leave me  riddled with cancer.  Naturally, I inhale,  let you burn my throat. You introduce me,  friend .  I let the label settle. Tra

By Nix Carlson I am not a task to check off.  A calendar notification.  Food to eat the day before it caves  to rotten fuzz.  I am worth more than the voice that thrums  in the back of your mind, the din stilled  by molasses liquor.  I am not a starlit confession,  but the finger-brush silence to follow.  Not skin to temper your lonely ache, lips  to soothe your bleeding brow. I am soft,  yellow blooms under your touch.  I am worth more than the dog you chained  to your dying

By Navni Patni i feel my head pounding,  it hurts, it thrums,  with survival instincts on the line.  i feel my hands flickering,  they shiver, they tremble,  as i fight for a last gasping breath.  i feel my ears ringing.  they scream, clouding  every inch of empty expanse with things i can’t hear, things i choose not to,  things they imprint on paper.  things they etch on texts.  things they engrave in crevices in my brain. things they said,  like i wasn’t good enough,  or th

By Navni Patni four years.  four years of confinement in these stupid words,  in these stupid scripts,  in these stupid pages of paper. depicting characters who aren’t truly me. who aren’t what I believe in. who aren’t anything or anyone I aspire to be. who leave me dangling amidst spacings in lines. who leave me crawling as I bare my mouth open, to scream, to cry, to smile. yet I sustain, raging through my hands, crying through my eyes, smiling through my teeth,  and dying t

By Navni Patni the colour is gone. the world is black and white. mostly grey, and none other in sight. there’s no bone, only pieces. there’s no flesh, only creases, as eyes tickle tears, as cuts prickle fears, as brows crinkle near. it’s all there, it’s all fine, all at once, lost, but still divine. but there’s a sorrow, in the clouds. they’re always white, but now, for once, brown. still, the dust will settle, the eyes will clear. but till then, it’s all still fine. all at o

By Navni Patni i pick up a pen, ruffle the pages, i think, and think, and think, but never do, never show, never hold anything tangible. i am what i feel, and what i feel is what i know, but if i cant feel, i dont know. yet i still clasp the pen, i still touch the pages, i still feel for words, and they still don’t show, but just enough hope that someday, they’d be held, someday, id hold. By Navni Patni

By Navni Patni Each ethereal day, at the rise of dawn,  when the eternity of darkness has fazed. The gleams of dahlias and honeybees galore, near the shimmer and splinters of glowing water ablaze.  Cherish the vast dale of evergreen forests, before the twilight, conceals it in its gaze. And swallows the world to rise dreary landscapes, in a labyrinth of the marvels of nature’s maze. By Navni Patni

By Navni Patni look away, look away my love. you’ve been looking way too long. the sight isn’t worth your pretty eyes. that isn’t blood, it’s paint, those aren’t knives, they’re brushes, this isn’t a gash, it’s a love bite. your eyes deceive you. my words speak louder truth than the ones you’ve seen. listen louder, listen louder my dear you’ve been grieving way too long the thought isn’t worth your gleaming energy that isn’t a coffin, it’s a paintbox those aren’t cries, they’

By Navni Patni oh how I saw visions of triumph, visions of pain, through my eyes. I’m reliving a loop, over and over and over- thinking, anything and everything, hoping tomorrow would be better, and maybe it will, but it probably won’t. the anticipation clashes with reality, thinking the “one day I will” but I don’t. I never could. I never would. I never stood, long enough to feel my knees crumble. I never put, enough of me out there to fumble. I never looked, for another way

By Binta Yade this beauty spot on my right cheek was my mother's father's my almond eyes belonged to my father's mother there’s a history carved into my cheekbones telling of an empire run along a senegalese river that kissed the atlantic, every time a tortured soul chose her to be its final caregiver an empire built by the faith of one and undone by the hand of some frenchman with a gun and my nose is slanted just like the mountains of a town hidden in the sole of a boot a t

By Binta Yade (prelude) tons of bricks weigh heavy when you hit the ground but after a while feel as light as the air we breathe through clenched teeth ~ sour at first sweet if given the chance the city where ‘kill em with kindness’ isn’t an empty threat smiles attract suspicion optimism - passive aggression labels of delusion you see it deepen in people’s eyes when the days start to hide in the night who gave you the right to hold conviction? LUNDUN NEEDS LOVE TOO  under her

By Binta Yade death will not reach me  before peace does  because I have found it  nestled in the space where the waves meet  rock  where the water bubbles and glides and rock remains firm  I have found it in people who act as rock and allow me to be water  I have found it flying over mountains that have never heard my name  and on cliff tops facing a horizon that doesn’t know of its fame  death will not find me before peace does  because I have found it  in children’s laught

By Binta Yade I’m reading a new book it’s never ending  the start is always the same but I like going back to it  the middle is where I get stuck  as the end is always running away  an infinitely stretched out middle  with a small bellybutton for the month we didn’t speak  this book is the closest thing I have to a mirror  a reflection not of who I think I am  but who I truly am with you  this book is drawn out and cringey it’s soul crushing and heart warming  it’s beautiful

By Binta Yade in my dreams we meet again  at a coffee kiosk on the corner of an evergreen street or at a gathering for something we both care about  or alone, at our secret spot a secret we guarded with hope and barbed wire  in my dreams we see each other tenderly  and everything melts away  our surroundings  the resentment  the fantasy  there is room but for love in this home  in my dreams we know what to do this time  we know how to get it right  or at least not so wrong  i

By Binta Yade run me my pound of flesh I got you your money  and you still ain’t give it back yet  talking about “I still owe you” on some colonial debt I said run me my pound of flesh  ‘fore I burn your safe havens down to the ground unwind everything you built off my back and turn the copper scraps for a pound  my bones are your empire  my blood - your rivers  my flesh - your food, your sustenance but it’s never enough  you always come back for more I am a spirit and a shel