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Literature
Close
Wouldn't it be so wrong if I called you over?
To lay back and listen to slow jams while we wrote letters
to God on each other's skin with our lips.
I'd be the envelope you fold into so perfectly.
I don't know how many stamps you need to send an angel to heaven,
but my sheets are blue, so we can roll in their dye until it coats us in oceanic gas flame
and wings ignite from our backs.
If He won't hear our presence,
He won't ignore our conversations
like those of friends between the tape of old cassettes.
You didn't know?
Our days together are bonus songs in the soundtrack of holding things close.
This one is called: Holy Shit, We've Been On The Phone For Six Hours
Tomorrow is called: Spontaneous Roadtrip To CVS For A Condom We Haven't Tried Yet (But Our Brains Somehow Know They Exist [Because The Commercials Come On Late At Night And We Sleep With The TV On (Because We're Both Afraid Of The Dark Parts Within Ourselves Showing Themselves On The Outside)])
Yesterday is called: Leave It
I'v
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:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 1 0
Literature
Safire
I'm not sure how I got here with her.
I wish I could write poems on her skin,
then massage them deeper than words,
the ink and oil running between my fingers.
Feel her breath on my lips,
shallower than bathwater dried on the sheets,
some hibiscus petals stuck to her breasts.
She's at the throne of the animal kingdom.
Pormpuraaw tribes know True North by her stride.
The land gives her its blood, all poisons aside,
rests on her overnight, imprints songlines on her thighs,
vinyl grooves playing off my record needle tongue.
Xans and slow jams from her mouth and her speaker,
her taste on my lips and mouth so I speak her.
Nothing less.
I want that hot summer desert heat in my bed.
Put our mouths on our hemispheres.
Raise her Celsius to my Fahrenheit.
Her hips to my chin.
Breathing her,
Breathing her,
deeper, and in.
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 2 1
Literature
Cerulean Blue
I've never met a shade
that looked more like you.
I'm still working on fireworks that explode into photos.
That way we can power the city on the heartbeats
of everyone who saw the sky flash your smile.
How does it feel to be the hand that picked the Big Apple?
How does it feel to hold the keys to the Cloud Gate?
Tell me, how does it feel when you spin your favorite records on the Space Needle,
And dance on the moon in mid-afternoon, with the future tucked safe in your back pocket?
What if I told you it's everything you've wanted?
What if I told you...
that I was part of the picture?
Would you dance for me, too?
Would you go slow like a whale sinking to the ocean floor,
so I can feel these walls fill to the ceiling with your pulse under my fingers?
The same fingers that laced yours on the mattress where we slept.
Where we drowned in the longest breath of fresh air.
In a submarine of can't-let-shit-go, you surrounded my radars
and I loved the sound of your presence.
I didn't have to be i
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 2 3
Literature
I sleep at 6am and wake at 4pm these days
It's the second winter I've spent at my mother's
as an adult who went out into the world
on his own.
This time,
at least tonight,
I keep her door open as she sleeps.
Hearing her movements,
the sheets crinkle in her aliveness.
The first roof I ever had above me was her voice.
It still speaks to me.
That roof hangs over all roofs I'll ever know.
It shelters me when other houses abandon this child.
For coming late in the night to my bed from another.
I am not ashamed for being sad.
I am not ashamed for feeling shame.
I am sad that I can't share my shame anymore.
I loved like I was alone.
Now I'm alone.
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 5 2
Literature
childhood address
winter isn't quilts and netflix.
it's for cabins made of vertical bookshelves,
spines separating you from the wolves.
some of us will walk with hands to bare air,
while the rest of us fill our pockets to keep
the quarters from rousing the homeless.
i'm going to send a letter to my childhood address.
not a poem. not here, nor for you.
these film strips don't add up to a story.
much less than snow adds up to a man.
even less than light adds up to a body.
take mine, in a fit of dancing gold and godly
i'll smile if it means you think i mean it,
for a moment i thought you think about me,
this sign, reaching out in straight lines,
cutting corners, breaking rules and rulers,
don't smile because i'll think you mean it,
don't clean your name like a plate about to drop,
stop caring what words can be pulled from losses,
let silence eat silence for breakfast,
buy a bullet, call a cab, and knock on pity's door,
let 'em know who's who in town now.
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 5 2
Literature
if something should happen to me know that i cared
I should have given myself to anyone
who's ever wanted to fuck me.
The sex you have isn't yours.
Heat isn't the hand it comes from,
and an orgasm isn't the muscle convulsing,
nor the neck saying, "Cum for me."
It isn't even the experience.
It isn't even the memory of the experience.
You are more than you, whether
you intend or intend not to.
You leave a trace wherever you go.
A slit sugar packet with blood and arms.
The sex you have isn't yours.
So I should have had sex with anyone
who's ever wanted to fuck me,
so that I can belong to someone other than myself
for a little while.
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 4 8
Literature
today was once my someday
These cities, these people,
and roads and coffee cups,
hotel beds and apartment keys.
I've seen more in my ceiling from my childhood mattress.
I get out more the smaller my world.
The smallest of worlds is in words, my favorite.
When I made up everything as I went.
What my friends' houses looked like that I never visited.
I tried to draw a girl who wanted to have sex with me in her basement.
She kept moving, so I finished with a jagged version of her right half.
That drawing was the realest piece of her I ever had.
Realer than her.
I'd bike at 3am to the roof of this parking lot.
I found a tennis ball there.
I dropped it from the ledge to make my thoughts of jumping more real.
I'd ride fastest past the graveyard, but only on my way home.
Like the dead community had crowded behind me in full sprint with their hands on my back,
saying, "Be with those you love! Don't be afraid."
I knew I loved who was at home,
I just didn't think I did.
Maybe I lost myself when I tried finding me everywhe
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 10 2
Literature
call me
call me angry,
but i see fire in your hair
and i want to put it out,
like garbage in the alley,
sensing a rip coming for
every step i carry you
call me alone,
but i throw sheets over
porcelain dolls for giving me
stronger looks than you do
when you say it's great
to see me
you call me easy
for going pants lengths
to remind you why
(after we met)
i was kept,
and how i change shapes
from cordial
to pet
you call me boy,
because men are dead,
like pluto untethered
from the mass-conscious bed,
because he bounced too far
from the sun,
high on feathers
from the mattress sprungs
you call me sometimes,
because when i said that
there are people you speak to
who make the rest of your time
spent between the time you spend with them
feel like bullshit,
you thought i was talking about you
and you're right
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 8 0
Literature
cremate the ghost
when you live with me,
you sign a contract with the dark:
to hardly see each other,
save for in closets
when you've hidden from my animal
or in my poetry when you've noticed
how i blacken dull thoughts,
or words i wouldn't want to give
their subjects ink
poisoning,
my voice is toxic,
numbing or loud drumming,
delivering you to peace or pieces,
and i hate extremes but
there's no in between
my home is like a japanese venting place:
you don't walk in without the pressure
to break things,
and maybe you'll sweat,
maybe you'll be ok when every shape
holds no meaning;
when your life with me
looks like a flooded trash-village
what will always make sense
when you think of a time with me
is the missing hole in your
memory i never filled,
so it's not missing,
my lack of center is a canvas waiting to be
spit, drawn, or shat on by the past
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 5 1
Literature
six blue gardens
i have never been desperate for anything
more than a good time,
and i've looked for one in many women
what i've found never bored or surprised me
only stuck another mine on the plank
i force myself to walk
try sewing a thicker vest
while your thoughts fire ricocheted bullets
in some wild west gold hunt
that it plans to spend on ideas
with stronger ammo
what i learned in those times:
don't trust any dark spot
in a sandstorm
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 5 0
Literature
chicago windchimes
wool shirts keep me warmer than kind words
the frost on my window looks like flowers,
but i save my smiles for something with more desperation
it's hard for me to receive an unexpected blowjob
i write most on busses rolling through hills
i'll only see once
i write most about people
i only see once
blood's taste surprises me
i'm tired of my name
i never ask to be fixed
my penis doesn't look like it belongs on me
i love more than i love to
i care more than i care to
soft sounds keep me awake
'sister' is a pretty word
'beautiful' is an ugly word,
like gargling milk
the sexiest smell is yourself when you're dirty
this is becoming about seduction
i'm not for the Master cliché,
but i'll be the guy you think of when
the males in your life aren't working hard
enough to keep me out of your thoughts
i try
and try
and try
and never end anything
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 7 6
Literature
the voucher
i haven't written in weeks
as if life isn't throwing me shit
all the time
the italian teacher
from italy
forgot an italian word
my producer friend
produced a beat
that he wants me to rap on,
the best lines i've come up with:
"from the city that never sleeps,
but they're sleeping on me"

the poets at the shows
talk bad 'bout guns and cops
while i script a shooter
for my videogame class
i ignored my mom's call
to look at naked women on mobile
and forgot to call her back
i've stopped texting
people to show i don't care,
they haven't texted since,
i still don't care
i'm comfortable with saying
some famous males are hot,
but i couldn't say so with a serious face
about any guy in person
i'm writing a short
about a japanese
girl who's born of a man's
fantasized sex with Asa Akira
my V.O. class applauded
my live recording last week
but i am still convinced
i don't have a voice
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 4 3
Literature
leave me a line
writers are cocaine rockstars,
warrant to crush, bust, and bash,
pens and laptops,
in your local small venue readings
whether they want to make a statement
or a fuckin' mess,
my ears still ring
with the claps of tea cups
riving on the white tiles of the art room
in your neck,
i want to see the animal inside of you,
so i swelter gentleman-speak
until the hair on your arms animate,
you want this more than more,
i'd give anything
to be taken slave
on a vanilla page,
to be legally stenciled in woodland
by fitzgerald
would be to kiss a tiger's nose,
next time you think of me
picture my desk
decreased to splinters
that i'm shoving into my thumbs,
and maybe you'll get an idea
of where my ink comes from
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 10 4
Literature
give me up
.
my waistband is filled
with a peach revolver:
one shot-- two
if hired to snuff
..
this woman
(black lipstick applied
and iniquitous thighs)
she provokes me to fire
so she can sip the smoke
and see her blood:
"i've no purpose if i've no
reason to cope"
...
this man
(inked vital glands
and dick in his hand)
he recycles his past so
his future is planned
permanent repeat on a crimson note:
"i've no expression if i've
nothing to quote"
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 6 5
Literature
you were right
your home's only spirit was yellow
and moved through me at the mouth
you spun in your throat's prettiest dress
and sang the splinters from your heart's shipwreck
we crashed
and sank
into the memory foam of some second life
where it was your last week
until you returned to me,
until the wind caught my head's sail
and pulled me to an island of sleep
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 6 2
Literature
Aloe Vera
There's porn that makes you puppet master
of your wet dreams.
Others see your hunger off to a nowhere land in coach seating.
Someone kicks the back of your seat.
Life slips poems into your emotional luggage.
I'm talking about when you search "caught cheating."
And you find the one with lesbians.
Where the man comes home.
One of the girls is his girlfriend.
He breaks a lamp.
A desk.
Another desk.
The mistress and him go at it.
The girlfriend stands in the way, now the only one naked.
She's thrown by the man.
You can be sure this is real now.
The man says he just asked for her father's blessing.
It's really real.
Eye of the hurricane.
"If you weren't such an asshole,
I wouldn't need a girlfriend behind your back"

A girlfriend.
It's real.
They make him look bad.
A wild wolf with blood on its mouth.
Is it vicious or surviving?
"What are you gonna do now?"
He's in a corner. Barred teeth. Protecting himself.
"I'm gonna send this tape to your dad."
They freak. Thrash at t
:iconGetYourGrip:GetYourGrip
:icongetyourgrip:GetYourGrip 4 7

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tell me what happened and what you felt.

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vincenzo
United States
my name is Vincenzo.
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:iconjessicahadadream:
JessicaHadADream Featured By Owner Mar 22, 2017  Professional General Artist
la-ren la-stimpy la-ren la-stimpy YES, PLEASE~ Q^Q AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!! 
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YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2016   Writer
Thank you for the :+fav: on nil desperandum.
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YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2016   Writer
Thank you for the :+fav: on fire in glass!
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YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2016   Writer
Happy Birthday, old friend.
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GetYourGrip Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2016
thank you, my brother
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TheGalleryOfEve Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
:iconflyingheartsplz:Happy Birthday my friend! by TheGalleryOfEve:iconflyingheartsplz:
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MauLeonS Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
Hug  HBD :D 
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HugQueen Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2014   Writer
Happy birthday. :heart:
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formaniac Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2014  Student Writer
Happy Birthday~
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HappyHungrySleepy Featured By Owner Jul 3, 2014  Student General Artist
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