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When water stands still
And energy flows
The crest of a wave
                                Stays silent
Simon Bridges Apr 17
There was something
About your mascara
         When it rained
    When it smudged

But before it ran
The liner in the corner of each eye
                                Angled Easterly
                        Aligned with Horus
Now the prism
Within each iris within each eye
Within your photograph
Creates a mirage
                 That your still here
There was something
                 About your
                 Mascara
Simon Bridges Apr 19
No matter
                      Upon which surface I tread
Moss sand soil
Sediments of years
                                  Long past
Become exposed
                                  Each step
Layers of guilt
A backpack
That cannot be lightened
                                     Or past to another
When load or gradient surpass my will

No matter
                     Upon which surface I tread
Footprints left
                          Sink deeper
Than scales would suggest
One day soon
                        With love and acceptance
A path upon tissue paper
                                   Will leave no trace
Simon Bridges Apr 20
We could bathe
In physical truth
                                    Perhaps we do
Neat or distilled
Drip fed
              Like water
In its any forms
Placeless on periodic table

Truth softened
                          In our fragility
        Hardened
                          By others resilience

Worn by the face of a manikin
        At peace within the world
        If that’s what you wish it to be
Simon Bridges Apr 21
When there is no thought
                                For tomorrow today
When yesterday fails to exist  
It’s like being breathless
The relative moment is now    
            And you gasp
Grip life hold it close
                                            Close enough
To accept every nail
Driven deep in your body  
                                   By life
             Becomes no more
Than a point of reference
Upon which to hang clothes

When in the moment
                                          Your presence
Fills a bandstand
                   A park
A promise made to yourself as a child
                               When I grow up......

Hold yourself close to each minute
                                      Be breathless
Simon Bridges Apr 17
I ask
You say
                                                     “I’m not sure”
Like the moment
Before it snows

Or nights spent
Searching for Venus
Without clarity
Through naked eyes

You knew she's secluded
In a room unused
But still said
                                                     "I’m not sure”

There she wore a pendant
Engraved   “keep out” in braille
I didn’t feel it
We never touched
Venus dims
You won’t speak
Words from within
I ask
You say
                                                    “Are you sure”
The tattooist’s lines
Soften
Turn to blue
                          Faiths have
An anchor
And forget me knot
                          Marks time
Within a beachfront kiosk
                                              Mattress in rear
Note on shutters
                         Saying  
                         Back in 15 minutes

Older than her waist size
Younger than the priced
Sunday Sport tabloid
Talking of *******
And WW2 bomber on the moon
                                           That she’d folded
                        As though sleeves rolled up

Her name imprinted
Each stick of rock
                       On the seafront
When anyone talked of Faith
                                                   Pink words
                                    Always turned blue
romgur73 Mar 26
I like your smile, your eyes and tiny waist
Your hair, your ears and pretty face
My kids are saying you are the GOAT
While dying slowly in your throat
I get lost in my work.
Hungry again, I note.
The cycle restarts.
Better this time, I hope.

I find some good food,
Making sure to choose carefully,
And snag my water,
An essential, soon, you’ll see.

I avert my gaze—
I fear they’re all eyeing me—
And sit myself down
For a ritual eternity.

Many meals are Hell;
My body a warzone.
What you’ve learned to nurture so
Still hates you to the bone.

I accept this task I must master;
‘Twas not a choice I made.
It’ll stick with me for life;
‘Cause it’s one my genes gave.

The first taste is bliss,
But most bites bring pain quickly.
Size portions correctly;
So tired of feeling sickly.

Pain sears my throat,
So, I chew with vigor.
The swelling is fast;
I pray my water’s quicker.

The drink spells relief,
But every bite’s anxious,
Every swallow torment;
Each pause between captious.

Another meal unfinished; bitter defeat,
The peace remains unreachable.
I craved it so badly, and I was so close,
Now it looks repulsive; uneatable.

I check the scale once more,
So, skinny I remain;
Been mocked and critiqued
For weight, unable to gain.

I am Sisyphus ‘til sated,
The table is my hill,
Sustenance my stone,
And my mind is my will.

I get lost in my work.
Hungry again, I note.
The cycle restarts.
Better this time, I hope.
Written on 2023-09-18. This is inspired by the struggles I face during parts of nearly every meal because I have a chronic disease affecting my eating. My throat and esophagus swell up when my body accidentally identifies food as a harmful foreign invader, making it tender. Swallowing becomes painful, ang eating becomes an agonizing process.
Jia En Sep 2024
I hate
The stabbing feeling
At my food and water’s gate
Into my body.
Hate dealing
With the bacteria in me
When their arrows
Are pointed in that narrow,
Singular spot
When anything cold or hot
Just hurts. Please
Leave me alone; no lease
Was signed before
You declared war
On the space
That wasn’t yours
In the first place.
and also yes im sick
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