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Brittney T Feb 2018
He lays me down
For the first time
And kisses me gently.
His hand moves gingerly
Down my side.
He does his best to
Keep eye contact
while I'm naked under him.

I feel appreciated,
Respected,
Cared for.

I can tell I can open up to him
About what I'd really like
In this bed...

I want those tender lips
To part against my neck
And hips.
I want those gentle hands
Clasped tightly around my wrists.
I want his anxious eyes
To explore his lust with me.

And then I want him
To give in
To take me

Pull me
Grab me
Bite me
Scratch me
Pin me
**** me

I'll tell him its okay to pull my hair
And show him the best way to do it.
I'll tell him its even better with bruises
Tied down, blind-folded.
I'll be dripping with sweat
While you drip wax. And
I'll be soaking wet.

But we've only been dating for a month. Guess I'll keep secrets
Until they won't scare him off.
Brittney T Feb 2018
My soulmate died


Before we ever met


That's why I feel like this
  Feb 2018 Brittney T
Bo Burnham
I hung myself today. Hanged? Whatever, point is I hanged myself today and I'm still hanging.

I feel fine. Just bored. I keep hoping that someone will come home and cut me down but then I keep remembering that if i knew someone like that I wouldn't be up here. Bit ironic, right? Or is that not ironic? I read somewhere that, like, anything funny is, in some way, ironic. But I don't know if it's funny or not. I don't think my brain owns "funny," you know?

I feel taller. I like that.

I've never been away from my shadow for this long. It had always clung to my feet, parting momentarily for a quick dive into the swimming pool. But never for five hours. I like it. There's three feet of space between my two and the floor.

I wanted something this morning. I may be stuck. But at least I'm three feet closer to it.
I wanted the book to engage a wide variety of tones and feelings – from seriousness to silliness and from elation to melancholy. This particular poem is from the perspective of a man who has just hanged himself. I thought it was interesting to write a poem from the perspective of someone who has just hanged himself and is pretty nonchalant about it. That someone is /not me/, and that’s half the fun of writing – being able to put yourself in foreign situations and see things from others’ perspectives (and to empathize with them). The poem is definitely dark and a little unsettling but the page before this was a poem about flies buzzing around dog poo. The world is full of dark and light and I just wanted the book to reflect that :)
  Feb 2018 Brittney T
Bo Burnham
I feel strange.
Half light-hearted, half heavy-handed.
You know when you get a song stuck in your head
and you can't get it out?
I hate that.
That's sort of what this feels like.

I feel better.
Less panicked, more confused.
But a good confused.
You know that feeling of warm water
running down your back
when washing your hair?
I love that.
That's sort of what this feels like.

I feel great.
And nothing.
This is just what I needed.
A warm bath and a quick nap.
Brittney T Feb 2018
The first time I tried strumming strings
I cried and cried
I felt I couldn't get clean.

My friends tell me I need to practice;
find out if I'm a harp or a horn.
But as much as I tried
I ended up torn.

It wasn't wrong to develop an interest,
so I put myself out there, I couldn't rest.
I imagined the jungle, the tundra, the sea
But these different rhythms weren't for me.

I'll never forget when I met the musician.
He showed me a song in his room.
Finally, It washed over me!
Va Va Voom

He showed me his
and he showed me mine.
It was new and confusing,
exotic, frightening
absolutely, perfectly enlightening.

I am full of bass,
brass and strength!
I spent too long
trying to epitomize grace.

He taught me a wild, improvised tune
but I can't remember!
What he played that June.
If this is supposed to be natural, why do I still **** at it? Started out as a self depracating joke with a friend, but I'm kinda digging it.
  Feb 2018 Brittney T
Ann P
The memories will be fading





The love will be evaporating






There will be no trace of him








And you will survive your first heartbreak









Just believe in yourself that








You are something without him










Because the only person who will never leave you is







That girl in the mirror
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