is it ok to not like life
but still like you? somewhat
i’m proud of my breasts
and my nipples are warriors
like mountain tops
mounted by dry skin
you kiss them gently
and then try to rip them
with unsaid words
with unsaid force
under tongue, freckles scathing
in between your tooth gap
bread makes me cum &
of my own disgust.
silent mornings are my favorite / when skies are newborn they can be any color / clouds are metaphorically blind / clouds give birth to broken trees most often / broken trees tell the best stories / how a hundred years from now clouds gave birth / will give / clouds are sexually alert and naked trees make love to gas cylinders / on silent mornings / on your balcony / on the first day of spring / trees can be women / their branches frozen in dance / they don’t stop growing / i call clouds ‘mother’ / arms of rain / silent mornings are tragedies / even mothers can be cruel / even mothers can refuse to exist / in tragedies / and in rain.
air is more than leftover regret/ if i carve a hole in my palm, will all the starlight feel safe?/ my palm doesn’t stand a chance ‘cause the terrain is too cruel/ the terrain is mountains kissing for the first time/ i ran in my sleep and the air still caught up with me/ i ran like regret & salty tears/ my palm hurts now and there’s a gaping hole in the middle of it/ starlight doesn’t touch it/ starlight is still wandering/ stealing mountain kisses & the terrain just feels forced/ the terrain is too cruel/ the terrain is too beautiful/ too cruel like the air leaving my chest/ heaving like absent kisses.
one off insomnia
sunlight made of paper lives in my room/ it never speaks but just sits quietly/ watching/ breathing over my chair/ over my shoulder/ there are ashes splattered all over my room/ if you put sunlight over them/ they laugh/ & dance to a ghastly sound/ i think
ashes like ashes/ i never suspect anything/
i cough in my sleep and i hear laughter often/ my room is sponsored by ikea but that can be a cliche anywhere.
sunlight made of paper lives in my room/ it needs batteries/ to dance/ and to laugh. i need batteries/ so i can breathe/ so i can sleep/ phone charger is also okay.
sometimes people talk in their sleep/
& their eye sockets quiver/ and that’s also okay, mostly.
of all the things in our apartment i like the fridge best
it hums and rattles precisely when i run out of prozac
the reminder that sound can hurt you is blissful
you like soft things and i am only soft on the outside
i feel we could be us and still remain separate
i feel on wednesdays
i feel possessive and ask you to only touch me softly
and only me
when i’m soft
even when i run out of moisturizer
you say ‘of course baby’
and i feel stupid for asking
you say ‘of course baby’
and i feel damp.
Nooks Krannie is a girl and poet. She is half Persian/half Palestinian. Her first chapbook ‘I have hard feelings & I wish I could quit chocolate’ was published by Moloko House Press in 2016 and her second chapbook ‘candied pussy’ is forthcoming from Thistlemilk Press. She tumbls at http://nkrannie.tumblr.com/ and instagrams @nookskrannie.