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POETRY BY GEORGINA MARIE
RECENT WORK |
| Sharp Blades in Cadmium |
| Bird |
| All poetry this page © Georgina Marie |
| "Bird" Something worth paying attention to Like an insect under a magnifying glass A moth caught onto a light bulb A voice with something to say You are Distant, at the least I found your voice Poetic strings that were glided and in tune with it On my half, it is yet to be heard I adore the way your inner voice looks It is seen as a bowl of mixed pigments a lot more than just softness and a single color I twitch a bit and stare with nervousness Though much more calm than usual Considering I am the normal unusual And you examine me A strange female with a montage mind Forming a world into words While you sit back, doing the same, and becoming champagne for a young girl I want my world merging with yours My internal paints to be painted on your canvas My darkness wrapped around you and your light squeezed from the tension I want the roses dying around you With every black feather you lose in the heat of sadness I want you, love |
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| “Unnamed” I wonder about you If you have intimidating figures Eyes as black as blackberries That will make my nerves jump I find it difficult to say That I won’t try to lean my pelvic bones towards you I’ll begin to worry About the appearance of my obviousness The batting of my eyelashes The jitters of my hands The black of your eyes |
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| “Fish on a hook” Mr. Father My smile has been demystified It has lost the flavor of spring, the favored taste of being And I wonder if You will wonder About my ruins That have kept me from being free Maybe we belong to the same kind of happiness Residing outside of the ordinary Lately I am smashed into calligraphy Swirled, curled lines that run into The topography, the surface of my pages I was part of your straight edges never measuring up to you Your edges that cut deeper than I had cut into myself Do you care to know the segments of me, now deceased? How I grew out of my old crayons and turned to an outpour of blades and blood But I’ve stepped a few feet from the deceased I’ve gained the taste of spring, the taste of being I am free, even if only one-third of the meaning of free And still You don’t know me |
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| “To Unravel” I’m sitting here putting my literary mind to use Attempting to scrape you from my ventricles You’ve strung yourself through You are lethal You’ve held on to my waist But never read into m y words And if you would You’d find yourself there Lined up in stanzas Written into more than just a human You’d be amazed the way my sensuality Runs out of your hands off of my fingertips Blossoming into more than just thighs And art These words are my heart My body Something I did not choose But was embodied by The mysteries you fail to explore Are spread out for you au fait! And so you like the way I caress my own shoulder The way you can study every part of me How I go from sweet to outrageously spicy but you’d find more exposure from the poet in me Even if I play dead My words won’t disappoint me They face me And shower me in detail For my own understanding And yours |
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| “A thanks to Pablo” If women were made from a sculptor Would he favor my shape? Create the boldness of my lips And repeat the curvatures I find th e irony In my diminutive legs Is how I see what height overlooks I reach for the sun above And fall for the grass below Closer to the ground I am But is it a setback That the shape of my body is not Similar to the growing almond trees? Rather the way they flourish outward Contoured with their fullness My attributes rounder My numbers larger Filling hands with all woman My jeans finally fit loosely My curves easily noticeable My poetic sensuality rising in an uproar No more will I envy the meager entities That all phallus’ tend to love They can keep their bones And I’ll keep my meat My own body could be so strengthening As it was When he held The virgin in me I’ve grown to be alive Adorning my fruits Watching my hips Feeling my legs, how Pablo makes me feel words And now the detail of my form Will be not only seen for myself But wanted For itself |
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