close calls

queer-with-a-pen

i tuck the knife 
that was in my back
into my front pocket

this thing inside my
chest, it keens when
i wipe the blood off
on a tattered sleeve

and i’ve just been
cold for so fucking long,
i don’t know how to
feel any other way

and what do you 
mean, when you say that
you won’t hurt me
this time?

the knife trembles in
my grip, and i won’t
believe you, 
i just can’t

i won’t beg to
be touched with gentle
and caring hands,
won’t ask nicely,
won’t ask at all

this thing, seeking a
safe harbor nestled between
my ribs, bares crooked teeth
and snaps at anything,
anyone, that gets too close

and so i take
solace in what i know,
tell myself that’s enough until
i believe it

and i do not 
yearn, and i do
not ache, and i
do not wish

and there’s a knife
in my hand, and blood
on my shirt, and there
will be no rest

there will be no rest 

  • Author: Boaz Priestly (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: October 12th, 2023 23:59
  • Category: Love
  • Views: 0
  • Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
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Comments +

Comments1

  • L. B. Mek

    Brilliant!
    (your poetry is getting so refined!!!
    genuinely an honour to witness your growth and confident prowess
    thank you for sharing, cherished Poet)
    'it keens when
    i wipe the blood off
    on a tattered sleeve

    and i’ve just been
    cold for so fucking long,
    i don’t know how to
    feel'

    • queer-with-a-pen

      What high praise!
      Thank you for the continued support of my work 🙂



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