{"id":8238,"date":"2023-02-20T17:29:35","date_gmt":"2023-02-20T17:29:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/?p=8238"},"modified":"2023-02-20T18:23:36","modified_gmt":"2023-02-20T18:23:36","slug":"the-young-poem-in-a-backless-dress-poems-by-laura-lamarca","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/the-young-poem-in-a-backless-dress-poems-by-laura-lamarca\/","title":{"rendered":"The Young poem in a backless dress poems by Laura Lamarca"},"content":{"rendered":"
\r\n\r\nShe's just another cigarette burn on a corpse of curse and whim.<\/strong>\r\n\r\nNo motivation moves her defeat\r\nwhere these creased sheets\r\nlie limbless; here, where the\r\nduvet drowns her in a white \r\nwaterproof way, so even shit \r\nsmears and wet legs cannot\r\nheave her fat ass out. She is\r\n\r\nburdened by streaks of day-\r\nlight, as its plight peeps through\r\nblacked-out stains of yesterday.\r\n\r\nThe dust makes magic\r\nwith dirt, paving paths that split\r\nodours of sweat and stale skin\r\nin thickets of resentment stretched\r\nacross her house. Among chores\r\n\r\nas monosyllabic as death, she must\r\nmake merry with the shapes of hate\r\nthat birth themselves between burnt\r\ntoast and cups of cold coffee, while\r\nher eyelids fade with fifty shades\r\nof depression. \r\n\r\nOusted from the forgotten confines\r\nof her warm farewells, those that \r\nberate her bones into disabled\r\ndreams that fuck her future into single \r\nslots of 24 hour refrains...\r\n\r\nshe yearns to return there\r\nso she might not live again.\r\n\r\n\r\nYoung poem in a backless dress.<\/strong>\r\n\r\nShe tacks moon-crooned songs to the inside of her sighs,\r\nstrumming sorrow between leaking lashes, \r\nthat look down on her stone-built soul, \r\nso she can be micro-bodies of words without names, \r\nanchored to mastectomies \r\nby hung shoulders and her mammogram muse.\r\n\r\nHer fear is fierce and shoots sparks\u2014\r\nthose little orange daggers, that dare to settle along her cries. \r\nBut she is stuttering again and the forty-something years \r\nshe wearily wears\r\nlie down like corpses in her fading hair.\r\n\r\nShe is burned wishes and bending headstones\r\nthat sing of regret in ancient cemeteries,\r\nwhile doctors decide if geographical brilliance will bestow\r\nher the beauty\u2026of life.\r\n\r\nIts enigma is enormous, she says, while you stitch stigmata\r\nto my skin, in a suicide of seasons that pockmark\r\nthese absent breasts; I sit high\r\nin sanity\u2019s open-topped coffins while society\r\nforces me to frame fat between my bones, and begs me\r\nto break blames, like sacrificial bread\r\nalong a vertebra of my own voice\r\n\r\nand all the while, this unblinking death prefers me\r\nto be human\r\nas I hum sonatas through the cruelty\r\nof cancer\u2019s callous aim.\r\n\r\nI captured you Caernarfon, but we can't claw it back.<\/strong>\r\n\r\ni.\r\nI have crawled along castle walls for us,\r\ngrown beside you like the shiver to your fears--\r\nyour fading fears, becoming bright flames\r\namidst a season of my shadows,\r\nbut all the while, you've been welded \r\nto a whole web of lightning bolts\r\nlaced across my night skies,\r\nclimbing ruined rungs of life's ladder\r\nwithout me, until all colour is gone\r\nand I am phased back\r\ninto the nothingness between your exhales.\r\n\r\nii.\r\nI am several small skulls\r\nstitched tightly \r\nto surround your lack of conscience...\r\n\r\nmere split hairs many moons long\r\nthat lie limply\r\nacross the ice-mountains of my cries.\r\nYour retreating shoulders beat blame\r\nlike torrential rain inside goodbyes\r\nand my thighs thrum ballads without you.\r\n\r\niii.\r\nYou have been the wheels that moved me--\r\n\r\nthose I love yous yelling life\r\ninto such terrible stains\r\nwhile I rotated my spines\r\naround an absence of blackmail:\r\n\r\nI didn't pay you to make mud\r\nwith my ever-evolving earth, nor did I \r\nbirth miracles \r\nfrom three decades of my wounds;\r\nbut still, you rolled down from my teeth\r\nto tell of genuine worth.\r\n\r\niv.\r\nYou have made me untouchable again,\r\nwith universal agonies \r\naerating from my sins...and everything\r\nwe caught together as clich\u00e9 \r\nhas revealed itself conditional--\r\n\r\nwhen I bleed, you opt to be my past,\r\nvampiring emotions\r\nwith the burning of words,\r\nones I struggled to believe in anyway...\r\n\r\nbecause actions belied them\r\nin every yellow light.\r\n\r\nv.\r\nI want infant incantations \r\nto inter themselves inside my sharks,\r\nso veins can voice me gilded,\r\nwoven into incessant storms\r\nwe should never survive,\r\nwhile I bewitch us both begotten \r\nalong tainted turrets \r\nof this body's grieving ghosts.\r\n\r\n\r\n\u00a9 Laura Lamarca, All Rights Reserved. <\/pre>\n
\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n
Laura Lamarca<\/strong> is a 48-year old professional poet who currently resides in Brighton and Hove, UK. She\u2019s the author of 5 books of poetry, including a series titled \u201cMemoirs of a Messed-Up Mum\u201d published by Close to the Bone Publications. Lamarca is a psychic medium, Demonologist and Modern Exorcist who now writes poetry in her spare time. She says that poetry is her \u201cexhale\u201d and a means to release pent-up emotions in a safe and sustainable way.<\/p>\n
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She’s just another cigarette burn on a corpse of curse and whim. No motivation moves her defeat where these creased sheets lie limbless; here, where the duvet drowns her in a white waterproof way, so even shit smears and wet legs cannot heave her fat ass out. She is burdened by streaks of day- light, … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[335,43],"tags":[18,136,3],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8238"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8238"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8238\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8241,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8238\/revisions\/8241"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8238"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8238"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8238"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}