You didn’t cook hot enough, didn’t
set. A bright pickled clot
floating in seeds and pulp.
You spilled, gelled
fruit wobbly on broken glass,
my feet. I sat down,
legs folded under.
I pressed on the space I emptied
when I broke a Mason jar
over your head.
The rumbling in my gut
tender as a peach.
I thought grief would feel
different from hunger.





I liked the end of preserves. the implied similarity between  grief and hunger

The Masked Poet

I really like this one :D

Alucard the Skinwalker

Awesome. It took me a bit but I think I just found the perfect mentor *insert happy face here*. I would really love feed back from someone of your expertise on my work sometime. It would really help me to further my writing skills.




I thought this poem was truely amazing


This is such a well crafted piece of art. You truly are an incredible poet. I can only hope to achieve such elegance in my work as you have for yours. Thank you for sharing your words.

MVP-Most Valuable Poet

well said

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