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Tag: literature

(Poems) – happiness

On June 25, 2022May 26, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

in the way that it is the most rotten fruit to swallow. in the way that it haunts me at night and  kisses me in the morning. in the way that it sinks but I can still touch it so I sink with it. in the way that it hates to be written and  loves …

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(Poems) – falling action

On June 18, 2022May 26, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

there’s red in the sunlight, i can taste it in my tongue: heavy and holy— i’m dying in the sunrise with hollowed bones  but no wings. I never left my country, barely left my home. the morning burns my eyes, and it’s quiet here, alone.

(Poems) – constellations

On June 15, 2022May 26, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

the best thing about the stars is that they aren’t watching us too.  we drew the lines ourselves.  god isn’t going to come down and set our aim true.  there aren’t enough fingers to pull blame into a straight line.  there isn’t another white man leading the earth on its revolution around the sun.  or …

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(Poems) – a retrospective

On June 11, 2022May 26, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

it’s a selfish friend, unwilling to share, keen to flaunt. a golden memory of sunshine: cool to the touch. a first kiss in a parking lot: poisoned by what follows. the people you loved: memories recorded over. a home tinged with disinfectant. the one who betrayed you. the past has nothing to give  but shattering …

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(Poems) – To (you)

On May 28, 2022April 30, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, Writing1 Comment

I’m not sure who I’m talking to anymore.  It’s you, obviously, but I don’t know who you are.  God doesn’t know who you are.  The best window into a person is through the ribcage, not the eyes.  Could you be (future) me? Those who I love (have loved?).  A friend I’ll make, or one I’ve …

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(Poems) – gray ohio

On May 21, 2022May 21, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

trapped beneath a rolling gloom, tasting the blooming death. we sit beneath a blinking sun, because hatred grows best in this soil and we relish the bite of winter thorns and blood-soaked billboards. what else grows here but corn and asphalt and steel? what else does heat do but leave?

(Poems) – rotten dogwoods

On April 27, 2022April 23, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

The churches are full of gilded hunger, drunk on blood, praying with hands closed. But the pagans pray with their hands open, So I leave the rotten dogwoods, for the shivering willows, and spread my hands out, breathing so deep that my lungs could fit the entire world inside. The kids won’t be alright,  but …

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(Poems) – metallic

On April 16, 2022April 14, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

And I am cold metal pressed against your skin in winter when the snow takes your fingers and ears and nose and the wolves and doves gather to eat their piece  the sky is pale and full   the earth swallows the sound And I am that metal again in summer  when you lick it and …

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(Poems) – achilles – 54 words

On November 3, 2021November 3, 2021 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

The back of my heel is bleeding. But it’s not my weakness, or my downfall. I can’t find one part of myself that’s indestructible or strong or remarkable A Greek hero that’s all heel, with no great acts to do, with no story to be told. There’s no fatal flaw here other than me.

(Poems) – ghosts – 132 words

On September 17, 2021September 18, 2021 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, Writing3 Comments

Most ghosts I know are still breathing. I see them in the things I want to tell them, the time we could’ve had. They’re a shadow on my threshold, whispers in my ear. A simple fact of life, but it feels like being hollowed out. They don’t have to die for me to mourn. x …

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(Poems) – 4:01 AM – 71 words

On August 20, 2021August 20, 2021 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, Writing1 Comment

It’s a dark — and quiet — night. The moon waits at the window, lacking the peeking curiosity of the sun. The July wind stirs the blinds, followed by orange street lamps and distant stars. Your head is on my shoulder, hair tickling my nose.  You sleep. I listen to the soft stirring of the …

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