We F*ck Like The World Is Ending Tomorrow

PEARS TASTE LIKE YOU

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we are in the kitchen together
and you ask if I would marry you.
I cough up the piece of pear in my throat
and ask you to clarify.
you back-track,
put qualifications before.
“I mean, not now, maybe, one day…”
the pear slides back down,
your hands
do too.
I say,
“not now…not now.”
but kiss you with fruit on my lips
and I know
not now
not now,
but that sounds like maybe tomorrow.
I say it when I can’t sleep,
not now.
not now.
maybe tomorrow.
I still can’t eat pears
without seeing our almost forevers.
our not nows.
our maybe tomorrows.


CLAUSTROPHOBIC

Guian Bolisay
Guian Bolisay

everyone keeps claiming my space,
dividing up my parts
dicing me into neatly picked quarters,
pieces to give away.
auction off my heart.
give a stranger my legs.
they tell me to stop running,
I won’t need them anymore.
not really.
but I can hear the ravens crowing in the distance
telling me to get out,
get out while I can.
get out before I’m all gone.
get out.
get out.
get out.
they offer me their wings,
tell me to never look back.
just get out.


WE FUCK LIKE THE WORLD IS ENDING TOMORROW

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we’ve never known how to go slow,
our first date was an Earthquake
and I think I’ve never fully recovered.
every look was an aftershock,
every touch was the Big One,
the “there’s no way we’ll make it out alive.”
I saw a photo of you,
with dark circles caressing skin
I used to sweat against.
I wonder if we didn’t make it out alive.
I wonder if we both died. TC mark


For more poetry from Ari, check out her newest poetry collection GREEN EYES, available on Amazon.

Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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