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slnmten
My name is Navila. I'm a writer and published poet. You can find me on Instagram: @seasalt.rose
37 Posts • 284 Followers • 110 Following
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Profile avatar image for slnmten
slnmten in Poetry & Free Verse
• 4 reads

Beat

this beating heart

I want to taste

it—draw

breath

against

its dying

savor

the lack

of it

the subtract

of stillness

from its

place

of vibe

bear

tremble

for

longer

still

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slnmten in Poetry & Free Verse
• 10 reads

End

Death began adagio

a slow mesmerize

into vertigo

heaped upon

banks of Styx

tendering Charon

obolos,

an allowance

for transverse

beyond

his liminal

space

I cross waters

unfamiliar

into realize

of no second

chances

with fear

rippling

through spent

body,

a path

appears

my path

built

upon choice

and Moirai’s pull

a path

to walk

through horizon

a bow

onto end

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Profile avatar image for slnmten
slnmten in Poetry & Free Verse
• 5 reads

Body

my body

is sixty percent

water

and forty percent,

consent

feather-light

wings

allowing winds

to pull

it’s Jill

after Jack

accepting

plunge

twoscore

shatter

it’s the bitter

swig

of shame

after limelight

and pooled

whiskey,

neat

it’s repetition of

mercy

mercy

mercy

after spiral

counterpoint to

empty

it’s hand

to lines

of ribcage

touching

heart

hundred percent

pulse

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slnmten in Poetry & Free Verse
• 12 reads

Miss (as action)

miss

innocuous word

burdened

by connotation

to

the verb

of it

the miserable list

of synonyms

it summons—

yearn

want

ignore

lack

forget

escape

neglect

avoid

lose

grieve

yet they

still do not

capture

the crux

of its ruin

the intimate

devastation

tenderly kept

as pillar

of heart

the

I miss you

I miss you

I miss you

slowing

killing

from within

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slnmten in Poetry & Free Verse
• 8 reads

Fallen

The hollow of the oldest valley

cradles the oldest tree,

felled;

its above and below

flush,

negative space of limbs

cut onto earth,

vulnerable

to the open blue;

I imagine

its fate

as collapse

an eagerness

to die

a sigh

for the gods

a close

to premise

a tree has fallen

with(out)

resound

alone

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Profile avatar image for slnmten
slnmten in Poetry & Free Verse
• 17 reads

Hurts

You asked me

once

did it hurt when

you fell?

I didn’t know

how you

overheard

our conversation

the one

from Jupiter

to Sahara

when I asked them

(the stars and the void)

will she hurt

the blue world

rearing up

to meet me

they said

it’ll only hurt

when you breathe

when you

take her

in

when you

meet her

as she is

I promised then

I would

suff(er)ocate

i won’t be

a bother

they sighed

then you’ll never

die

the point is

to die

over

and over

again

and again

So to your answer

It didn’t hurt

to fall

It hurt

to live

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slnmten
• 15 reads

Marked

bare

I will not live

I will not die

for you

moon

I bend

for light

but you only see

sickle

submerged

in shadow

curves

to consume

marked

through

and through

but I am

complete

unbruised

for the wolves

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Profile avatar image for slnmten
slnmten in Poetry & Free Verse
• 15 reads

Sleep

pausing to circle

and land on

nest

a sort of nap

babies envy

when sense deprivation

becomes portal

to paradise

the one

inside

the one

of clear renaissance

when

the wheel

stops its spin

a grind to halt

that pounds

in ear

and I never sleep

not really

just shift

from one reality

to another

enough times

to doubt

the mercy

of dawn

I’m never where

I belong

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slnmten in Poetry & Free Verse
• 14 reads

Instinct

dense sludge of void

sticks heavy

rooted

as sacrum

dread decrees sanctuary

rollicky

mess

compounding

like tar

over

fault line

repetition permitting chaos

perennial breakage

above ditch

each new crack

dawn

and its drown

scar

destruction is instinct

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Profile avatar image for slnmten
slnmten in Poetry & Free Verse
• 23 reads

Poet

If I was not a poet

I would be

filtered sunlight

on Sunday mornings,

dawning on

hearts and their

tangled

mess

If I was not a poet

I would be

a chasm,

a catch

for moments

before death

If I was not a poet

I would be

the mountain

under mountains,

reckless

in my burgeon,

everywhere

unseen

If I was not a poet

I would be

blank,

a bare infinity

rewritten,

over

and over

again

and again

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