Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login

Similar Deviations
These results appear less relevant than we'd like. While we're working on improving More Like This, you can help by collecting "Dirty Laundry" with similar deviations.
she was a stormcloud, and you loved her,
and the two of you took walks and wore
nothing but promises,
broken chains and
strands of pinkish pearls.

and the two of you kissed under trees that attracted silver lightning
(metal branches scraped the sky, and you, always faithful,
tipped your coat over her head to keep her dry.)

but she never stayed that way.
in an instant, she had whirled into the rain
and danced without clothes,
without cares,

without you.

and she left you
with the pain of frostbite on your naked skin
where you trusted her to kiss you warm,
and you thought you heard her laughter
when the sun came out again the next day,

and the next.

but
she was a stormcloud, and you loved her,
and you didn't know it at the time but

stormclouds lie
(and they never
love you
back. )
...

Not revised, due to inability to focus for long periods of time. I hope this is readable. :X
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

you asked me for a poem.

sometimes i fall in love with words
and wish that words
would fall for me.

you want a poem? how about the darkness of the morning
when the sun still rubs the night from his eyes,
the dew on the grass and how your feet jump from the itch.

how about the laughter of a creek or the roar of the ocean,
there, that's a poem.

you want a poem?
ask me about watermelon kisses
or how a blackberry whispers love to the backs of my teeth.
ask me how my lips know every curve of my knees
and my spine knows the unyielding wall,

ask me about sunsets and the giants who paint them,
who gave the frog his croak, and why,
why the ravens never seem to cackle
'nevermore'
on those dark and maddening nights.

how about the way the muse and i do things
that make her a saint and i a sinner?

how about the soft hiss of my breath when my mouth falls open,
the crust that sleeps in my eyes until i scrape it away.
this too is a poem.

you asked for a poem?
the way honey drips off a spoon,
the taste of raindrops,
long nights in the darkness mouthing words to someone,
anyone.

pain.

aching, longing,
the hurt that wedges itself behind the brain.

the way tigers' paws make you tremble,
the way her fingers make you tremble.
trembling for something,

having something worth trembling for.

a poem is just some words
worth trembling over.

and over,
and over.

(when the ravens cease to cackle
nevermore.')
And there you have it.
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

once i spoke to the balding forest,
hushhushhush cried the wind and he
knifed through my jacket
like flames lick ice like
lovers find reasons to peel off clothes,
and

i stroked the branches
of the sycamore and
felt its long, smooth trunk and the letters
wayward lovers
scraped dreamily in the bark, and
they said

let someone else grow up with our regrets,
let our names stretch and bend
and remind us
that once upon a time we didn't cringe at
warm wet breath on the
backs of necks,

and

at least i was innocent as i
lumbered back and forth over frozen ground
like some lost and lonely stormcloud,
like some flame guttering before dying out,

at least i was as many cupfuls of insanity as i could swallow
before my stomach
tricked my brain tricked my heart into thinking
"this is all okay,
everything's okay."

(and at least my name is not expanding
somewhere in a forest,
carved lazily into trees that
grow and grow in spite of
all their broken love.)

palsied branches and the forest and the moonlight, and

I spoke to the balding forest,
hushhushhush cried the wind but i
howled until my lungs dried up
and my chest filled with all the sighs
that the earth and the wind and the trees couldn't hold,

and
i felt somewhere the aching of the sycamore,
whose branches sway and hurt
until its grown:

a canvas for someone else's love

and still
very
much
alone.
Oh lookie there, a deviation! 

Don't carve names into trees, darlings. ;)
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

i want to talk to you
in between touches
but you seem so far away
and my words are as lost
as the chances
i would have to feel you
beneath me
it is bitter sweet
that i may only
write down such desires
and i fear that i will
be doing so
all night
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

this is how we rule the world,
       the underclassed
       the uncapitalist
          (uncapitalised)
the forgotten, lobotom-ised,
                       relics
            of a long lost dystopast.

not with a SHOUT,
     we do not argue.
         we do not even unsheath
         our mightier-than-the's.
we whisper in your children's ears
    the memories of what should have been.
                 the life we all crave.

                 the death we all crave.
    WE do not discriminate
              or obstigate
                 our opinions onto others
     pressing the side of the blade
              down onto the flesh
 until
all are bitten
with the fever of our belief.
            no,
               not us.

this is how we rule the world,
       we tell stories,
       recite,
       incite.
   we incite a generation
                   to think
                      to love
                         to breathe
    with their own scar/r/ed lungs

with a whisper.
Some new words for my dictionary...

underclassed; of the hidden class. often artists think of themselves as their own special class, outside of the existing class system.
uncapitalist; not capitalist, or materialistic.
dystopast; dystopic in the reflective past tense.
mightier-than-the's; pens (obviously)
obstigate; obstinately insist despite evidence


I was writing reviews for some people here on DeviantART who I think of kind of like kin. Most of them were around or had just joined when I was originally on DA so although I've been away whilst they have grown, I do still feel like I have been able to watch them grow as writers and as people - even if they aren't people who I would call my friends (because I haven't really engaged with them not because I don't like them!). I feel theres a small group of writers on DeviantART who are revolutionists... a lot of them can be identified by a tendency to use little i's... but thats not their defining feature. It's their voices.

...and I couldn't shake the feeling that this little group, including me I hope, are touching peoples lives, young people, people who are alone and in need of knowing they aren't the only person who feels the way they do... so very quietly, with a whisper, we tell the younger generations our stories and that it's okay to feel, and to live however you want to... this is how we rule the world.


To the undeniably wonderful: *DearPoetry, =TwilightPoetess, *ohsostarryeyed *0hgravity ~A-Lovely-Anxiety, *intricately-ordinary, *glossolalias, *IAmPoetry, *Scarlettletters, ~Snow-Machine and *TheAutumnCrocus. Just some of those people, quietly changing the world.
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

It permeates everything
It is the cells. It is the cell
in which I am rotting.

The sheen over my eye,
the flesh I rip from the side of my nail,
the teeth I grind it with.

The tears, blood and sweat.
It is below carbon and hydrogen,
embedded in the air I breathe.

It is sleeping under my fingernails,
It is the undeniable, genetic, atomic truth.
Oh, my oxygen permeates everything.

It is the cell.
This poem is about depression... about wearing misery in every molecule in your body. It is what you are, it is what you think, say, do, taste, smell, hear... it is everything.

I'm freaking out because I feel so low and I am not off my meds. That is a worrying development.


Icon for Hire - Iodine
"Depression's like a big fur coat,
it's made of dead things but it keeps me warm"

"I think I'm just in love with the feeling
Break my bones so I can feel them healing
"Crazy"'s, I believe, the medical term
When we wanna recover, but we don't wanna learn
Keep breaking what's been fixed a thousand times
And gimme some more of that iodine"

"But if we want to wake up,
Why we still singin' these lullabys?"
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.


Some small curl of smoke,

across a mess of sheets;

a tilted query masked in breath...

...perhaps someone just spoke.


Cold fingers against moist skin,

blinking at those floating protein strands,

back and forth into breathless silence...

as they say..."better out than in."


Rolling that curl around your tongue,

while my mouth goes numb with cotton;

because that ceiling is falling...

...with a twilight that just won't come.


And the onyx is as sweet,

as the darkness beneath

laughter dances....finality drenches the tips

of weary wandering feet.
to expound a tad. this isn't about too much of anything except when you're in complete or partial darkness and silence. alone or accompanied(as in this case)...falling asleep...when hypersensitive of those semi-formed thoughts and mental murmurs....of skin on skin and heartbeat...kinda loopy but greatly significant to me
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

i.

our backs pressed stories into the hillside.
mine was short and deep
and yours grew long and crooked .
the grass died beneath us when the sun sank below the hill.

    ii. "when the clouds change shape,
    that's when i leave you,"
    and i cried as they shifted with your breath.
      "don't forget me."
      iii. "i'll be back in the springtime.

      try not to miss me."
        iv. i missed you in places i never knew i had, and the night fell down around me and it was all i could do to hold up an end of its black blanket to let the moon pass through. and when the morning came, i ached for you.
          v. you telephoned, "babe, don't miss me."

            "you say that as if it's easy."


          "we're dreamers, babe. everything is easy."
            
            vi. winter. this bed is full of dream-husks. they keep me turning until the morning. i am unrecognizable.
              vii. spring. "listen, babe.
              i'll be longer than i thought.

              the nights are cold here
              but i'm more alive than ever.
              don't worry about me."
              black shadows stole your memory, bit by bit until i couldn't recall your face.
                viii. summer. "the woods are dark.

                i'm coming home."
                  ix. fall. "did you miss me?" your lips on my cheek burned and stung. "no."

                  "you lie."
                  a laugh, a kiss. "forgetting me wasn't that easy."
                    x.
                    "we're dreamers, babe. everything is easy."
Commissioned by :iconlucain24:. Topic was "dreamers." Not one of my best, but meh. I can't complain, I guess. I hope you like it!
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Inhale. Hold your breath. Exhale.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Inhale. Hold your breath. Exhale. Eyes focused on his chest.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Hands crossed as if you were praying.

Inhale. Hold your breath. Pinch his nose. Lock lips. Exhale.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. "Don't give up on me now!" Dizzy feeling.

Inhale. A tear falls. Hold your breath. Muffled cry. Exhale.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Shoulders in agony."Please! Breathe!"
Written for 100 themes challenge. Variation 2 challenge 10.

Please tell me your thoughts on this piece.

Cheers!

Thama
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

I pick up my skirt and slip off my shoes
so I can dance on the dusty
line between abject poverty and hope

because the kids in the broken cement homes know this paycheck
won't cover bread and I gotta distract them somehow.

I prayed my
whole life for my A's and gold stars to mean
something, but God doesn't check
report cards when he's giving out miracles,

and I'm done pretending being good will
pay the electric bill.
/
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.