| Deviant Login | Shop | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
and I still keep running into parked carsMama,and I still keep running into parked cars6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
your baby girl's swimming
in dead of the night
hair, scarred knees,
overgrown weeds, and
countless pairs
of shoes-
with those
orange and yellow wheels
that hug my toes
and heels
I'm running into
parked cars
trying to get
my kite to fly
and hiding under
dashboards
listening to you
fight
I'm rummaging through
boxes of secrets
that Daddy tried
to hide-
solving puzzles with pieces
I'll never uncover
in these thoughts
of you
virginity is like an envelopemy mother said her mother knew.virginity is like an envelope2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i wonder if she stumbled home like i did,
fifteen and beer-loose
tied to the door like a thunderstorm with black lips
and i wrote a story about disaster,
a quiet two sleds long.
a box full of beads, i swallowed
fifteen needles, mommy. don’t
tell me i’m not sorry.
don’t call me a whore you bag of bones
you lock-loose suitcase do you even
recognize me look at my face my toothache skin
i am not the one with the knife.
my mother never slept with a boy
who didn’t love her never let a boy
sleep on her while she lay awake beneath
the shroud of his skin breathing only
when her voice-box gathere
let's pretend this never happenedbecause honestly,let's pretend this never happened10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i don't know you and this was
just a big mistake, she says
very softly.
the morning sun peeks in
through the curtain as she pulls
on yesterday's shirt and i catch
my last glimpse of her thin
shoulder blades, protruding like
wings about to burst out of their
seams. she won't look at me.
the floor creaks with her weight
as she gathers her things. i've
already forgotten her eyes, wide
with wonder, and her lips, her
slender jawbone. i wish she
would turn around. i try to speak,
but words don't come.
her bare feet pad across the
room and she pauses in the doorway,
head turned to the side, as if listening,
perhaps to my heavy heart beating.
the set of her shoulders, hunched like
an eagle about to take flight, makes
me think she's going to break into a
thousand pieces, and i long to catch
them all and fix her. i long to know this girl,
this girl without a name who carries
herself like a hummingbird. i want to ask
her about the tattoo that runs along her
spine, quoting
Dog Days of SummerThe city is a raw, open carcass.Dog Days of Summer10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I rip into it with my teeth,
tools and weapons alike.
We are bred from our surroundings;
I was born in August,
the son of Sirius and Sol.
Let me tell you what it is to be brought low:
it is a streamlined form of hatred,
to awake in unrelenting heat,
shoved down among vulgarities, drifting
as their glares catch you at every corner.
Is he a threat?
You can watch them drag their ribs through the dust
while you greedily tear into your scraps
behind cooking temple-blocks
(not the scraps they threw at you,
but the ones you fought for).
You're vicious by nature,
but wary by choice.
Asphalt ignites with my stride
as
Girl, Reincarnated.Perhaps in a past life you were made of ink,Girl, Reincarnated.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
your eyes speckled like blotting paper,
complexion smooth as parchment.
And maybe your voice was storm cloud rolling
because I see your words
and they fill my heart with rain,
not the heavy kind that revels
in punching holes in butterfly wings but rather
the mist that paints the dew and
leaves the sky beautifully grey.
At the very least your soul was a mourning dove,
as there's a lilting sorrow in your words
that the air carries like a melody,
were I to speak them aloud
I would sing, hoping that my voice wouldn't shake
with your weeping.
fishing for hearts with lace and not nettingtake one - in which burned bread is beautifulfishing for hearts with lace and not netting1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
They're crumbs in the road, toast-speckles that spin and skirt and we
drive past, like we always do, the radio singing
white noise against my black humor and you say
you say I'm getting better, and I think no, I am better
I am better, I say and you say no
and I say
yes,
I'm fucking exemplary
and you ask who Exemplary is and I tell you it's me and I think
somewhere we got lost in the words
And I'm not all that keen on admitting to you that sure thing, dad,
I'm fucking myself
over
and over
but mostly I'm just fucking myself o
Let the Sparrows InI.Let the Sparrows In1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Blackbirds are resting on the power lines,
Their silhouettes form the notation to
A dawn song set on the sheet music of
Telephone poles contrasted by the sun.
Curled leaves are land mines littered
On the lawn where imprints of twigs
And a nurturing robin's tracks collect.
Branchlets and leaflets stem from
Porch step railings and mailboxes;
The numbers read even on the
East side of the asphalt:
Seven-seven-thirty-six.
The engraved letters on
The siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family
So let the sparrows in.
The house,
With its branching hallways
And
Overhanging décor
And
Furniture rooted to the floor
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?summergirl5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i. summergirl,
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
surefooted smile.
ii. you have grown
so fast.
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
perched treetop,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
summergirl, th
An old kind of loveOne hundred years from nowAn old kind of love10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
The paint we picked out
Will be seven shades different,
Or old bricks made wise
By some graffiti prophet.
The note you hid in my mittens
– All I dream about anymore
Is the ocean
And you
(But mostly just you) –
Will be drifting through dream-catchers and
Those sapling hopes with
Roots tangled like our fingers and
Branches trembling with the vastness of our memories
Will be driftwood adventures
Nodding off with the tides
But I know in this heart of mine
That the smooth-bark-rain-soaked Beech Tree
You planted for me (there's a swing on it now)
Will still be there
And it will remember wha
Stepping StonesI rip pagesStepping Stones8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
out of poetry books,
the titles of
Shakespeare
and Plath
and Dickinson
littering the floor
like trash,
and I wonder
if we don't all
wind up stepping stones
in the end.
Serendipity and SnowfallI am la vie en rose,Serendipity and Snowfall6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a newborn with as many mini bones in my body as possibilities.
Lovelily,
I am potential waiting to be tapped into.
I am a spectrum of light,
serenity in the symmetry of a snowflake.
I come veiled in lace from everlasting love's womb with my budding,
fresh,
goose-flesh tucked tenderly underneath.
I spread my spirit wide,
outstretching my feather-tips &,
supplicated by twizzles,
I catch my ballerina's foot & fly.
In these fleeting,
finite moments of ubermensch suspension in multiple salchows comes clairvoyance,
a kindness beyond the absolution of mundane minds.
With the key to perfection being repetition,
I pray you
earth circuitAnd when the sun sinks, the earth's skin crawls:earth circuit8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I.
I wonder if this awkward creature would notice me the way I notice him.
He's so tragic at his throne
I stare after him longingly.
And yet,
He never realizes that I'm the one
Who forever basks in his brilliant beams.
If only he knew how much brighter he could burn
[with me]
He'd light up the universe.
II.
I heard him speak of thirst, once.
The quenching lust of the stars had run dry.
So that night, I brought along a jar of acid.
(And how it gleamed in his glow).
I handed it to him, wrapped in taffeta ribbons,
screaming
I wish curdling joy
On my gurgling boy
Lightning Bug CosmosI lace my skin up like a corset, peel back the blinds on my eyelids, and take a step forward, waking from the poppies to theLightning Bug Cosmos9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
lightning bug glow of truth tapping on my eardrums.
In front of the mirror I stand, but what I notice is not the awkward crook of my nose or butterfly lashes. I look into the lighted mirror as if searching for answers hidden under
Ribbon-like sets of
ExhaustionExhaustionExhaustion9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I wake, swollen with noon heat.
Half dressed, I stumble,
elbows and toes catching
on the clawed feet of chairs,
the blunt holes of open cupboards.
I sometimes forget my name.
In the kitchen, I pepper the rice
instead of salt. Black flecks surface
in the boiling water,
sea turtles migrating.
If I knew where you went,
I would follow. But all you left behind
was an old sweater, an empty notebook,
an exhaustion,
complete and infinite
as the space around a closed fist.
Little IngenueBorn with wanderlustLittle Ingenue9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
imprinted on her
beautiful star chart,
like the freckles that
dot her sun-soaked skin;
her heart's wild as the
red tangles, snarled
like brambles, coiled
like crowns, twisting through
her autumnal hair.
No one can convince
her, she will always
willfully believe
that Wonderland lies
beyond the next bend,
no matter what road
her capricious and
come-what-may nature
should choose to travel.
They say she is fey,
and she believes them.
She dreams of faeries
that take her away,
(it's the second star
to the right and straight
on till morning) to
fly on wings that Fate
forgot to give her.
on watching the night close its eyes on you1. I will not tell youon watching the night close its eyes on you7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are pretty.
How can the halls and angles of such honest humanity
be so pinched between sounds as elementary as these?
2. You need not be two stringent boughs of syllables
nor weave your viney bones abreast these five petty letters,
whirling in the fire of the river
Styx.
Do not attempt to peel yourself layer for layer,
leaving all the disgust behind.
Do not tally your body six &
Va'eiraThis was a lesson in just how quiet it can beVa'eira1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
when you don't make enough noise.
Me, holding a toy gun to a stranger's head
"Remember when things stopped being ridiculous?"
You, eating dandelions in a midnight field
"About the same time things stopped making sense."
A boy in church camp carved a small crucifix
for his arts and crafts project. He won the blue
ribbon and a brand new Bible. The next morning
I found it hanging over our cabin door.
A toad was nailed to the cross.
Still breathing.
Still breathing.
Sometimes we wake up early enough to hide the evil from our world.
Still breathing.
FisheyeYour honest words perch upon brash lips,Fisheye1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
teetering on thoughtful intentions; a super hero's cape
embroidered with moth holes, gossamered secret identity
shielding the crestfallen heart you disguise as armor,
forgotten about with a forced amnesia
until its lonely beating rips a hole
through your defenses.
I'm your kryptonite and your sunshine—
the thing that makes you human, and weak,
and untouchable,
and mighty,
and a villain to the unloved,
and my savior.
I'm the have and have-not,
the desired and the disdained—
for your every rib aches to feel the pressure of my palms
and the tangle of my fingers witching for you
Does It Bother Your Mind The Way You Bother MineIt could be defined as this unintelligible sympathy, refinedDoes It Bother Your Mind The Way You Bother Mine1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and infinitely describable. Words are a feeble comparison.
My speech is slop, fecal matter. Repulsive residues spew from ineffective
communication. And you're speaking, but what the fuck are you saying?
To be wrong.
It may run deeper than that, an invasive core crowding the marrow of your bones.
Humiliation in strength, pungent structure uniting beneath sinuous muscle and
skin. Imperative awareness skittered across pa
CherishedI want you to worship this loveCherished10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I write poems about—
I tore it out of a virgin womb
just for you,
and I bear to you now, naked,
shivering in the nervousness of flesh
exposed to a cold world.
It will suck on the breasts
of prostitutes
and kiss the lips of small-town drunks
with their whiskey-tipped breath
and hollow eyes,
and I will touch my fingers
to its precious little mouth
and feel the warm saliva
bathe my skin.
I want you to put your ear
to its unguarded chest and listen
to the murmur
of its shriveled heart,
pulsating—the warm, lively core.
A tempest, the Red Sea succumbing to Moses.
The fall of the tower
Of Half-Filled WordsShe is not a flutterbird.Of Half-Filled Words1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her fingers are skittish,
her smile is not.
Do not fear that you will
drive it away.
Sadness is her fumbling limb.
It is unwanted, yet
necessary.
When it is January
she will tell you,
"I am still struggling.
And I am becoming so many people
all at once.
A conglomeration of beauty that
I have managed to mangle.
Please, do not be sad for me."
Sometimes her sorrow is
meant for you. But mostly her.
Those specks and spots
of ocean storm lulls
reveal her truths:
ones she does not want
to extract from herself.
Her heart is not a rabbit.
When it beats
faster, faster, faster,
you need not
run harder
RecollectionsTan-orange waves breakRecollections9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Upon a magenta
Ocean.
Someone
Is touching my shoulder,
Their purple breathing
Overwhelming my mind.
Why
Am I lying on the
Floor?
And now I see that grey footprints
Surround me,
Encircle me and then fade.
Solid, translucent,
Gone.
Just as I open my eyes,
More voices are starting.
The overwhelming medley that
Usually, I can recognize,
Is pushing me back into a gaping
Darkness.
What has happened to me?
Between sharp bursts of color,
I can see eyes,
And the eyes see mine.
Someone is pushing me upright,
Repeating my name,
A fire-red mantra.
My own voice is shuddery,
A small purple cloud,
Sta.sh
