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Similar Deviations
I chewed my pen to the nib
and swallowed the ink thoughtlessly,
but no matter how long I thought,
I couldn't say what you mean to me.

I tried, I tried and I tested,
every word in my diminutive range,
but I screwed up more pieces of paper
and happened upon something strange;

I noticed words, which have served me,
for all of my formative years,
had no power to convey my gratitude
for the times that you dried my tears.

Whenever I doubt myself (often),
You're the one who tells me I'm wrong
You lift up my chin and remind me, wait
for the good things that will come along.

I can't find a way to express how
you are the saving grace in my head.
So words can't tell you how I love you -
I hope my silence will tell you instead.
This absence of a poem is in absence of a valentine. I created it purposefully for some people here on DA who have helped me through really terrible times. I will never be able to thank them, they will never truly understand how in my mind, all the hope and courage I have is in their accents and dialects. They are that voice in my mind telling me to hold on. They are the ones fighting my dark thoughts and sadness in my head, not me... and I'll never be able to thank them enough for that. But maybe the fact that I, who loves words so much, cannot find the words will be enough to show them how deeply I mean it when I say thank you. Even if our friendship is past tense I will never forget it, and even if we are newly friends you are only here if you have truly done something that has helped me get through a dark time, be it an hour, a day, a week, a year or a minute. So thanks.

Also, I know I suck at rhyming, but its Valentines day. I think rhyming is a law or something. so I tried. SHUDDUP.

If you aren't listed below then instead of faving this terrible terrible poem why not go check one of them out and fave something of theirs? <3

To the ever-loved, `dreamsinstatic, `LadyLincoln, `leoraigarath, ~DamirSoull, ~ARIrish, =Evil-e33, `2dazed, `PurpelBlur, ~KuraiTenshiV, ~saturninesweetness, ~yavorh, ~WingsOfTears, ~Zevais, ~kurai-taka, =Sammur-amat, ~OuroborosRagnarok, ~Story-of-a-Mind, =TwilightPoetess, `ATrue, ~Konjuku, =TheGalleryOfEve, =LadyofGaerdon, *TheAutumnCrocus, *0hgravity, $fourteenthstar, ~Mattiello, *GregoryDelve, ~Patchwork-Poet, ~DreamsSetOnMute, ~Alannavich, `scarletwave and `Helewidis
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Under the paprika house,
are the bones of my father
and nestled between rib
and reason, is our love.
and it kills me.
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I lie awake, staring at the cornices.
3AM: my fingers worry at the corners of my sheet.
My anxiety worries at the corners of my rib.
I bite and tug and huff out my misery
As the silence keeps me awake.
I lay with pressure of your absence
Pressing down over my nose and mouth.
A soft asphixiation of the heart, of the sanity.
It is a hot grey night in London.

You are awake, startled by the sunlight.
7AM: you can't lift your weighty skull from the sheet.
The day sirens, but you stay, settled,
Under the weight of your shroud, your loss,
Only the silence keeps you awake.
Unknowingly, for the first time in weeks
We are unintentionally in sync;
Laid out in funerial colours as we die.
It is a dull blue day in Dubai.
Was playing with the idea that two people, after a break up, in diffferent time zones.. One laying awake at night and one laying awake before getting up.. Might suddenly by accident spend a moment utterly in sync. United by their misery at losing the other, and they would never know it.
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Hear me read it!

Leaves clutch their ropy fingers around the tree's limbs. The zesty leeches bloom, crack open overnight and slip silently up the nearest oak or maple. They pierce the crunch of bark and penetrate deep into the rubbery veins.

They feed. They pauperize plum and peach until they are heavy and brown; heavy laden with the stolen sap.

When at last they reach their fill the tree can finally shake them off emphatically, desperately, until at last it is clean again. The tree reaches its black bones to the sky in praise and as a new year begins vows never again to be the victim of leaves.
It started off as a thought about leaves and trees but I guess by the time I finished it u was thinking of this as a metaphor for people. Those around you, are they helping you or themselves? Only you know the answer.
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He's talking in his sleep again
And I can't help wondering
If he's saying all the things he feels he can't say
When I'm (not) listening in the day.
My grandfather
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See the sharpness of my tongue-nib
As the metallic taste in my mouth draws out
A barking cough, forced out
By the dirty nicotine lining my lungs.

See the blade of stubbornness
That slices across my cheek bone;
An amalgamation  of all the times you pushed me.

See the residue in my eyes,
The remnants of all those times you forced me
And I forced myself not to cry;
Those tears condensed into a thick blinding syrup
That colours all things red.

See the crinkle in my nose,
The wrinkles on my heart
As I remember how you didn't love me. (Don't love me).

See the burns on my psalms
And fingerprints singed off
By all the times you called me nothing.

See the manacles, the barnacles
The mutations and tumours.
See the invisible scars of the Battle of Us.
There are capitalisation issues here because I'm posting this from a cafe. Will edit them later today or tomorrow.

I wrote this thinking about all the invisible scars I have from past relationships. How I respond quite strongly if someone tries to emotionally manipulate me because of a relationship in which I was emotionally abused. How I don't really like sex because of a relationship in which I was forced. How I have all the remainder of all the bad parts of those relationships still swimming around in my lungs.

It prompted this and another poem which I will work on later.

I dunno. Just regrets.
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February 28th, 2013

Dire desperation
A feeble whimper for help;
roar of these raw times.

February 27th, 2013

Gluttonous ash cloud
sucks the moon's blood
and swallows the night.

February 26th, 2013

Bark! An explosion!
Angry bodies escape the
network of lung cells.

February 25th, 2013

Silently cloning,
multiplying, honing in,
determined to kill.

February 24th, 2013

Tea and sympathy
readily available
for my dear sister.

February 23rd, 2013

I will hold my breath
as the north wind does the same
waiting for your love.

February 22nd, 2013

He hovers behind;
Hamletian apparition.
Always following.

February 21st, 2013

A long slow curve,
your smile upon my shoulder,
a scar of your touch.

February 20th, 2013

Dandelion seed,
Where do you go while I sleep?
To whom do you run?

February 19th, 2013

Whorls from fingers
Imprinted in the trees
Count their rings too.

February 18th, 2013

Orchid explodes.
Sudden fragmented flora;
everything is lost.

February 17th, 2013

changed, we both leave scathed
with our scars of love.

February 16th, 2013

The poem in kohl
written on my cheekbones;
admits I miss you.

February 15th, 2013

A violent God
Throws sand at an earth full of

February 14th, 2013

In the white spaces
between the words and phrases;
I can speak my love.

February 13th, 2013

The silent click clack
of outstretched limbs creeping
closer. Spiders suck.

February 12th, 2013

The pale buddleja
flushes lilac in the sun;
tiny burning cheeks.

February 11th, 2013

Ugly, unwanted,
Unnoticed dirt. The soil
nurtures all life.

February 10th, 2013

Like glitter tossed
They illuminate.

February 9th, 2013

Dead stars shine brighter
In the loneliness of space.
We fill the vacuums.

February 8th, 2013

Dusted with silver
The ghost specter turns. Nothing.
Nothing, without you.

February 7th, 2013

Push my thumbs in
to your Aortic valve;
pull the beat right out.

February 6th, 2013

A dead sun rises;
An unlikely red thumbprint
On the blemished sky.

February 5th, 2013

A kiss thrust onto
the sharp blade of his shoulder.
Stabbed in the back.

February 4th, 2013

The ballerina
slips off her tutu backstage
but pirouettes again.

February 3rd, 2013

She wishes with ink;
fictions of her life.

February 2nd, 2013

Your metronome heart
regulates my anxious breath
as I grasp for sleep.

February 1st, 2013

Half apricot moon
thrums behind the Indigo;
Yearning for our love.
A challenge throughout Feb to write a haiku every day.

For Haikuwrimo I will be using the standardised 5-7-5 format but I am aware that this is not an essential element for haiku. I just like the specifics of that challenge. More info about haiku here. Generally it is said that haiku are about things from the natural world, but the definition of natural world is much broader than the Western version. I will be going with that also.

Hope you guys get involved too!

Feb 1: The moon trying to shine through cloud.
Feb 2: My dog's heartbeat calming me down when I'm trying to ignore a panic attack to get some sleep
Feb 3: Human girl writing poetry (me) :]. I remembered that the traditional haiku should have some kind of juxtaposition in it, so I was focusing on that today. Hence autobiographical fictions.
Feb 4: A water lily in a pond losing its petals.
Feb 5: Redefining stabbing someone in the back. About kissing someones shoulder.
Feb 6: how the sun looked this morning (didnt have time to post it til now)
Feb 7: Heart break
Feb 8: The world turning under starlight, feeling lonely.
Feb 9: Stars
Feb 10: Stars again
Feb 11: Soil, idk. The unsung hero?
Feb 12: Buddleja plants with tiny little heads.
Feb 14: Poetry
Feb 15: The meteor strike in Russia. (Please note this isn't my personal believe, just an idea)!
Feb 16: mascara on the face from crying
Feb 17: pain. le sigh!
Feb 18: My grandmothers death
Feb 19: The similarity of fingerprints and wood grain
Feb 20: Random thoughts of summer days.
Feb 21: Scars
Feb 22: Feeling haunted by something / someone from my past. New Word!: Hamletian (Said Ham-Lee-She-An) meaning, with traits recognisable from Hamlet (the play). In this case, ghostly. Could also be used to mean Like Hamlet the character in Hamlet.
Feb 23: Hope in the face of bitter storms.
Feb 24: My sister's birthday (and cake!)
Feb 25: Cancer
Feb 26: Coughing.
Feb 27: Thinking about that ash cloud in Iceland a few years ago. Ash swallowing the sky.
Feb 28: Self harm awareness day tomorrow. Just thinking.
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He always told me I was deep.
An unfiltered distillation of a humanitarian ocean.

He accepted me, gills and all -
  He knew that I needed my eccentricities to breathe
         under the seascrapers of pollution
               that hung over my head.
 Or he said he did.

At the end of it all,
he tugged the gills open to expose me;
    my innards trailed across the coral reef
       as I swam trustingly forward, hoping for the best.
 I tried to believe.

I believed him, gills and all -
But eventually, he left me, with holes in my sides
   Where he had spooned out my intestines
      To tether them to a boulder.
 I tried to breathe.

He always told me I was deep.
It must have been a surprise to read:

                                  Death by puddle.
It's the little things.

Full credit to =Deathbypuddle whos name inspired me to write today.

*glossolalias rocks my life <3
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Richard found himself talking to the furniture.

"Ahhh" he sighed settling into his favourite chair "lets have a nice sit down shall we?" The question lay down on the floral rug and withered away unanswered.

"What's that all about, eh?" he grumbled to the doormat that had curled up snuggly against the front door, jamming it when he opened it for the milk, as he picked up his post. "What's that about?"

"Right then, let's get the kettle on" he chirped conversationally to the kettle which blushed until steam came out of its ears and boiled despite being watched. "Lovely cuppa" he said in thanks, and the kettle whistled shyly to herself until she was calm again.

"Come along then" he grumbled as he grappled with the lawnmower, "Come along, come along then. That's a good girl".

Richard didn't mind talking to most of the furniture, he had done it most days of his long eighty-six years. He had talked to the furniture as it had slunk into corners and nested in cupboards when they had moved in forty-odd years ago. He didn't notice he did it any more.

Richard didn't mind talking to the furniture except a lamp. A walnut carved lamp with a broad shouldered torso that shone too brightly the last time it had been on. He must remember to replace the bulb. He never remembers to replace the bulb. He doesn't want to replace the bulb.

What he minds is jolting awake in the middle of the night with "Mary!" on his lips. The slam of his hand into the sheets, the way his hands deform into claws, that rake the unexpected negative space, despite the arthritis. The shot of pain through his knuckles reminds him - a sharp reminder, like he used to get at school for sticking his plushly wet chewing gum under his desk. No! No, it said. No.

Yet most nights he woke still, turning in fright and being faced with the blank shade of the lamp. He'd repeat himself; "Mary.." and let his head wilt down to the pillow once more.

I know what I wrote about, but I'd love to know what you read about here. Let me know.

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Kathryn O'Driscoll © 2013

All rights reserved. All the materials contained in my deviantART gallery may NOT be used, reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted, borrowed, duplicated, printed, downloaded, or uploaded in any way without my express written permission, however feel free to contact me should you desire to use my work - as I love to share.
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Sometimes my breath catches in my throat
and the very stillness of an earth going
a thousand and three miles per hour
gets lodged there.

Sometimes these simple exchanges
leave me breathless, croaking on dust:
the unfiltered pigments of other people's skin
and blood and ash

but with my tarred lungs and itchy eyes
I sit and sift through charcoaled remains,
alphabetising them from c to c. I am lost
in a world charred brazen.

Many things I have loved have turned to ash.
Many people. I was naive enough to think
that there was some perfect nutritional truth
that could outlast hell-fire.

I claw through a world turned ashen
and know those dead embers collect in my cells
They are the harbingers of a truth
I do not want.

The skittish earth throws its skirts about again
to unsettle us all, and I am unsettled
Alone in the dirt, organising piles of bone-dust
and realising

he did not love, at all.
I'm just going to point this out right off of the bat, because otherwise I know I will get loads of comments about it. In this poem the world has not ended because of a man not loving the narrative voice. Okay? The 'nutritional truth' I wrote about is the concept of love being able to overcome dark places, including this dystopian world. The poem, FOR ME, is about realising that maybe that was dumb to believe.. the poems about, not being able to move on. From death, from loss of any kind including break ups yes, its about having your bubble popped and realising the world is darker than you thought it was - and I already thought the world was pretty dark so yes you get a world of ash from me.

It's about trying to organise pile after pile of the same pain that all merges into one and its surrounding you and individually they are very s mall but together they are insurmountable. Because thats what my life is like, and probably many other peoples lives. Maybe everyones lives, I dont know.

It's a poem about growing up. Growing harder. About wincing when someone raises their hand because you assume people are going to hurt you. Its about believing in love, and getting your heartbroken. but for me, the reason the world turned to ash in the poem isnt BECAUSE he doesnt love her, its because she can't believe it. she cant believe the world could be such a horrific place, so she tries to make things out of piles of ash, and nothingness and tries not to think about all the horrific evidence there has been in her life that people just fucking suck and life hates you and wants to kill you.

It's a poem about trying to reshape your entire world after someone blows it to fucking pieces, and takes back the love, the security, the self stability, the rug beneath your feet. It's not saying she needs him to survive or that if a guy breaks up with a girl then she can't cope. When a break up happens, your world perception can change too, and THAT change in your life, in your head, can be excruciating, but no body will talk about it because they only hear you talking about your ex.

Well I love my ex, he knows that. He doesnt want me. I dont know why but I could hazard about a million guesses. Its irrelevant. What is relevant is that my view on myself and the world has changed, because of being with him and because of him leaving me (in about equal measure) and I'm facing a whole new world.

and if you tell me that 'a woman shouldn't need a man to validate herself' then you are over simplifying my words and so help me god... I am tired of hearing it. Yes, I miss him. But what I miss more, is me. Can anybody understand that?

P.S. recently someone called me pessimistic. I don't think I am. I think every poem I write has an element of this. A lost, helpless little girl trying her damnedest to make things right for herself and those she loves, even in really dark scary ugly places in the world. I'd say its pretty optimistic for me to have even stayed alive so long. That's just my opinion though.

P.P.S. April is a super emotional time for me so I will be ultra sensitive, so I apologise deeply deeply deeply if I offend anybody when I react to things. I don't mean to be rude. : ( I'm sorry!

Poem's notes

"a thousand and three miles per hour" This isn't quite accurate. I think its 1038, but this sounded better and it varies depending on which latitude your at anyway so for some people this is correct I suppose. Whoop!

"c to c. I am lost" sea to sea. big space.
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