The Food ChainCherish swam through the ocean sleepily, her eyelids bobbing over the dark orbs on either side of her narrow face. She exhaled bodily, her fins expanding and then slowly contracting in time with the water rushing in through the minute slashes that ran down her sides. Her fingernail sized heart trembled vivaciously, on the edge of a violent flurry as she skirted past a Dorado unnoticed. Her mind was elsewhere, circling, circling, like a Sprat in a see-through spherical piece of coral. She slipped down through the seams holding the ocean together, down to the ocean floor. Here, far from the noise of the surface dwellers, she could forget. She could get lost in the opiate beauty of the aquanine seascape. What Cherish needed now, more than anything, was to get lost-- a bite, a snare! A fragment of crystal caught her and slid its sharp brutality in a clean slice through her paper body. In less than one minuscule flutter of her already blue heart the water coloured red. In the last moment of
40810If only you were soulless.408102 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
If you were mindless, blind,
you and I could make a beautiful disaster.
The press would write of our brief affair;
they'd paint me (the woman in red) as pathetic.
They will not consider how I need your love
or how it pains me so deeply to throw myself at you.
I will not be remembered as a poet warrior.
I'll be the eternal survivor no more.
All who think of me will shake their bowed heads
and tearfully remark;
If only you were soulless.
If you were mindless, blind,
You wouldn't have been such a bloody disaster.
Of Nuisance LeavesHear me read it!Of Nuisance Leaves2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
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.
Something(someone) Smallmy curious ivoriesSomething(someone) Small2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tucked between these lips
beg to see what kisses taste like,
to feel what love looks like,
but dampened down
between safety and sound
the tiniest bones in my body, in my ears,
vibrate with a fake smile
and the nod of my dainty doll head
as i lie (with you/to you) again
and grimace; i'm okay.
In absence of a poem.I chewed my pen to the nibIn absence of a poem.2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
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.
MutantHear me read itMutant3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am a mutant.
| My skin does not sallow in the sun
and I do not blush jaundice through my cheeks.
| I do not have extra fingers, or toes -
although my spine;
it boasts an ironic vertebrae,
it is a long tally of the hearts I have broken
and when I straighten my spine the bones Pop out of place.
I am out of place.
| I do not have a super power,
I lack exceptionality in all but my ordinariness.
| there is a vengeful bacteria feasting -
on my shoulder places;
HeartacheThere's a reason whyHeartache2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
both my heart and my gun
have empty chambers baby,
and it's you.
StitchesHer name is Stitches and I love her.Stitches7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She doesn't believe that - she says it is an improbability.
She doesn't say impossibility and that gives me hope.
No one but me knows why she's called Stitches.
I've run my hands over her soft white skin,
Flushed with the fevers of midnight.
I've touched it.
I've let my fingertips explore the hitches in her skin,
Where her body couldn't quite heal itself.
Old memories of gaping holes and vicious lies.
From her shoulder to her wrist,
From her knee to her ankle,
Any where she can negotiate a knife - she is Stitches.
It makes her cry sometimes.
She says she doesn't like being a rag doll any more.
They're old scars, robbing her flesh of its innocence,
Betraying her old soul - etching it out - a tally on her skin.
IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII
Sometimes, it's the little things.He always told me I was deep.Sometimes, it's the little things.2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
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.
Beneath the RoseI can't burn the street down, the tar will fill our lungs,Beneath the Rose2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I can't fix the bridges, or the bolts bedded in our tongues.
I can't explain the constant, buried deep beneath the rose,
with all the other things I broke; death and all erodes.
Getting OlderWhen I was a little girlGetting Older2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I wanted to be my sisters.
I wanted their hair,
their make up,
I wanted my oldest sister's bedroom,
which was always full of eclectic
but cohesive tat.
I wanted to wear doc martens
and my school tie backwards.
When I was seven
I realised I wanted to be like
I wanted to write
and play guitar
and for people to listen to me
and respect me when I spoke.
I wanted people to love me
and for my words to touch lives
When I was thirteen
and I started getting bullied
at my secondary school
my mum taught me how to smile
when you're drowning.
I wanted to be like her.
I wanted her inner strength,
her hair and her wisdom.
I stopped rhyming my poems
in the hopes it would please her.
When I was eighteen
and my life wasn't really going right
I wanted my grandmother's life.
I wanted to be surrounded by
people who loved me, who I loved.
My grandmother was
a living example of love as a verb.
She took her life and decided
that she wanted to fill it w
IgnorePeople used to love me.Ignore2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There used to be something interesting or
exciting in my darkness
or maybe it was just that we were all younger then
and they didnt know what I knew
which was that the world is a horrific place to be
and so I must have seemed wise and new,
but now I feel so alone
and it hurts
and I can't do this anymore
and I look around for a friendly face
and when I can't find one I wonder
who the hell I was looking for anyway
because I wither in agony
and half of it is loss, of her,
and half of it, is knowing
that no one will ever wither
from the loss
Survival of the FittestHear me read itSurvival of the Fittest2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am crack'd. Open to the pit
with the nub and root exposed.
I am silver pierced and punctured
with holes and protruding pieces
of rocked raw wounds rubbed open.
I am barely shattering my lungs
by inhaling the same air as you
even long after your departure.
With a bile-laced smile I pave
and fill in crack and crevices
I am more than disfigured limbs
and disillusioned heart muscle,
scraping a breath down my trachea.
More than the mess you have made.
I hold in my innards, and survive.
Double NegativeI have never loved you.Double Negative2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I did not love you from that misty
September morning when we met.
I did not love you the first moment
I gazed into those saccharine eyes.
I have never, in fact, loved the roughness
in your soft voice when it says my name.
I have never loved the look on your face
when you smile over your bagel at me.
I don't love the cocoa streaked in your hair
or the way it ruffles its feathers upright
when you fall from your warm bed-nest,
half asleep, vulnerable and shy in the morning.
I do not love you.
I did not love you in that very moment
when your breath snagged against my lip
as it finally brushed yours - no, I did not.
I did not love you the first, second, or last time.
Listen to me carefully, my sweet -
I have never loved you, I will never love you.
I will not love you until my very last breath
and the absences of breath beyond that.
I will never love you for all that makes you
the warm, compassionate fighter in my corner.
I won't accept you for all your innocen
Beyond LoveYou say 'beautiful' like a mistake -Beyond Love1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
like it slipped out unwarranted
from those dark parts of your mind
that you don't want me to go to,
you say it like that.
You caress like it's worship -
like if you pressed too hard
or took too much, you'd pay the price
and I love those urgent times when
you're willing to pay it.
You teach me love like I'll die without it -
like if you don't defrost me
and my frozen image of myself,
then I might stop breathing
and extinguish beneath my own icy damnation.
You kiss me like you have to -
like we're sharing an oxygen tank
in a toxic, broken-down universe
and you are trying not to breathe
to save me.
You kiss me like that.
You love me, like that -
how am I supposed to resist
a man who loves me beyond his own sense
and senses - beyond love ?
How to get more views on your LiteratureHow to get more views on your LiteratureHow to get more views on your Literature2 years ago in Art Features More Like This
This article is an exploration of a common question on DeviantART in the Literature community; "How do I get more views?" If you read all of this you win a pony.
Lately there has been a lot of discussion around the site about ways to expand the literature community and the visibility of literature on the site. It has been noted that a lot of people believe that site changes by the DeviantART team will help them get more attention for their work. It has also been noted in the past that when new features are instigated (such as more html, better thumbnails and stash) that people often interpret whether or not they have a direct positive effect on their own views as a way of telling if the new feature is worthwhile or not.
It has been suggested that the community and individuals therein should themselves take more responsibility for creating opportunities and maximising poten
I Didn't Hear YouWhen you say goodbye to me - said goodbye to me. I didn't hear you. I didn't really consider the tangible loss of us. I was busy. Because in my mind I was hearing years worth of goodbyes, that run in a steady loop of vinyl to make the white noise soundtrack to my tears. I was busy listening.I Didn't Hear You2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You left me for a logical and reasonable reason. I'll never understand it. I'll never really process what your goodbye meant or how it was intended. It was lost on me. I was busy. Because in my mind I was listing all the reasons that I told myself you would eventually leave me over. It was the hummingbird heart of our relationship that behind what I would say, there was what I thought. Two very different things.
Underneath a less than gracious acceptance of you moving on, there are cracks so wide that the substance that the cracks are between becomes the cracks in the emptiness. My head is empty space with slithers of pain far and few between.
But on those cliff blades that make up the terra
KissingMy lips are still freshKissing5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from our fevered kisses,
even after they slowed
to a steady flutter;
matching our erratic heartbeats.
My lips are still raw
with the urge to kiss again.
CrucifixionWrists skyward she began to beg; "Please, Please God, I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be.. a prophet, or a messenger of peace and love or whatever it was that you sent her to me so that I would become. I don't.. I can't.." she broke off, broke down, and her mind crumbled around the excruciating wondering if she was experiencing a new type of crucifixion. If God existed, and if he was purposefully keeping her in pain for a bigger plan, and if, ultimately, she would ever know the luxury of a spinal cord snapping open and exposing the bare wires beneath.Crucifixion2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She pressed her hand over her mouth to keep the words inside, and when the tears landed on her fingers and hung for extended moments before they fell, it looked like ivy creeping over the door of a great empty house. Her eyes so dark and lonely. The shaking shed the ivy leafs and when she spoke it was as if a random series of words had tumbled out from the hurricane inside, a cough, a wretch, a sentence; "I think I'm dying".
How CharmingI'm desperate to find herHow Charming2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to steal another kiss.
should be simpler than this.
WhoreI thread a vein out through a scalpel notch;Whore2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and use it as a ribbon to present my heart to you.
I cough a little spare blood. I didn't need it.
I lick the copper from my silenced subterfuge mouth
and it reminds me of the prostitution of my soul
as I pour myself over other men's empty hands
in the dying hope that someone might hold on.
I smear my wrist against a digital canvas and cry;
I give it all to you freely, and nothing in return.
You smile. I break. You hear but you don't listen;
you just throw another single penny for my thoughts.
Mother EarthMy body is the earth;Mother Earth2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
See how under this bruise
A seed of malcontent sleeps.
See what grows out of each pore
As the pain pours over again.
There is rust in my fingerbeds
That poisons the roots
Of all good that hopes to grow here.
I am the convulsing, revolution
of the convoluted Earth...
I am the tectonic blades that clash
and shout when I curl up and hide.
You will feel me when I tremble,
and fear me when I explode
for under the magmanimous skin
There burns a core of hate
That can't be marred by human hand.
CopperThe underside of my heartCopper2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
has rusted through the shell.
Smooth tissue hangs, sodden,
through the ring of oxidised needles.
The frantic muscle
takes on water, tries not to drown,
in the body of fluids
you spat into my chest cavity.
Heavy barnacles of regret
cluster cancerously 'round 'til,
like all else, they disintegrate
with the acidic memory of you.
Still Still (YouTube Link Included)See me perform this hereStill Still (YouTube Link Included)1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
The boy I like
told me that everything in the universe
is made of stars.
He described them eating themselves,
the iron corrupting the heart,
the spat out destitution of a would-be sun;
I could relate.
I went home and wrote
‘You are the ephemeral glitter in the eye of a manic universe –
and I am the debris clogging the arteries of stars as they
That’s the difference between us.
In the world of evenings as poetry –
he is the star studded sky.
His heart is the rocking moon that generously shares its sun with us.
He is the moment when you realise that you live
in the space between brilliance and beauty,
and you still matter.
As for me,
in that same evening,
I am a lake.
I reflect a reflection.
I refract a resurrection of a sun
I can only see the sun through smoke
and my heart is so drowned in anxiety
that no warmth will ever go right through me.
So I look at the bo
Trees know how to be braveThe trees are resigned to dyingTrees know how to be brave2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and still they do not shrivel
against the brutal winds of August.
They reach out. Reach up. Grasp.
They etch out, as veins,
into the tender flesh of the sky
and pierce the sun with broken fingers
trying hard to warm aching bones
for their first and final days
of a life as a skeletal dream.
Trees know that tragedy is not death
but what we let die in us, in life.