| Deviant Login | Shop | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
your teeth leave different scarswhat they didn't tell me--your teeth leave different scars3 weeks ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
the amnesiac [is]
61.8% water &
on watching the night
close its eyes on you,
I only know beauty;
maybe Anne Sexton was onto something
& for the woman shamed,
arise and breathe. Seabones
with taciturn eyes
after we lost him:
mermaid thirst [for]
cruelest love.
[Your] virginity is like an envelope,
a lover's observations [on]
post-it notes, cupping rice
always, and always.
i am not splotched ink and tallied memoryiii.i am not splotched ink and tallied memory2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a testament
to all i endured,
unclothed, i wear (still)
these scars--
ragged designs of ink
thrown at a canvas &
lines carved-- a prisoner's
tally of time.
ii.
stumbling over the
caverns and crags
of my skin,
your eyes travel
in halting progression--
[the crawl of a climber
too-long weary
and slipping
down, down, down]
i feel your stutters,
a shivering- first
along one arm--
[almost a polka-dot
tap dance taking in
splotched ink and
tallied memory]
then an intensification
of graveyard fever
upon the other--
[dash past the ink &
exhume the feeling
beneath the sleeve].
i.
it is a shame
(and your loss)--
you cannot see the woman
brea
lotusshe was newness, heart wholelotus3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and unblemished, bones
whispering promises and
fresh limbed innocence.
when life bent her, gritty
and silted, she bathed her
soul in minute puddles
and whispered comfort
to the tears of her bones.
where others hardened,
she split herself, spilling
heart fragments and
leaving the bitter seed
of hurt buried beneath
a concrete landfill--
devoid of food
it could not grow.
stretching, limbs taut
and ready, she flung
herself wide and wild
rebuilt her innocence
into a new kind of purity.
Soldiercigarette between his lips,Soldier1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
tar-induced lungs struggling to inflate –
a soldier
(a man)
struggling to make sense
of a war
where men are only equal
when they're dead.
If you drink enough vodka it tastes like loveHe’d whisper sweet nothings to treesIf you drink enough vodka it tastes like love1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
Hoping the roots would remember his name
I watched him drop pieces of himself like bread crumbs
His lantern limbs quivering
I don’t think he ever really knew how lovely he was
And on a sunny day when the pavement was sweating
Out onto the roadside
Everyone else found out too
I don’t think I’ll ever forget him because he was like a dream catcher
So quiet and magical in the way his eyes turned green in the dark
And blue in the winter
Like he stored the world’s secrets behind his cuckoo spit heart
Easter (and the space of you)At 30, I chaseEaster (and the space of you)2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
cola with chocolate
and tears, and I build
a new lifeline--
the space of you
not filling, simply
aching.
(17 years of echoes
could never erase you from me
and i still look for the man
you could have been
and the boy
you never were--)
because at 13, I chased
peace, wished for
the ending of you
and it came. I opened
a new wound--
Jesus dying on the cross
and you in his arms
instead of mine.
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
Day 28: Loneliness Builds A WifeHis loneliness so completeDay 28: Loneliness Builds A Wife3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
it swallowed even hiccups
(esophageal bounces
reverberating into
his soul but somehow
unfelt) and loosened his grip
until he built himself a wife--
turning the dead bodies
of his home into new organs
and appendages: for example
her head is crafted from
the tough shell and empty cavity
inside an old breadmaker
while the trusty toaster,
bleeding crumbs & blackened
crusts, donates itself as a stomach,
tucked securely inside his
once loved refrigerator.
Once complete, she swallowed
even the great loneliness
harboured beneath his skin--
but he missed something, still.
Enthusiasm overshadowed
sensibilities in the early
Remnant of a RequiemI. I don’t want to dream anymore.Remnant of a Requiem1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
II. There’s the distortion of stardust and twilight spreading inside downtrodden lungs.
Somehow, the sky had learned my secrets, and it has forced me to bury its body in my system like a funeral despite the fact that these hands have scratched its constellations back when they were bare remnants of dust and gods and ice.
But all these brittle bird bones could do was nothing but fracture an expanse of glass and grind the fragments through broken teeth
[and I couldn’t weep openly.]
Who knew I could drown in my own ocean?
III.
IV. Maybe I’m still sober, or maybe I’ve learned
Glass Bottomed BirdsHe says,Glass Bottomed Birds4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
"I'm thinking about realist and
constructivist interpretations
of the diplomatic correspondence
of the Amarna age",
and I want to say something that sounds
sagacious. Profound,
like the way the stars make us weep
with the realisation
there are messages in the heavens
that we will never hear;
or how thoughts, in a poem become
glass bottomed birds;
or how the eyes lead to the soul
and back again.
But really,
I'm thinking about monkeys.
Tiny, tiny little monkeys,
and things that are
rather shiny, like Firefly--
Captain Tightpants,
and the way it made me laugh
when I realised how unconsciously
I adopted their phras
life, love, and all that jazzmy body is an accident;life, love, and all that jazz1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
you've got blood on your hands
(i think it's my own)
and i'm learning
the world will only love you
when you want to die -
there are no easy ways to say
so this is goodbye;
this is the last piece
i ever write about you,
or anyone.
here's to
the things we leave behind,
in the distance, fading
(summer ends tomorrow)
dear october,
here's nine reasons why you should
never look over your shoulder;
for once in my life, i know
the truth about forever -
it's in the little things.
salti of you,salt2 months ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
such a beautiful mess, intertwined and overrun.
your arms, copper lips, citrus,
a lovin' with a twist.
my summer away at space pirate camp,
i took to howling with you the first thunder of june;
flesh, storms,
the hunt for human brains,
Maybe Zombies Just Want To Hug?
- 6 lies to tell yourself if shipwrecked.
i can't explain the feelings i get.
wakewalking,
blue dream before i sleep:
the soul cupping rice (glass figurines, lamp light eyes).
my fear is milk two sugars.
drink drink drink
beneath it all,
floral growth, silver spoons,
featherweight
Bury Me (In White)"I'm living backwardsBury Me (In White)2 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
so bury me
in white:--
I will reclaim
my purity."
iii.
The funeral is a small affair, ungarnished and over early. There mainly out of obligation and the need to be seen doing the right thing, the mourners are a motley assortment of relatives who are quick to kiss cheeks, and even quicker to take their leave. None of them felt the need to dissect this empty place in our lives that he once filled, and after only 2 hours, the only people remaining at the gravesite are myself, my sister, and the empty cage of his decaying bones, buried deeply beneath our feet.
Her fingers are swollen, like her face, and we both know she w
Day 14: Borderline Personality Disorderbowed with regret & stainedDay 14: Borderline Personality Disorder1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the dye you tried to use
your veins sublimated & swallowed
by fires you can't see coming,
you're still trying to protect yourself
(I heard you when you cried
forgive me, forgive me,
forget me, and you painted yourself
into someone new)
our burns, full thickness &
leaking destroyed nerves,
are in opposition, but we are not
love, we are not.
they can graft our skins &
build them into wholeness but
we are still disordered,
third degree victims of our own
sensitivity in an unfair world
you cant try to be in love while... (+audio)you can’t try to be in love while holding up the moonyou cant try to be in love while... (+audio)1 month ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
the right way to let go
is looking into water;
to become the distant sound of thunder
in transit from star to star -
knowing
it is obscure over there.
once you have found it,
blue willow love shimmers
as she reads poems.
- SophieCT, april 2013
Day .105.
SundropoSundrop1 month ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
n
some
days I
watch you
rise and rage
with a new year
firework fervour–
untamed and glorious,
pulling the years together
with a snap of your fingers.
but some days you are languid,
stretching like the summer dusting
of freckles along your forearms, the
slumberous strands of hair shuttering
your sky-eyes from the morning light.
on these days, I think the earth spins
slower and the birds sing a little
quieter. on these days, I look
at you and I think:
sundrop.
For the love of birdsThree little birds pitch on my doorstep.For the love of birds3 months ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
I keep them in a jar
because
nothing I have is truly mine.
I am only the lonely,
waiting for it to come back to me.
AwarenessThey all bow to the same refried themes,Awareness2 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
sandwiches disguised as canapes for the industry
touting hope and wanting us to write
or draw or paint or just damn create
something
as long as it's hopeful and pleasing and
shows something positive because
God forbid the public see
the way it really is:
instead of a fancy appetizer
I am eating a soggy slice of stale bread
topped with cheese gone plastic
after a full minute
in the zapper-
because I got distracted and forgot
until the timer tinged and the cheese fizzed,
spitting grease and oil,
because my attention fled and for a moment
just a moment
breathing was too hard.
Everybody's learning that t
Day 19: Stages of Self Destructionwhen the doctor says, 'your iron levelDay 19: Stages of Self Destruction1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
shows a need for improvement', he nods--
(we're both of us thinking of the way
meat spoils in the freezer, untouched,
because it's earmarked for me & I never
get around to eating it)
and when the doctor says 'your b12 level
is pretty low', we exchange a glance--
(we're both thinking a summer and a half ago
I wouldn't eat a day's calorie count even over a week
and how the nutrients leaked out
along with my sanity)
but when the doctor says 'you tested positive',
he simply pales--
(we're thinking it's Sweden,
I'm drinking the bar dry of vodka
and for the first time in my life,
I share a stranger's drin
a self-portraitI am chaos theory,a self-portrait1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
that strange amalgamation of
order and anarchy,
fearsome and gorgeous
as a star, a galaxy.
look at my arms,
spiralling, stunning
as a Lorenz attractor,
attracting stardust to my centre,
my black hole,
my churning void of gravity.
are you brave enough to look
straight at me?
are you wise enough to see
the beauty in this fury,
deterministic matter
devolving into a haze of
the arbitrary?
I am a fusion of dynamical systems,
a point on a geometrical
manifold, and yet I am
so much more.
observing me does not collapse me.
I am infinite (im)possibility.
pockets of emptinesswhen morning opens my eyespockets of emptiness4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i am still heavy with unlived dreams;
the dramas of the night
lace shadows over this face i find,
daughterless mother in the mirror.
still, i breathe.
i slide a Prozac over my tongue,
stumble through breakfast,
cancel another appointment.
in drinks, i measure the time left,
count the hours that pass without you.
still, i breathe.
i do what i cannot do without doing,
nap between, in increments of 20.
something within has rotted,
all is by rote, mechanical and dead
yet i am not without emotion.
still, i breathe.
i breathe and breathe and breathe,
sometimes i forget to remember
and sometimes i remember to forget.
Day 17: How To Bury Your MotherStart with the feet; push downDay 17: How To Bury Your Mother1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
handfuls of earth over stubbed toes
and childhood injuries--
(remember the time she pulled your hair,
called you a bitch and said your father
could never have wanted you).
Press the soil around her calves
and into her knees; let it rest there
as a symbol of the years you parted--
(remember calling her and asking
if she would visit; the way her voice
echoed yours but she never came).
Cup handfuls of dirt and splatter them,
her waist disappearing under the weight
of gravity, just like her abandonment--
(remember wondering if there'd ever be
another place called home; the space
of her now inside you).
Let the
rock bottom, ocean floorhalf-past a different kind of brokenrock bottom, ocean floor1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
on sadness, she wrote:
blind fool in the umbra
bury yourself in me
on the other side of lonely
and by god, i love you
(maybe i will be a landfill)
everyone i meet looks for a place to stay;
out of the woods, on wet roads
under wind, under rain
-i'm so far away
no wonder it took him 1455 pages
waiting for her to come this way
tramps like us-
in lieu of emptiness
in absence of a poem
wander, wander
(pour a little salt, we were never here)
the night in Sagadalily-white fingersthe night in Sagada1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
forget-me-not eyes
dandelion bones
the unfurling
of wildfire,
the sound of
hair and sinew
cracking then breaking.
ripped then burned
then smothered.
the song
of raven wings
and starving
moons.
the soul of
a dispassionate
body billowing
like the waves beneath
dead skies.
your grave.
Sta.sh
