Shop Forum More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Student karenFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 4 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 135 Deviations 1,174 Comments 12,251 Pageviews

Newest Deviations

effigies by calliopen effigies :iconcalliopen:calliopen 13 5 my boy (don't love me like he promised) by calliopen my boy (don't love me like he promised) :iconcalliopen:calliopen 9 4 ashes, ashes by calliopen ashes, ashes :iconcalliopen:calliopen 12 3 whiskey tango foxtrot by calliopen whiskey tango foxtrot :iconcalliopen:calliopen 12 0 stare a cuore (to stay in the heart) by calliopen stare a cuore (to stay in the heart) :iconcalliopen:calliopen 10 5 j'adore l'ete by calliopen j'adore l'ete :iconcalliopen:calliopen 17 22 fin. by calliopen fin. :iconcalliopen:calliopen 13 7 modern myths by calliopen modern myths :iconcalliopen:calliopen 15 10 love is a shambling thing by calliopen love is a shambling thing :iconcalliopen:calliopen 17 2
champagne clouds
starlight confetti fizzles out
on my tongue 
as i hear the tick-tocks of the clock
inch closer to midnight, a little 
cinderella moment
to myself
my glass-slipper feet are now bare and
my toes curl in the softness of
night-time new beginnings
there is no-one to kiss here but my own
fingertips and the rim of my glass and so
i decide,
a new year's wish-turned-resolution - 
let me finally learn to love myself 
just as much
as i want to love you
:iconcalliopen:calliopen 26 10
once upon a dream
a dark warm-lit room:
the stillness 
of breathing each other’s air
he held her tight and my heart ached,
a fragment of reality flitting by as i remember
your hair tickling my neck and laughing apologies,
i go back to soaking in this made-up memory
tender palms stroked her back like
yours did mine, a long time ago, 
murmured ideas of affection 
seep through the cracks of closed doors,
and i started to melt with her -
i woke up to open windows and bitter
winter air, nostalgia rising like bile
in my throat, and crying as if he
had been mine
:iconcalliopen:calliopen 22 6
sin city
did you feel like a god, when you
looked down on us living, loving,
about to lose ---
it takes me back to the children and how
we crouched in corners of dark classrooms,
practicing for a day we all hoped would never come ---
and maybe some of us grew up and
looked for love at a nightclub
and maybe some of us saw a silhouette  
of our dreams in reflective neon lights
and there were so many happy endings out there
that you snuffed out like a candle,
while you were busy playing with deities and fire
we were on our way to something more ---
maybe somebody met the love of their life and then
lost them 
with a twitch of your finger --- 
:iconcalliopen:calliopen 25 4
sweet creature
sour sweetness lingers
in the crevices of my teeth, as
we both start to blur at the edges -
today, we left one another behind
and then we found each other again
toes peeking over the threshold, impatient
and yet still unsure, 
we settle back into the nest of blankets on the 
rough carpet floor 
pastels mix together like our tequila and orange juice -
pink and beige and the warm orange 
of our futures
:iconcalliopen:calliopen 17 3
for my sunday
raison d'être. i like to think i was yours.
i like to think we knew each other in all of our past lives
and that we were always this way, always
over each other, you leave gifts for me to find
as i come tripping                                    
this road after you
and i reassure you in dropped forehead kisses and
affection, absentminded like
fingers in hair 
i like to think we wouldn't have needed this olive branch
or the way we love that we call "poetry"    
to have found each other in this world of ours, you are
worlds away   
:iconcalliopen:calliopen 25 10
the moon is beautiful
i told her that i loved her.
she gave me a necklace with a heart 
in response, the pendant sat heavy in my palms 
with the weight of words 
i couldnt unstick from the roof of my mouth.
years later, the pendant has gone missing 
somewhere in between seventeen and eighteen -
and i still think of her, shades of baby blue and lavender
take me back to soft skin cocooned in blankets,
stolen moments in her small room,
the sad bitterness of the unanswered, unuttered.
someday i hope to love like this again. i look up
at witching hour skies every once in a while and wonder
what magic brought us together for 
those three years i had - 
the night breeze ruffles my hair and sweeps through my skin
the way her hands used to,
i recall her freckles
in constellations well-worn with centuries of love and
cliches like these.
:iconcalliopen:calliopen 30 13
golden coast, halcyon days
the static from the oldies station seems to catch 
on my clothes like grains of sand.
they pile up in my nooks and crannies, erode the ridges
of my ribcage, leave me smooth, unwrinkled, soft -
i think to myself, this must be what being young is like
my coffee tastes more like cream and
the bumps in this seaside road rattle the ice in the cup, 
a wake-up call, a nudge in the side and wet droplets on my legs
you are the salty sweet smell of sunscreen on my skin and
freshly mowed suburban grass -
it is summer, here, 
i have a flip flop tan and
my thighs are sunburnt
:iconcalliopen:calliopen 27 4


five second suicide
and as i pour myself out on these canvases
i drip over the edges, spilling dots of
absence on the hungry earth.
they call me jane doe,
and i am not art.
every evening, i close the door,
close my eyes, disassemble.
slowly, i've become fleeting.
i float, my feet don't touch the ground.
how can i crash?
i fade, i dissolve,
but i've lost the motive to explode.
there's no glory in my death;
i leave no trace of the dramatic.
a man on the train last tuesday
nudged me, apologized, and carried on his way.
he's the last person who's
spoken to me since then.
we hit a notch in the tracks,
the car wobbled.
i stared at him silently,
counting the infinite futures
that suffocated behind my teeth.
i'm dying in my own penitentiary
with the cell door key in my pocket.
:iconlittleblueraccoon:littleblueraccoon 308 111
setting sun
airplane. ocean. midnight. and home.
cause you know the truth hurts, but secrets kill—
can't help thinking that i love it still
I saw my own city glittering black and rose gold, 
the dark sunset pastel, a color stolen for a moment.
The people who keep their lights on while they sleep
they keep them on for me, where I watch from the sky,
looking from below like a slowed-down shooting star.
back here, here, do you know what i mean by here?
you all feel it, too. like an apartment that used to be filled with
immortals who disappeared in the doorway and
the carpet begs them back, to hear footsteps through the wall,
to smell their perfume, feel their presence in the room.
like being the last few people at a party
when the crickets start to sing louder than the radio.
like 2 a.m. sleeping over at a friend's house,
talking about dreams instead of dreaming.
like questioning what you believe at night when
you realize what your heart sounds like.
here, it feels lik
:iconpatchworklynx:PatchworkLynx 24 26
there is a tall, willowy girl who works
in the art supply store close to my university. she has freckles,
or at least, i think she does. i cannot say for sure. i didn't look at her long enough.
my measly excuse? i hate eye contact. (which is true)
i am (i feel) a ball of angst on the inside and
even worse (?) a mess of emotionless, frustrated emotion on the outside,
wanting release and wanting free streets and a megaphone to shout into,
always wandering slowly behind the
rest, quiet,
silent, like a dying dark sky or a resentful omega.
we connect for less than two minutes and
everything sort of changes in those ticking seconds;
i didn't ask (didn't care to, in the beginning (but...), (but) do i ever care to be
friendly or greet a stranger in public
if i
know we will not stray across each others
paths more than once? if i
do not wring my needs from
their breathing hands,
i find no reason to introduce myself and
set up conversation because i... do. not. care[, is that it, then? is that wh
:iconangelserum:angelserum 77 36
leopardflecked and lonely
& i think you wanted love in a girl,
wanted something you could rip apart
with your lips, something you could
give a shape to, something those
sharp teeth could puncture,
something the forest of your body could
feed. so in all my lovely
irony i looked down, at the
soft clay of myself, and i wondered
if i
could be the one
you were looking for
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 31 4
week one.
he held me under the water and i choked on it,
bleach to bleach, ashes to ashes, dust to dust
lungs crushed up like grapefruit. like rose petals in ashtrays.
what do you want me to say?” i asked him
as we sat there, dangling our feet into the deep end.
my ankles still stung. seven years isn’t such a long time.
“the truth,” he answered. i pushed him into the water.
took a deep breath. got up & left.
the lights
blind me a little
but i need them. i need to remember
                  that i can pull the plug out of the bathtub,
     that i can trail my fingers
against the wallpaper
             and there are no thorns here.
i need to see them
           like those glow in the dark stars
    on the ceiling. i like to write out my nightmares on the wall
:iconpansydiv:pansydiv 42 34
Dog Gullet / goes out at nite, she goes out Alone, she goes out Asking For It / in the tangerine city
She digs her way into the suburban gut with her fingernails / fucks up her shit / the apocalypse happening / inside you right now
& she gets to you / she climbs into the grates / of your house / of your sad droopy body
She scoops out the innards / she eats up your pulp / in the slime of the subway / slackjawed
In the grim blessing of the crowd i cross the desert /
the yolk of our holy bodies / Dog Gullet coughs up phlegm and she says
I love you /
I love you
& all I want is your soul like orange slices / disassembled clock pieces / mango juice
Me / with my skin peeled off / you underneath it
Me / in ur sweater / On my kitchen counter /
Eating you up / from underneath / curious / Dog Gullet watching from the windows / laughin
With sweet coffee and sleep clinging to my skeleton like sweat. All in a days work
& I got gethsemane living in me / gethsemane an acid thing / gethsemane the abort
:iconscheherazades:scheherazades 21 16
september storms sound like this
we stand outside,
arms around waists
careful of my cigarette,
careful of my wineglass,
careful not to speak.
eyes on the milk light in the parking lot next to ours
glistening in the rain,
ears on the storm and distant whispers
of hurried tires on the asphalt
across the tracks.
we inhale. we exhange wide-eyed giddy glances
and goofy grins,
hug tighter in our delight
at such sudden sweetness
after such a long week.
the air is not quite cool
and my arm itches
(i experience a moment's worry
concerning mosquitoes and summer roaches),
but instead of scratching,
i watch her turn her wrist
to better catch the sound
and for five minutes,
eight seconds,
we do not agonize over bills,
over jobs
over each other.
we do not talk;
we do not text.
we don't wonder if we really remembered
to pay everything off--
we keep our focus on this gorgeous summer rain
and are unburdened
even by the knowledge that our air conditioning's so fucked up
(we're too broke for repairs)
that we can't turn off the fans,
:iconemsoileau:emsoileau 14 14
i don't like the song
she is playing on the speaker
sounds bounce like jackrabbits in
this jigsaw room
futon fit for three
ocean deep
and me stranded in the middle
infantile and asinine against
salt-smacked waves
others floating half-baked
sunday evening breaking
laughter bolts from every
dusty corner and
then: you, textbook in your lap;
lashes gentle with each dart of
a new line, no
time for puzzles and people
                                                                                                     (and i used to own that
:iconblanketings:blanketings 12 1
come and be absolved;
all the earth cannot speak.
i don't ask
what you can
here in the afterspeech
we can be honest as
skin, eager as eve
to begin.
all that i ever request
and will die for,
smile wide at the morning
again and again.
come and be
all the earth
i don't ask.
what can i
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 17 5
water still falls against
a backdrop of novembers:
those frozen residues
and crude bruises once grown,
losing shape to those in bloom
water still rises through
the faintest of refractions,
the simplest of sunsets and
looseleaf papers unmarked,
bundled, shivering, bright-eyed
:iconblanketings:blanketings 18 1
amused should mean without inspiration
dear sensuality:
i miss you--
especially the way you'd step behind me,
slide your arms beneath mine
and push them down onto the desk beneath your fingers
turn the vulnerable forearms inward
and with your nails scrape shivering lines
so lightly up the golden skin,
make my stomach strive to outdo ropes
in its rigging skill (knotty, knotty boy me);
the way the white half-moons skated
back, forth,
across the expanses where my skin is palest
(and most defenseless)
til i shuddered, before finally
tapping your way up into my palms,
turning them over,
blanketing my hands with yours and
firmly, lovingly
(so lovingly)
curl my fingers around a pen
("write", you'd whisper.
"you have to.")
:iconemsoileau:emsoileau 21 21
the art of dying (bone dry)
"was it
nothing more than
a lingering touch,
spider silk
brushed once,
could it be a permanence,
marked coffee stains,
once touched,
always stays?"

(i always thought
that their love would last
but the dewdrops dripped
from the dream so fast;
now the past outlasts me)
"was it
muscle fatigue
or frailty
your hands
stretched out --
they glittered
even in uncertainty;
your gentle heart
still sings."

(but my ghost-fingers grasp
at glass strings
to remember,
and the song
is fading --
so i am, too)
"& that heart is your wings,
drums a beat to the sky --"

(and such delicate things
still forget how to fly --
but i'll keep trying)
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 32 17
lung cancer
you're asleep, 
and i lay
and breathe
i breathe
now i can do it unlike someone
on your chest hoping
that love is growing
with every blood-stained breath
your living-dead-flesh ejects-
it grows and grows
when heartbeating of yours
is breathing of mine,
harmonized symphony where we are one,
later we literally become
in coffin coloured like skin of our friends
that worked hard, and burned out
for us to start existing
- worry not,
they're shedding tears of joy
from ashtray.
:iconalessiah:Alessiah 32 18
dead wings
and i don't know / how
to put it
into words
(for the words
have left me
but when the love curved up
through my spine, tugged 
itself down
to let
the dust out
did i ever have the nerve 
to call it hunger
or was it something
more indelible
than me
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 42 10
underside of the tightrope
cling to that
light, it is fleeting
as warmth. it grows,
the dark.
it shows,
your lack of knowing.
it sings in your blush,
hits all the high notes
with a voice that
stipulations on
the validity of this
one plane can't envision
the under.
wonder and terror
echo the same,
when you touch the void
it learns your name.
it yearns to maim,
this undoer, this
gorger of
the unlucky sweet.
tucks teeth
around the softening,
sucks down
the screams.
the dreams
of the rest
are waking.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 25 10


calliopen's Profile Picture
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
20 / leo / infp

"i only write when im falling in love or falling apart."
i have a bad habit of falling in love with strangers and an even worse habit of making them into poems

"I don’t know. Sometimes you get a line, a phrase, sometimes you’re crying, or it’s the curve of a chair that hurts you and you don’t know why, or sometimes you just want to write a poem, and you don’t know what it’s about. I will fool around on the typewriter. It might take me ten pages of nothing, of terrible writing, and then I’ll get a line, and I’ll think, “That’s what I mean!” What you’re doing is hunting for what you mean, what you’re trying to say. You don’t know when you start."
-anne sexton, "how does a poem come into being?"

i am a liminal space, existing to be passed through.

credits for my avi and pfp go to the creators! unfortunately i dont know who they are but its beautiful n i love it

my poetry blog
my main blog
hi everybody, it's been quite a while.
i just wanted to say that from here on out i may be more active on my poetry tumblr,, and so if any of you would like to keep in touch with me/ keep up with my writing, please go give that blog a follow. dA has been a great community to grow up in, both as a writer and a person, but unfortunately at the moment tumblr is a much easier platform for me to use. 
no worries - i'm not deleting this account, and i still might come back to it time to time, but as you could probably tell from my lack of activity these past few months, it's no longer such a huge part of my life.
i truly hope those of you who i've gotten close with over the years will continue to support me and to stay in touch, i have so much love for this community and everything it's done for me ever since i started as a sophomore in high school and it's all thanks to dA that my love for reading and writing poetry has persevered and grown even stronger as i grew older. thank you for everything <3

so much love,



Add a Comment:
PatchworkLynx Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2018   Writer
happy birthday, dearest!! :heart:
calliopen Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2018  Student Writer
thank you love!!
angelserum Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2018
happy birthday i hope it's a great one~!
calliopen Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2018  Student Writer
ahh thank you!!!!
DeeryDeerth Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
happy birthday, and may your new year of life be even more amazing than the last~
calliopen Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2018  Student Writer
thank you darling ❤️
DeeryDeerth Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
You are most welcome :heart:
nosedivve Featured By Owner May 11, 2018   Writer
hey, just curious, what are your favorite poets (non-dA)? 
calliopen Featured By Owner May 11, 2018  Student Writer
hi!! id have to say e. e. cummings, shakespeare, anne sexton, t.s. eliot, sappho- lots of the classic poets. im always inspired by the aeniad and other classical references too!
nosedivve Featured By Owner May 12, 2018   Writer
I definitely see Sexton and Cummings influences in your poetry. If you want to, there’s a couple poets unlike those you listed (one is contemporary, the other is Spanish surrealist)—Carolyn Forché and William Carlos Williams. They’re really big on imagery and powerful word choice.
Add a Comment: