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About Literature / Hobbyist Karly Noelle Abreu WhiteFemale/United States Group :iconfree-verse-poetry: Free-Verse-Poetry
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Mature content
Tint :iconkarlynoelleabreu:KarlyNoelleAbreu 0 0
Literature
Bruises
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Ezra glanced at the digital clock on the beside table. 1:47 AM. He sighed into the phone. “Mmmkay,” he murmured.
“Why don’t you divorce Samantha?”
“I don’t want to have this conversation, Kris. I’ve got things to do in the morning. I need to get some sleep.”
“Like hell. You were still awake. I can tell your fake groggy voice from your real one, give me some credit.” Kristen’s voice was practically smirking, Ezra could tell.
“You’re a horrible human being,” he said.
Her voice went soft. “I didn’t wake Celeste did I?”
“Nah, she’s out like a light. She’s been sleeping in here lately. It’s been good for her.” He inspected his daughter’s face, but the toddler was sleeping soundly. He ran his thumb across her cheek.
“For her or for you?” Kristen asked.
Ezra didn’t reply.
“When w
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Literature
My wife, she is depressed
Since she lost the baby, my wife, she is depressed.
She won’t cry, won’t yell.
She just stares, big eyes, no tears.
When I took her to the mall,  she stood in front of Baby Gap,
staring at the tiny sweaters.
I took her by the hand,
but she felt ephemeral
a woman of mist, disappearing into the morning sun.
I haven’t made her leave the house in days,
not since she- well.
She didn’t mean any harm but she followed that woman
for blocks and blocks
because she was pushing a stroller.
She never wanted kids, she said
but I watched her face,
her eyes like lighthouses, guiding me into the news.
She named the baby Skye.
We never found out if Skye was a boy or a girl,
but my wife loved her. She loved him with everything she had
and now there’s nothing left for me.
I’m not jealous, I’m just sad
she is keeping the door locked.
I begin to question the gold around my finger,
begin to question the screws in the doorjam.
When you say your vows you don
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Literature
Shallow Birds
I envy all of them,
those shallow birds
who fly and nest at will,
I fill a cage with down
waiting for eggs to hatch,
and hungry mouths.
I dream of skies,
sitting on this perch,
wondering at the shape,
of blue and clouds,
and water below, and the
things that crawl beneath
I shift my weight,
one foot to the other,
and wonder if today
I will remember how to sing?
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Literature
Inside the Clock
It was two in the morning, and the Clock was chiming out the hour. Annalise sat up in bed, and found herself in an unfamiliar setting. She rubbed at her eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the dark, then looked around. She was inside the Clocktower that divided West Clocktown from East Clocktown. Above her, cogs and gears ticked so monstrously she was amazed she’d ever fallen asleep at all,  but she barely heard them beneath the echoing of the massive bell suspended hundreds of feet above her. The deck she was on was laid out more or less like living quarters, with the bed she was on, a table and two mismatched chairs nearby, and a small oven, along with a profusion of other things laid any old place; books, bolts of cloth, delicate jewelry boxes, large chests, china, dolls and toys, on any and all available surface.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said, spying the man standing at the massive Clock face on the other side of the room. He made a dark silhouette in fr
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Literature
Articulating
I’m having trouble articulating myself lately.
My words get caught in my throat,
stuck there like old chicken bones.
Another worry on a laundry list
scribbled on the back of my receipts
for items I bought with money I did not have.
I tried to tell you I loved you with every paper.
Forcing words out is no trouble,
like bleeding, it only matters where it flows,
and how swiftly,
to determine if it kills you,
or brings you back to life.
I’ve yet to tap the vein that strikes that golden balance,
a purgatory where my language
is as free flowing as birdsong.
All creation sings- even rocks hum in their ancient,
silent way. But if all the trees were pens,
all the waters ink, I’d never have the words to say
how great the ache from wrestling angels,
struggling day and night to win a prize
I’ve had since the earth was born,
wreathed in stardust, adrift in the
great stable of time,
where horses still feed,
wide as the cosmos.
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Literature
Independence Day
Iris was sitting on the curb, watch the sun sinking on the horizon. The sky was the color of coral, and she imagined she was seeing it over the Pacific Ocean, 20 miles away, and not over the pear trees lining her street. She considered crying, and began to let her thoughts take her to an invitation-only pity party. Before she could work up a good lather though, she heard a car door slam across the street.
Someone was climbing out of a hideous black Toyota truck that was at least 20 years older than the owner.
She recognized the boy- the man- who was hurrying across the empty suburban street towards her, by his somewhat unbalanced gait, and the thing on his head that was a failed hat.
“Hey,” he called with all of the chivalry of a knight having slain a dragon.
“Hey,” she responded with equal eloquence.
“So I put two and two together,” the man said, smiling beneath the thick layer of scruff on his face.
“And it made four?” Iris said gently.
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Literature
Pound for Pound
I have to keep reminding myself-
pound for pound-
that I am healthier now.
My collar bones no longer thrust
out of my skin like a vulture’s wings,
picking at my dying skin.
My ribs went back into hiding,
back into the secret place where
they overlook the beating center
My breasts are full as glasses of wine,
nurturing and cheerful,
fresh-faced little milkmaids.
My stomach like the moon
rising over the hills,
or dough yet waiting to be baked.
I watch my skin reshaping,
forming around a new body
as if I were a Grecian goddess
stepping out of marble.
Once a block- then defined
pound for pound.
She is naked in her confidence;
all soft white slopes,
as far as the eye can see.
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Mature content
Chester and Celeste :iconkarlynoelleabreu:KarlyNoelleAbreu 0 0
Literature
Advent
Striped and twisted, red and white,
I burn in the desert, scorch in the night.
Only a girl obsessed with her bones
knows how deep the town well goes.
I release our children,
fire to the furnace,
spice in the bones.
And that goat-headed monster
loves the beauty,
and the beast in me too
I’d pluck out my eyes and feed them to crows
and slice my heels on glass slippers, so it goes,
Closed up in these ribs,
damned by gifts I despise.
Yet off in the distance, still hazy with sunrise,
blood-soaked and ancient,
more fiction than truth,
for just one more year…
Oh God, it’s enough.
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Literature
Pure, Lovely
I raise my hands,
though I barely have the strength,
the burden is the size of a pocket watch,
but ten times as heavy,
gaining weight as I carry it,
day by day.
I’ve been given this box,
to obtain the beauty of
the darkness,
and I am weak.
if only I could lift the lid-
to be light again.
I’ve been searching for a single grain
from the threshing floor,
and now my hands
are raw and bloody,
and now I raise them,
and cannot hold the box,
I turn my eyes to the sky,
and, like a spider, threading
her way across a web,
I think of the taste of honey,
the books at my bedside,
the feel of the north wind on my back
filling the sails of my heart,
and blowing across distant lands,
where they are raising their own hands,
because the light can’t
be outshone, and the dryness
can’t overcome the rain
the sunshine can’t be blotted out by clouds,
and if he is in the rain, and he is in the air,
then I have nothing to fear
Even though I’m under the world,
and can’t f
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Literature
He's like
Like the welcome cup
of tea on a blustery day,
he’s warm in my hands,
he fills my fingertips,
and he’s sweet to taste,
caffeinating my veins.
Like the chocolate,
dissolving on the tongue,
bitterness giving way to
richness fine as gold,
he’s that velvet flavor
in my mouth, that thrill
coursing in my brain.
With eyes like the ocean,
so deep they swallow me whole,
my tiny self inside of them,
treading water,
afraid to get in any deeper,
but longing to dive all the same.
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Literature
Red Sky
When I woke up this morning, I woke believing the world would spin as it always has. The dawn rose clear and perfect, the wind filled our sails, and my heart swelled in my chest. The thought that has kept me going these past months propelled me to the front of the decks. I’ll see my girls again, beautiful Adelaide with her wild dark curls, and our little Buttercup. Nothing would keep me from them anymore, no more stops to port, no worrisome dark patches of water. We’ve even still got supplies to spare.
But that was before the sky began to roil into something monstrous. It lit up red, red as dead man’s blood, and my heart sank. So close to home. The Captain’s hands shake on the wheel. I can see it in every man’s eye. The wind has died. We’re stranded out here, but it’s a falsehood. Soon the decks will wash over with water, Neptune himself couldn’t send a more furious storm as what we’ll be having, once that dark cloud on the horizon
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Literature
Flow
There’s never been a time or place quite like this one. There’s a million places or times I could have ended up in, but this is the one that I ended up.  A time half-formed, half-open, like a split melon.
I think of all the places in the world, one of the best I’ve ever been in is this tiny Christian chapel, meant to fit only 20 or so, for the evening prayer service. No sermons are extolled from that altar, just prayer. Earnest seeking. You can practically taste the salt in the air from the tears shed in this place. But the windows, rain or shine, always seem to be open, and the walls are white. It was the pleasantest place in the world. I’ll always think so, in some way. If I were a marrying man, perhaps I’d take a woman to this chapel and marry her on the spot.
Perhaps not.
The world has changed so much, and I’m somehow lost in the midst of it. Like that chapel in the bustle of life, things have passed me by. I would beg the infinite flow to c
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Literature
Glory
The ancients adorned their temples
in the gold they melted
in the shape of living things,
dead and glittering.
It served their lord,
to watch their spirals,
ink on hands,
hands on hearts,
Does this please you?
Send away the famine,
the fire and the flood.
The ancients drew lines in lines
left children on rocks,
shaved heads, sackcloth chic.
But I serve a different purpose,
lines in lining,
pulling layers of my skin back,
living skeletons draped in fabric,
teetering on their altars,
dead and glittering.
Does this please you?
Send away the Famine,
the fire and the flood.
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Literature
Sarah
From the tower he remembers,
and the bells haven’t stopped tolling
in his head, where the pounding is the worst
he can ever remember.
He doesn’t know but she
wasn’t a photograph
seared onto his mind,
one picture curled up and soaked
in whiskey.
She wanders the halls of his dreams,
like the music of a single violin,
the strings dripping tears
with every caress.
She is not just a woman,
she is a fiend, she is a curl
of hair, red-brown-blonde,
the most glorious thing.
If he could just hold her again,
from this tower, grasping the stars,
whispering her name in mass,
fighting wars in her honor,
he could put those monsters to death,
she was his muse and his valkyrie
and so, he chases
her to the bottom of the glass,
as if she bathes in every drink,
and creeps, blue-brown-green,
in every woman’s eyes,
sings in every toll
from the tower he climbed,
when his arms grew weak,
and the tattoo on his brain
had faded to green-blue-black.
He can’t place her face,
out on th
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KarlyNoelleAbreu
Karly Noelle Abreu White
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
I am a noun who writes about fictional nouns.
Interests
  • Reading: Just finished Emma by Jane Austen
  • Drinking: Tazo Chai
I've been less and less involved on deviantART for the last two years, as I'm sure no one could fail to notice.

It hasn't been for no reason though. Lots of changes have taken place: I wrote a novel, planned a wedding, got married, and moved. 

I'll still be posting most of my writing on here, but I do ask that you follow me on my new website: karlynoellewrites.tumblr.com

 I ask this for three reasons: it's much, much snazzier and is a way better way to present my writing; I'll be way more interactive on there; and it can easily be added to an RSS feed so you never miss a word. 

Plus, I'll be posting some old work as well as new on a semi-regular basis while I prep for the next phase: publishing my novel. 

Thanks for reading and I love you all! 

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:iconrjbg:
RJBG Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2013
Hey great work ( :
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:iconmimeko:
mimeko Featured By Owner Aug 29, 2012
Thanks for the fav! : )
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:iconkarlynoelleabreu:
KarlyNoelleAbreu Featured By Owner Aug 29, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Anytime!
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:iconakarra:
akarra Featured By Owner Apr 24, 2012  Student Writer
Watching - really loved that "Allergens" poem!
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:iconkarlynoelleabreu:
KarlyNoelleAbreu Featured By Owner Apr 24, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks so much!
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:iconintricatesunlight:
IntricateSunlight Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for joining #LonelyPumpkin, we appreciate having you. We look forward to seeing you participate and be helpful to others, so the experience can be mutual. :D

Once again, thank you for joining ^^
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:iconkarlynoelleabreu:
KarlyNoelleAbreu Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
No problem.
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:iconintricatesunlight:
IntricateSunlight Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Btw, I friggin' love Thrice :D
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:iconkarlynoelleabreu:
KarlyNoelleAbreu Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I thought Vheissu and the Alchemy Index were some of the finest crafted albums I've ever heard both musically and thematically. It goes without saying that Kensrue is one of the finest lyricists I've ever encountered.
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(1 Reply)
:icontsukiiyo:
Tsukiiyo Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2012  Hobbyist Digital Artist
You do awesome things ! O_O
Would you like to join our group [link] ? It'd be an honor ! :la:
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