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About Literature / Artist Delaney K(akes)United States Group :iconthe-irrelevants: the-irrelevants
 
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Literature
Fission
We are reckless & resolute—
trying to gain our footing
on ground that never
stops
its
shifting.
I tumble & curse you
you falter & deny every
part of me—
the landscape is unforgiving
but we each take the role
of apologist & absolver.
The cracks & faces
try to dislocate us
but you are there
to pull me away from ledges
with only your pinkie finger
necessary
& I am there with my entire body
to be the strength
under your shoulder
that keeps you from falling
& shattering into thousands
of
different
mirrored
pieces.
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Literature
Divisions
There are broken vessels
in my chest
like the ones I left
on yours
four afternoons before
you went back into
the sky.
Yes, I miss you—
you belong in a gallery
of photo frames,
each handling a different
piece of you.
Maybe your battle
could be solved
if I put you into segments—
the hair on your lip
that was soft enough
not to break my skin
& strong enough
to assert your dominance,
your hip in bed
like a north star
thrust above the horizon,
your eyes that taught me
kaleidoscopes could be made
solely in browns.
I wish I had taken
that photograph—
you asleep & splayed over
the entire mattress
like a personal kingdom.
Then when you doubt
& struggle against yourself
I could show you
& remind you where you
belong—
see this bed of grey flowers?
This is where I collapse
every night
& wait for the one when
you fill it up again.
Where you can lay & rest—
letting me massage
the hurt & uncertainty
from the trenches
of your
beautiful bones.
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Literature
Somatoform
You haven’t asked
but I feel sick—
my mouth is sticky & dry
with unvoiced sentiments
& the strength I should have
pushed into yours,
my chest aches & jumps
every time a thought of you
passes by the windows
of my mind,
I feel a psychosomatic fever
burning me from the
inside out
without purifying
& my skin bristles to any touch.
These walls are unkind
& everything reminds me
of you—
uninvolved parties on television
with intersecting experiences
like a vast graph of grief,
the eyes in my bedroom
who all saw us love each other
like a world was crashing outside,
like we had nothing but each other
to shield ourselves with,
the cold dead necklace you gave me
on the metal slab
& my masochistic wish to know
what became of yours.
I feel fluid collecting in
all the places
it biologically shouldn’t,
I have fits for dreams
& premonition feelings
nights in advance,
I feel the distance now
as acutely
as a broken limb.
It would have been easier
if you never came & belonged
here
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Literature
Prostration
The bed is no longer safe—
not while I can still trace
where your curves fit in
& creased the sheets into
a now empty mirror image,
not after you’ve scented it
like a perfume of seagrass
& the deep musk of the nature
of human compatibility,
though the smell has left.
I can’t burrow under the layers
without remembering
your absurdly long eyelashes
like little winter trees
reaching towards the sky
of your cheeks,
the feel of you pressed against
my back like complementary angles
made to fit inside one another,
the way you sighed when you
were happy
now filling my chest with palpitations
like bird wings clattering
to escape the cage that
only brings memories
like flashfloods with no warning signs
or rain.
If someone were to ask me
what I thought of religion
yesterday
I would tell them it’s a mechanism
of authoritative control
& a way to teach the living
to be dead.
I might say it again today—
I can feel the syllables lining
the inside of my gums—
that th
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Literature
Cease
There is no tenderness
in this form of illness—
if you don’t go off
chasing after your death
sympathy runs dry.
I cannot go to the hospital—
I am not imagining
what bus teeth feel like
or counting stones
with the currents in mind.
This is the worst trick—
that nothing matters
but you are too tired
to leave
or even think of leaving.
But all that’s left
is thought—
the bulbous phone battery
sure to be giving
off radiation,
the conversation snippets
you don’t want to
replay anymore
real or imaginary,
the sole focus on
the clock while it
tracks down your
cigarettes.
The unending repetitions.
All I am left
is thoughts like
jumbled extension cords
& the unfixable
tangled ball of
periods, commas,
& quotation marks.
Each ending of a sentence
gripping onto the next
with little fishing hooks
in the roof of my mouth.
I must have dozens.
I don’t want to die
but my exhaustion is
making me think
of jellyfish—
how they decide,
with no thought at a
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Literature
pauvre sur vous
I can imagine December—
staying awake all night
because there’s just
one more thing
pressing on our throats
to be said,
just one more thing,
one more thing
until dawn’s pressure
against our temples
floods us with sleep.
I will know you
with warm fuzzy morning hair
& teeth—
rolling across the
teal & grey sea
of my bed
to grasp my waist
like an anchor
to hold me down
to reality
& us away from those
thoughts,
the cyclical drain
we learned to escape
with each other.
I will know you
by the pressure points
that bring on hunger—
the pinpoint on
the back of your neck
when I wake you up,
the hill of your hip
under teeth
before bed,
the feeling of the
hallway carpet
on your bare
rich caramel back
in the afternoon
& the 3AM sky
reflecting blue on
our celestial made bodies.
& in the next days
I’ll wake & write
the measurements
between imagination
& how your skin really feels
with my fingerprints
covering it
& the texture of the real
brown-eyed girl
as I survey t
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Literature
(future tense)
It goes like this—
I have survived.
You are there—
drawn over a supernova
with your arms wide
like riding a tiger without
stripes
or my face is bruised
& you are the bathtub
I crawled out of
like a second womb
& it has taken me this long
to avoid the peach pits
against the inside of my
cheeks that you pulled out
with your impossibly
long fingers
or you have been patient
in your chair of
broken glass
for me to unhang myself
from my ankle
& blow my life
into your mouth
or the mountains have
turned their backs
& I’m traversing their
steepled spines
because your beauty
is monumental
& I have to build it
or on the first day
I played you so slow & gentle
by your secrets
that the car backfiring
down the block
set you to exploding
while I inhaled your
brick dust to keep me
safe
or the birds on my body
only move their heads
when you’re looking
& you are the only one
I’ve let this far in
& that is why they’re
singing
or I don’t want to collect
on any mor
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Literature
Outside
I throw knives up
to hit the ceiling’s non-vital
organs to keep them away
from me.
Because it terrifies you
because you can’t put
a name to your feelings
because September is coming
the dying season has passed
& the grasshoppers can only
pretend to be sticks
for so long until they startle me.
Because I can’t make you
love me
I live off rations—
the blankets you’re always
stealing
the videos into your life
this week’s birthday money
my mother’s returning health
the lumpy mattress I’m
inhabiting as a body
the sound of your voice
tracing over my indiscretions.
Always saying
I’m not leaving.
I’m not leaving but my
insecurities are howling
at the smoke tinted moon
you sent
& even a lot is too little
because I want.
I’m not leaving—
no matter the things
I throw at the walls
you won’t let stick
the roadkill I throw
at your feet & call it
us
the polaroids I’ve taken
of your body in my mind
that are still raised
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Literature
Stand Alone
When does someone pay
to see a life fall apart?
I would like a little spending
money or the last two weeks
of food.
This might be the slowest
fall & the disintegration
only effects my knees
& wrists. Sporadically.
How long has it been,
now,
with the landfill’s share
of cigarette butts & depersonalized
medication bottles.
Those one things I could
never throw away even
after the nuclear meltdowns—
multiplying, multiplying.
To be alone is different
than to be lonely but without
anyone to watch the
internal obsessive thoughts
tickertape or the bedroom
stand where the bad thing sleeps
hissing
or the way I’m always trying
& trying to release the
gripping hands
I don’t see a foreseeable
that doesn’t include
some lack.
No one ever paid & no one
wants to stay
for that one final
do or die act—
to grease my bones so
they’ll finally fit
in right.
Sometimes you just have to
stand.
In all those senses
of the word that
cup like scissors.
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Literature
(suffocate)
The platonic narratives
are tugging all through me—
plucking my hairs
with paranoia
& my animal restless
& screaming on mute.
I want it to go back—
you tasting my bursting
desire on your tongue,
marking each other with secret
letters of an alphabet
only we can read,
the names & states
of eros that meant
love to me.
I am unstable here—
my legs are unsteady
trying to grip new ground,
my atoms are shivering
erratically when you’re away
& I am becoming a lost boy
like this.
Careening reckless through life
with a wish to stagnate—
seeking out fear only
to feel you around me
like I’ve seen something
inerasable.
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Literature
(ring out)
You hold me like we’re
at a crime scene—
grappling at my body
to keep the blood in,
holding my eyelids down
to keep the ideas out
& I press your palm flat
against my ticking heart
to feel exactly what
you mean.
The flashing lights
make us such sad sorry
would-be lovers—
all that tape
you curled around
to keep me out
that none of my scissors
can consecrate.
That I masticate
in false hope
of it falling away.
I am an accident waiting
& your timing is unsusceptible—
I scared you with my well-worn
carbon sheets re-laying
over a new year
& all I wanted
was your small doubt
pushed inside my ear
ringing out.
The idea was enough
to coagulate
& keep the cops at
their stations
& all those raging
self-righteous tears
from their arrival.
This scene isn’t mine
but it could be
& the way you cling
against all the indecision
coursing through me
is enough to render it
speechless.
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What 26 looks like by schriftsteller What 26 looks like :iconschriftsteller:schriftsteller 2 5 one year later. by schriftsteller
Mature content
one year later. :iconschriftsteller:schriftsteller 2 3
Literature
About Me. About You.
Flies are attracted
to my body—
a year past the
internal rot & incessant picking—
I can’t tell them no.
They want the vein scars
or what went missing
& there’s nothing to do.
I panic & flip them off—
afraid of my imbalance
& resigned to their
aural reading.
I fall asleep convinced
I am no longer breathing—
it jolts me every few
minutes & I am broken up
trying to survive myself.
I am trying to fault my
mind for physicality
that may not exist.
I fall asleep & dream
that you love me.
We have that conversation
without the gap
& I am convinced I’m
glad I didn’t die before.
You. Again.
& the year is moving up
too close—
like a semi on the highway
pushing its wind on me
like metal—
& I am terrified & waiting
with my closed cuts
for a change in position
of the constellations
you made of me.
For another error in
my life’s worth
assessment.
& I don’t know what peace
resembles in touchable form
but I thought it might
have bee
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Literature
Hunger
Exploring you is a study
in duality—
I walk the steps of your spine
& when I reach either end
anything could be waiting.
You exist in too many forms
for one body to hold
& I want them all.
I stick myself to your flesh
& the constant bones,
I want to possess everything—
the marrow of you
the violin bow of your clavicle
the sternum
the femur
& phalanges.
What already possesses me.
I am greedy & want to eat
every piece of you—
I want you to devour me
& leave me picked clean.
You’ve caught me like
a stray animal—
I am wild & an affront
I am tamed & pliant.
I am my own switching poles
& my mind complements
your cyclical shifts.
Splay your hands under
the corners of my ribs—
underneath the cells are
all crying out for you.
Put your fingers in my
mouth & feel the
heartbeat of my hunger.
Need is the ugliest word
but everything I am
is clinging—
grappling to you
& trying to claw inside.
I need to know
your changes don’t enlist
your emotions
but wh
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Literature
Collecting J's Pt. II
With a calmer hand
you read my spine—
no rooms left vacant
for the fading rust,
pink worms trapped
stationary as photographs
or the hard markers of
summer’s discontent.
The white ghosts
remain prowling—
frozen in their
tougher hides—
but every time
you face them
with kisses
the stuck panic
in my esophagus
releases.
You’ve shed my skin
& revealed a perfected
softness with your Midas
fingers
with every pass over—
leaving fresh blankets
of pale in your path.
The time spent
splattering through
different incantations
I’ve mastered
invented
& relinquished
doesn’t put stones
in our mouths—
you hold out your
Klimt tongue to mine
& even its past spikes
suck back in.
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Activity


I have not existed here for a while.
That's mainly because I haven't written anything.
But I wrote some crap.
I honestly don't even know if I know how to write anymore
but I edited it a bit & decided it wasn't horrific
so I posted it.

Rip it apart if you wish.
Or, y'know, nicely critique.
I'll try not to cry too much.

I hope you all have been doing well
& are living wonderful lives :heart: rvmp 

If anyone actually wants to know
what I've been doing
you can comment & I'll write another journal.
Without whining even!
I know the first two poems
are pretty damn whiny
but I am in a different place now.
Somehow.
  • Listening to: Everything's Not Lost-- Coldplay.

deviantID

schriftsteller
Delaney K(akes)
Artist | Literature
United States
Hello.

I am a poet who sometimes writes
& sometimes writes a lot.

If you like my work, thank you.
Deeply Truly Amazingly-- thank you.
I will never understand how
in such a short span of time
my words started carrying
so much weight.

If you loved one of my poems,
found yourself inside a line,
faved one or commented--
I love you. For always.
:heart:
Interests

Friends

:icongliitchlord: :icontubercularskies: :icontoxic-nebulae: :iconhumilian: :iconv-espertine: :iconspoems: :iconyouinventedme: :iconqueenhrosie:

Comments


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:iconithaswhatitisnt:
ithaswhatitisnt Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday! :tighthug: :heart: :iconrainbowcakeplz: I hope you're having a lovely day! 
Reply
:iconmarmicheal:
MarMicheal Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2016
Happy Birthday!!!Airborne Airborne Airborne Airborne Airborne Airborne Airborne Airborne Airborne Airborne 
Reply
:iconteacupgal:
teacupgal Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
happy b-day~
Reply
:iconregennass:
regennass Featured By Owner Oct 23, 2015
Aah, just dropping by to tell you you're wonderful, and thank you so much for sharing such lovely work - they really are worth the read! Meow :3 
Reply
:iconohlin84:
ohlin84 Featured By Owner Oct 17, 2015   Photographer
Thank you so much for :+fav:ing :aww:
Reply
:iconeremitik:
Eremitik Featured By Owner Oct 4, 2015
You are AWESOME!
Thank you so much for browsing my gallery, the comments and the faves. It means a lot.
Cant tell you how surprised I was when I signed on this morning and saw the faves.
Reply
:iconeremitik:
Eremitik Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2015
When I opened your gallery, I was shocked to see so few comments. For me, just visiting your home page, I knew I was going to be in for a treat word wise.
I decided to place you on my Watch so I could return to browse when I have more time.

The llama is for faving Muse. I am beyond glad that you enjoyed it enough to collect it.
Thank You so much.
Reply
:iconschriftsteller:
schriftsteller Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2015   Writer
Oh, that's very sweet of you. Thank you. I think the reason I don't have many comments is because I'm kind of an asshole and tend to leave comments unanswered for long periods of time so people don't do it anymore? I read them and then think of what I want to say but that takes a long time to get to the actual "answering" part. Either that or it's the fav and run thing. I do get a lot of those. Thank you for adding me to your watch list, tho. I really appreciate that. I hope you enjoy what you find in my gallery when you get a chance to look it over more. Also you're more than welcome for the fav on Muse. It's a really fantastic poem. I should have commented. 
Reply
:iconeremitik:
Eremitik Featured By Owner Oct 6, 2015
Well, maybe. dA is not the place it was when I first joined. There are so many more people here now that just fave and run. Which I understand. It is difficult sometimes to find just what you want to say and have it sound sincere and not trite.

My comment wasnt meant to be sweet so much as how I honestly felt.
Reply
:iconithaswhatitisnt:
ithaswhatitisnt Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday!! :tighthug: :heart: :iconrainbowcakeplz: I hope you have a wonderful day!! 
Reply
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