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Literature
confessional
they say sad girls change their hair color
and forgive their monsters.
i change my morals
and become one.
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree 102 55
Literature
gravity's hold
suicide is selfish,
and rightfully so.
when your mind bends back upon itself
with pressure enough to burst open the
floorboards of your stomach,
something has to give.
and though i refuse to jump from
ships before they’ve even set sail,
i know, before happiness unfurls itself,
before recovery is washed out by the tide,
when you are anchored in self-doubt,
leaps of faith feel less like jumping,
more like walking into thin air,
just to make sure gravity still has a hold on you.
sometimes, risks are the only way
to untie yourself
from this pier holding you steady.
sometimes i am greedy,
gasping for answers that slip from my hold
the way i lose track of hours in the night.
sometimes i forget my sanity
when inane solutions appear before me,
macbeth's dagger never seemed so tempting,
until it was turned against me.
happiness isn't always found the hard way,
after suffering, backward glances
reveal how blind i was to other paths.
still, i would not take back the journey,
it has taught m
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Between Hands and Feet by SebastienTabuteaud Between Hands and Feet :iconsebastientabuteaud:SebastienTabuteaud 580 72
Literature
Distance
I thought it would be easy
To put down on paper the way
I can’t seem to live without you,
But I don’t have words
Beautiful enough
For you.
You are my least-attended treasure,
But among the most cherished
Of all the trinkets and baubles
I’ve collected in my wanderings.
And yet, I cannot
Touch you.
But I beg you, do not resent
The state of neglect where I leave you.
If I could, I would cradle you so close
Nothing would ever frighten you.
To hold your face and
Love you.
I just wish
I could reach you.
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:iconapplausejunkie:ApplauseJunkie 4 11
Literature
slingshot words.
there are a million worlds living in your head
            begging to be wrapped around your tongue and released like a slingshot
     into the heart of some stranger you may never meet.
:iconarabesque-o:arabesque-o
:iconarabesque-o:arabesque-o 51 33
*** by aleksesss *** :iconaleksesss:aleksesss 117 8 College advice by abhas1 College advice :iconabhas1:abhas1 562 73 blue escape by mj-magic blue escape :iconmj-magic:mj-magic 1,402 255
Literature
things i wish i knew
             why you follow me like a ghost
             though i let you go hoping,
                        praying,
             that you'd find your way out of this
                        godforsaken place
      but you linger in shadows
          you fucking haunt me
        and it hurts
           [more than leaving you
                        did]
:iconalternativemeanings:alternativemeanings
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drapetomania by alternativemeanings drapetomania :iconalternativemeanings:alternativemeanings 0 11
the reasons I keep going back to this pen, paper, typewriter. :heart:

Newest Deviations

Literature
paint-thinner fingers
remember when I was the size of a pea?
you were a sunbeam dancing on my mother’s teeth.
waiting for me to kick but feeling
my heartbeat instead. I made mother swell
with joy. never pride. you, I don’t remember
ever holding with the right number of fingers.
always slipping— in & out of a ribcage
alienating the heart. we were never close
but you let me fly with broken wings
& wondered why I never quite came home.
I think home disappeared when it stops
being a single line away. I grew like redwood
broken & bruised, but sweeter for it. away
from the nest I was diligently thrown
far from. you are not home, father.
I outgrew you before I had the chance
to grow accustomed to your warmth.
you are the trains here— never on time,
bringing only the stale scent of disappointment.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
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Literature
boxer/s
I’m so scared of forgetting the poise / of the cigarette butt in her fingers / where she sat shotgun where I wish I had / I had sat there before and almost / almost kissed you / but the music is so transcendent tonight / it doesn’t matter who holds the cigarette / because we’re all breathing it in / dying at the same time. / city lights shifting in and out of consciousness / i wish I had kissed you that day now more than ever / in front of the bokeh of the night / just to tell you how much I would give / to be the person your affection never misses / on a dartboard / to be the one you come home to after lovers gone / the one you lean in to kiss before they you / I wonder how much it would take of me to say / I want to be your secret place / where you first went to get a loaded cigarette / sat on a tiled floor with the exhaust fan on / I wish I was there to tell you you look so beautiful / when you wish you were high / you look so beautiful / when you’re almost t
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Mature content
why do you stay (alive)? :iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 10 6
Literature
2016, tucking the year in
In this dream, I change. 
 
I tuck astray hair behind my ear without irritation,
slant over the child with a smile the world hasn't seen,
look the year in the eye before it stares back. I smile
so my sabr is documented - my attendance, a matter
of record. 
 
I feel my Pulse with a wrist half a world away, hush Aleppo
with my finger pressed to the parted lips of tear gas.
I taste ash and tell myself it is not children bones. 
 
I resist the urge to pray. Send thoughts with guilt.
Come up for air only to wish to have lost the ability to. 
 
In this dream, I remember the poem.
The one this soil once trembled underneath.
My pregnant mother's feet hurt with my added weight;
she always knew this world was not one for a heart
like mine; she didn't hear my heartbeat until I was breach
at birth. Somewhere in Kashmir, the valleys shake under
a new mother's footsteps. The Himalayas tremble
with a baby's fear. Somewhere between my smile and the pell
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
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Literature
mother's little cataclysm
i was once colored to smithereens, prior to the greenstick fracture of the sky -
before the yellow gave in to the red, bruising guiltily, into night.
i remember when the words birthed between approximated vocal folds,
hissing when they touched along the vertical, were open wounds.
i remember the ache, bittering when it reached my tongue - more
salt than relief. always, less comfort than deceit.
cheating into the hollow breaths between my ribs, pretense
branched rootless. not once reached for the kiss of my spine,
just refusing the simple rebellion of growth. its tangles
reaching like aerophytes for the collar of my lungs,
always fruitless. when it left, there was air --
perhaps still digging in search of sunlight in the floor
of my mouth, but there was air.
it baited for my chest to take note, battle the pressure
and weigh the odds. check if it would be objectively secure to live
from here on out. i was once a cradled mess in my mother's
knapsack arms and some days, i am a fetal return
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
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Literature
a poem on the underwhelming
allow me to step outside your mind's autopsis -
comet shower following its own end, how did you program
your last remnant of humanity this way?
I listen for the sound of my mind, panting,
punching for a way out of the numb density
of this cranial vault; do I get to admit how
taciturn I have convexed?
do I get to say this is taxing? this catastrophe
needs a self-destruct button unless
it is coded for the end, anyway.
I have imagined the eye of the storm falling asleep
when its winds run against the rotation of the earth -
finally, I hear it say, rest without time slipping through my fingers.
I don't know how long it's been since my chest
did not tighten at the thought of losing time; when was I
so unaware of my shortcomings? fatal flaw,
hello,
I did not foresee
this preempted consuming.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 13 20
Literature
made to grow
formal as the dashing
of dawn on liminal expanses.
drawn up breaths that keep
the chest proud in the light
of all these
eons lost.
i was once a fang
embedded, i was once
the anger heading
with blinded eyes.
the sockets settled,
apneaic anchors
dropped.
where was i
when i
was lost?
--
here.
dormant as the flashing
of storms in hunger, I was
a furious five-part fester of locked passion.
my jest fulfilled its purpose;
my corneae bled like yesterday.
I was once the rest that soon followed
back from the siwaliks. I was once
the guilt guiding stars back
relentless home.
fingers grew delicate,
charges, dropped.
nestled in the womb,
no one asks where to go
from here.
--
reform and crash
in new accelerations with mettle
twisted, twined, and
blossoming. nurture seeds
of arching into new fogs.
you are long standing
with the sunset, and my
fingers tremble at
the echo of your shadow.
once i strummed the sixth
string and was dire to reap
the reverb. once i lumber
out of my own stupor
i might properl
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
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Literature
elsewhere
most days,
I am a hair's breadth away from the air,
my mind a flailing gulp of heated altercation.
shame washes ashore every year, leaving no silt
and taking every DNA-defense against it; most days,
my legs fold and breathe like butterfly blinks,
my eyes are more familiar with the ground.
most days, I am more rubber than stone--
more silence than boned indifference.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 12 4
Literature
gratitude
in the sun's shadow, he holds your hand.
he renames your choices, "b" - things hidden in nascent sight
and you wonder his wonder without bend. you wonder yourself
brittle, deep; you are the brontides of the rain before it decides
to reveal--
do you see the sky lit with your uncertainty?
do you see what he sees?
he sees light, nascent, before the colors succumbed to union,
before it broke the moon yellow.
he sees day is more red when it has to leave--
you are the storm the sun beckons when it needs a moment to itself;
I hope you see,
I hope you know.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 11 3
Literature
The Gum-Tree Womb
(for my mother)
She says her gum-tree hands are not young anymore
and I want to tie their barks
together when she prostrates
to show her, our God has just loved
her longer.
I want to show her how humans scarred
mine because I didn't keep signs up:
"BEWARE, THIS FOREST IS BREATHING."
Just the sight of her warrants a search
for air; her own earth-scent is charged
without need for turbulence. You'll know
it's her
from the sound of her trees growing as loud
as she is quiet. Our chorus is unmistakable
pride because she swept her:
unwalked floor for deceit,
twigs for thorns,
leaves for too much safety--
veins beaten silver in her own image.
You cannot pinpoint her oroboros;
her reflection is three shoots
aiming through a canopy of green
for so much more than just the moon.
She doesn't ask us to look for God
anywhere outside the radius of home;
the gum tree is a gnarled temple
we happened to
every leap year after the end.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 16 11
Literature
looking back, unaccepting
i. When I say I was all in, I imagined it a congenital accident--
tearing limb from my own limb to accept a disembodied lonely
across the tightrope of the universe.
I still hear your voice when I cannot sleep.
ii. I don’t remember when I wanted love to hurt at my mention;
all there is: my missing burned hotter than theirs,
my crushed felt too close to sand when theirs looked like shards at best,
my lonely was doused in acid made, truly, in Pakistan.
I stopped waiting for the pendulum to swing.
iii. When did forgiveness let your lungs breathe easier?
iv. I miss you for loving me despite everything, even
your own child.
v. I wish it was me, the one with whom it just
“worked,” where it was fluid like the siren-home I could never find.
I miss you in the way your collarbones dipped like a big blue
letting go of the land.
vi. I wish it had been me, just as I wish
It had been you.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 13 4
Literature
inhibition excision
I love the worst of you, smacking empty bottles
on barred heavens, in your lonesome stupor--
dread drains through my peptic hide
every time I realize how far you stand
from my comfort;
I listen for your name with three fingers
pressed to my supine wrist.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 12 4
Literature
a poem on my unforgiveness.
I have flooded basins of pages
with poems, pointing to your lonely
in a red only she can pull off.
I cannot forgive your quiet but
I know I would never have done
the same,
I know your words still have my aftertaste and someone who could keep
me so carefully in the dim light of convenience
cannot be hushed from my pulse.
Trust me,
I've tried.
I remember you when I forget I'm happy;
you forget me when you remember you are.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 31 3
Literature
Toxic
When his fingers comb through the forest
of my hair, he means, "What scared you
to be so quiet? I hear every tree fall."
He points at each breadth of my scalp,
"I am around to listen."
How do I tell him, my bark is ever-
echoing thunder transcending its own monsoon?
It relishes its discordance,
collecting over earfuls of corpses, the jolt
so much more biting
than the impact.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 13 3
Literature
His Spine
Your back is the coal-sheering ember
of burning paper-- I remember your rings
ridging your form, every
knuckle snatching my last trip
from the water.
I cannot resurface with the tip of my nose
memorizing your every rise;
I cannot breathe, knowing your skin
will never be familiar.
I tattooed you spineless but my knees
still have gashes from the nights
we prayed together; I miss finding god
somewhere between your hips,
your lips, lithe - soft -
wrapped around my flaming core.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
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Literature
?
despite the middle school teacher
coursing through my mother's body,
I have become an overwriter.
I remember how her back looked,
arched over me like protection from bad handwriting. I learned to hold a pencil her way,
my eyes were supposed to be half
a foot away from the page
just so my back would never need to.
my rebellion started with the i's, no longer
were they dotted an eyelash away from the body--
they were rounded like water for lost
men in the desert.
and when I learned to conjugate,
the i's stopped existing. they became funnels of deceit -- an afterthought
of a tree trunk I was too distracted by the leaves
to draw-- feeling my mother's eyes
bore into my temples, "how can you overwrite an i?
how can you forget yourself?"
I don't know when I lost letters between
joining them. it was supposed to be shorthand
never the short end of the stick;
I promise I'll find the patience
to dot them like they deserve
and write their civil, umbrella-curve
without
arching.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 7 13


my beautiful literature tag is made by the superb, lithium-cocoon :heart:


deviantID

your-methamphetamine
Orooj
Artist | Student | Literature
Pakistan
buy my poetry book, HOME AND OTHER DEBRIS here.

Orooj is definitely more active on their facebook than they are here, if you want to get a hold of them. They like poetry with tea and writes too many self-addressed poem-letters in hopes of salvaging their relationship with themselves. They think they're getting there but until then, they allow themselves quiet mornings with Troye Sivan and Perfume Genius.


HOME AND OTHER DEBRIS | facebook | instagram | bandcamp| blog

Orooj also won the 2nd Annual Judith Khan Memorial Poetry Prize, was a runner up of the Pakistan Poetry Slam 2016 and won the Pakistan National Poetry Slam 2018.





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remember when I was the size of a pea?
you were a sunbeam dancing on my mother’s teeth.
waiting for me to kick but feeling
my heartbeat instead. I made mother swell
with joy. never pride. you, I don’t remember
ever holding with the right number of fingers.

always slipping— in & out of a ribcage
alienating the heart. we were never close
but you let me fly with broken wings
& wondered why I never quite came home.

I think home disappeared when it stops
being a single line away. I grew like redwood
broken & bruised, but sweeter for it. away
from the nest I was diligently thrown
far from. you are not home, father.

I outgrew you before I had the chance
to grow accustomed to your warmth.
you are the trains here— never on time,
bringing only the stale scent of disappointment.
gentle reminder that i am pansydiv 's child & I've never been happier
I’m so scared of forgetting the poise / of the cigarette butt in her fingers / where she sat shotgun where I wish I had / I had sat there before and almost / almost kissed you / but the music is so transcendent tonight / it doesn’t matter who holds the cigarette / because we’re all breathing it in / dying at the same time. / city lights shifting in and out of consciousness / i wish I had kissed you that day now more than ever / in front of the bokeh of the night / just to tell you how much I would give / to be the person your affection never misses / on a dartboard / to be the one you come home to after lovers gone / the one you lean in to kiss before they you / I wonder how much it would take of me to say / I want to be your secret place / where you first went to get a loaded cigarette / sat on a tiled floor with the exhaust fan on / I wish I was there to tell you you look so beautiful / when you wish you were high / you look so beautiful / when you’re almost there / when you miss your therapist’s appointment because mirrors suddenly / become so expensive when you need a hard / look at yourself. I know the stories / I know the looks you get and I want nothing more / than to swallow you whole the minute / your lips part— a cigarette to keep them company / while I rest my own, remembering the haste I held back to taste you.
boxer/s
I'm a little bit lesbian when I'm a little bit tipsy.
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hey you. it's been a long time. come sit. rest your feet. 

I've missed this place. its comfort. how many stretch marks these poems have symbolized. growing too much too fast with all y'all.

the world outside isn't pretty. dA has probably changed so much it doesn't look anything similar to what it used to be when I was fourteen. but then again, that was eight years ago. eight. I'm 22 now, genderqueer, almost-author of three poetry books (you can buy my first book here: bit.ly/2J436Sm ), in my second last year of medical school and a comedian.

yeah that happened. I'm touring with all-femme comedy troupe in my country and it's kinda wicked cool, haha. been dabbling in musical comedy and you know, I'm actually kind of good. 

I keep coming back in hopes of salvaging some parts of me that wrote like I used to. but I'll just write from what's bursting through my ribcage instead. this place will always be home. it will always be where I spilled the absolute end of my heart out. the friends I made here are people I hope to meet someday. 

I hope you're taking good care of your heart. good care of you. you deserve it. <3

Comments


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:iconadrolyn:
Adrolyn Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2019  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Have a nice birthday :party: :cake: :party:  =)
Reply
:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2019  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday! :cake:
Reply
:iconchaosducky:
ChaosDucky Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
I sense an almost impenetrable, heavy darkness in how you play with words. Like there's a distant, mythic impersonality dooming the readers
Reply
:iconroylapost:
roylapost Featured By Owner May 2, 2018
Hey lady. Always an honor and a pleasure to spend another day on this rock with you.

LYSL 
Reply
:iconpatchworklynx:
PatchworkLynx Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2018   Writer
happy birthday!!! <3
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