May 2012
34 posts
2 tags
Dear Heart, remember how he smiled His eyes fixed on yours This quiet trembling you feel now In the darkness and solitude Of the drive away does not compare To the tremble in his fingers as He counted your goosebumps Remember too how your lips curved and Your hands did not shake as they Caught and tangled, explored and claimed No, fragile heart don’t let those memories Fade even as the sun...
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How I long for heat To melt beneath Fierce summer sun and The intensity of your gaze.
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She loved him best In late evenings and early monrings As they sat up sharing words Composed by favorite authors and new combinations Of their own invention.
She wanted him most When their skin touched She loved to gesture with her hands Flitting fingertips in the space between them Coming ever closer to touching and Like a friendly cat her knee betrayed her affections Rubbing against his at the...
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Please don’t fall asleep before Bidding ‘goodnight’ to me The softest murmur from your lips Of sweet dreams is the only pillow On which my heart can rest easily.
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You won’t see me, you say As if it’s the simplest thing To turn your back and eyes Away—I wish it were as easy For me but you have invaded My conscious Your voice coos in my head As I stumble through my once- Favorite novel while blue irises That now belong to a stranger Wink down on me from a Cloudless sky and I can feel your Breath against my skin at night But it’s just...
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There must be more poetic ways Than this— To beg permission to lay My cheek on your shoulder And rest.
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Be gentle with my words Cradle them softly on your tongue As they pass from your eyes Into your body The weight of them may Not seem much Their worth no greater than Other better known combinations Of letters and sentiment But they are a piece of me So have a care with how you Pass them about— It isn’t kind to be so cavalier With a girl’s poetry.
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She clapped her hand over his mouth. Her own lips were pressed together in a frown, but laughter still danced in her eyes. He was usually captivated by those eyes—large and with lashes that quickly fluttered. They always gave away in her emotions even when her lips lied to him. Yes, until this moment he would have said that her eyes were his favorite feature. But that was before he felt her...
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I want to learn Your rituals The sacred dance That sways you Each morning As you trip from Bed to shower And the motions You make to Prepare and face Unfriendly day.
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There are little gold crescents On my dress Painted in gold that chips and falls Away leaving a trail of Sparkling dust behind me like A comet’s tail As if I too was some frozen body Streaking through a midnight sky While strangers gape In wonder.
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But what inspires them truly Those words strung together On paper Like beads on a string Catching every eye with their Glitter and shine Surely there is something behind them Person or projection Of inner fantasies bearing No resemblence to reality Truly tell—who is she that inspired You to write your darkness Into light?
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Is it dangerous— The rooftop just Outside my window Is the drop Too much to risk On summer’s night Seeking breeze and Stars? Aren’t there worse Falls than a Second story house Can pose?
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He accepted the book gravely; almost afraid to look upon the pages. But she was waiting, her breath caught in her chest and her eyes fixed on his face and he could only delay the inevitable for so long. Her hands were clasped under her chin, the fingers still stained with the ink that was smeared over all the pages within. They didn’t share the same medium, but he knew that when she had handed...
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My fingers can’t reach you My kisses are carried away by the wind But these words, my words Do you feel them?
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The world shrunk down To the rough rectangle Of blanket on grass Your arm brushing My arm My toes tickling Your leg Sun kissing the backs Of our necks Gentle wind teasing hair And my skirt hems The day passed Too swiftly.
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I wish I was the type To tackle you With my love But I was never very good At contact sports.
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I suppose not all Fables are real Thoughts of you Haunt my steps But memories Are too precious To relinquish Looking back Hasn’t turned me To salt yet.
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Perhaps I should have waited Until morning The dark Was not more than I had endured before Terrors only last until Sun’s first light But when my eyes were Closed I was alone And when yours opened I saw the dawn.
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The world is flat Don’t try to tell me otherwise When I’ve fallen off the edge More times than I care To count.
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Happiness is biting
Tiny fangs that pierce
Causing pain with both
Entry and exit
Leaving an ache
To remind you
Of its absence.
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I hadn’t expected the room
To be so ravaged by
Your absence
The space is cavernous
Without your frame
Your drawings left
Shadows on the walls
All the remains is a
Pile of dirt where you
Would abandon your shoes
Empty hangers rattle
Like dancing skeletons
Pockmarked and scarred
I don’t know if the room
Will ever recover from
Your departure—
Were the windows always...
3 tags
I’ve been told I type quickly Never noticed really Once I know what There is to be said All I comprehend Is how the words Never burst forth From fingertip Fast enough Half-realized thoughts Disappear in the spaces Between missed keys And backspaced errors My fingers Aren’t quick enough To capture What could be.
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Sometimes I think of you And smile involuntarily This makes strangers Want to approach me And leads to Awkward conversations— Please stop giving me Happy memories.
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I fear cold The way others fear The dark What did the night Ever do to me? Offering respite from Blinding day and Endless questions But cold creeps Frosty vines Climbing up my Limbs and piercing Heart with icy splinters Leaving me Numb.
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I would prefer my Narrow little bed And quiet room with Window overlooking Noisy road I don’t mind that It’s too cold in winter Too hot in summer And empty in every season
I would prefer my Books and movies and music All at once Occupying my core While leaving my body Untouched.
I would prefer my Aloneness to your Fickle company That always leaves me Wanting more, but It’s too...
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Butterflies and bees Battle over fading Spring blooms Chasing one another From stem to wilting stem.
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Pisa smelled like honeysuckles I plucked them on my way To the tower and carried The scent with me to the top It lingered on my skin and In my pockets long after I Boarded a train and headed To another town to sit In cold cathedrals and Stare at statues that made Others cry and others light candles I watched them pass In front of me and I didn’t feel Anything except the desire to Stay in...
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I like talking to you Laughing over nothing At all that seems like So much more and I like talking about you Sharing snippets With friends, a piece of A whole I have no Intention of sharing Haven’t you noticed My lips, my tongue, my mouth— Already consumed By you.
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My poetry is not pretty Stumbling outside the conventional Rules of verse and form It trips, it staggers through Mind and over tongue Words fall like stones On paper, without grace And yet if one thought Previously burdening mind and spirit Might dent scripted page With definition Perhaps it is not a loss.
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broken things →
thevirtualhermit:
You wanted to know how I cut my lip but I was silent Teasing you claimed I liked To be a mystery Dancing in a summer dress But I simply couldn’t admit That I was bleeding from The chipped mug I ought To throw out because Then you might ask why I won’t replace the screen That lets all…
Anonymous asked: BOOO ANON. That's the kind of hypersensitivity that impedes artistic output. While the point they raised is definitely valid, there's a degree of license that artists, writers, musicians, etc. should feel comfortable taking. The poem in question is not outside that license. <3 another anon lameo.
Anonymous asked: Your poetry is lovely but you need to take the word "gypsy" out of the last one or replace it with something else. "gypsy" is a racist slur and is used to oppress the Romani people.
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No one wants a gypsy bride People are wary of a girl With wandering eyes Glass slippers shatter with Confident strides What prince could love A woman who has seen Beauty beyond his castle walls?
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I’m not talking to myself The dogs lie just there Inattentively listening I’m not quite alone Something’s stirring the curtains These whispers are heard By ears Carved into wooden floors White walls and high ceilings Objects silently bear witness To the ramblings of A mad woman.
April 2012
50 posts
3 tags
I only write To capture What I can’t Photograph I’m stowing Everything Away in Memory boxes For a later Date.
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Why do you speak to me With words on tongue Muttered between lips Falling heavily on ears When my eyes scream at you With emotion and I filled My letters with desire but You only read the characters Scripted plain in black and white Missing everything kissed Into the spaces between.
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My mistake lies In reading books Illiteracy could be A sort of blessing Books have shown me Greater things than My eyes have seen In this world of Science and reason Novels gift words, A deceitful generosity They must remain penned On paper and heart A place to speak them— Savor them on your tongue Is never to be found Truly, reading only teaches Discontent with ordinary Existence.
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Don’t hide your darkness From a girl who loves the night A little shade is nothing Compared to the constellations I could map on skin.
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She’s only revealed In hints and whispers A glimmer of leg In swirling skirts The wind knows more Of her skin Than your fingertips Look how a breeze Plays with hair Brings blush to cheeks But so little Does she expose To you.
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You scream into the night Then weep in the morning To see the bruises your words Left on the sky.
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You forget the ocean In those colder months Her sand which you once Wore proudly tacked to skin With salty kisses Has all been washed down Drains, taking with it Your affections as you Yield your body to the Warmer embrace of armchairs And fireplaces, cornmazes and Skating rinks that twist Your ankles and leave Frosty love bites on Barely exposed skin But the ocean’s devotion Does not waver...
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Do I seem calm To you? Am I composed In your presence Unchanged by word Or expression? It means nothing Underneath lies A bowstring drawn tight Humming With anticipation.
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The weeping willows Are blossoming How can the saddest tree Smile with spring While only sorrow Blooms in me?
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I am walking around With a storm raging Behind my ribcage Since the lightning bolt Sent through skin With your last touch.
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Around my neck Hangs a skeleton key Dangling mystery On simple silver chain Found in a rural thrift store Bought by whim I dreamed of how It came to me Not by chance but Some strange destiny Surely it would summon Unseelie things and Herald on grand Adventuring My windows were Propped open Night after night But no Faeren or Swan maiden Carried me away They were barred Against entry as Winter winds...
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Do you reach for me
At night
Half asleep and still
Besieged by dreams
Only to find
Moonlight where skin
Ought to be
Shadow that might
Be hair splayed
Against pillow
Or am I alone
In these nightly
Fancies?
2 tags
I cannot say you yes I am already wed To empty fields Filled with sunset glow To constellations spread Across midnight silk.
Could you share a wedding Bed with deceased authors Or would you grow jealous Of words tattooed Into places your fingers Cannot reach?
No, I cannot say you yes For am I already wed.
4 tags
I counted each mile On the drive up Distance and minutes Ticking away in my mind Each moment brought Me closer and closer yet But the journey wasn’t Over when I was parked Neither did it end As I shifted nervously On doorstep Only two warm arms Finished me.
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It was a pretty thought But please admit my dear That the last party you planned Was a disaster You spent all day preparing Chasing butterflies and collecting forsythia Our living room became A temporary menagerie of curiosities Our friends were bemused As they greeted lightning bugs Flying about an old fish tank Draped with netting But they were struck mute As you passed out slips Of...
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I wanted to write
Until my fingers bled
But my mind went numb
Before my hands did
My body was always
More ready for a beating
Than my heart.