[x]

thesisi feel awful in a way.

here, let me tell you about this-
i have a boy who is like
a needle on thread,
strung on me
like a clothesline;

he is tireless
and shelled,
hidden within his
carapace,
unyielding;

a different body
whistling from down
the hallway,
shedding my skin
as he mends
his own;

and another,
a paper bird
with handwriting
like shards of glass
and a soul
like a tree,
warm roots growing
into the streets.

i have my own heart
buried halfway between
the mountains and georgia,
the only state
where even atheists
can believe
in god-

but georgia
is not enough,
and finally,
i can see that
neither are you.

basically i'm like vomitwhat happens when you finally find love
(or it finds you)
but it picks up its pieces
(and yours too)
and moves to georgia?

look-
you are not the only one.

people leave their hearts
behind
everywhere.
like
if you take a walk
down the street-
the pavement you're walking on,
take a look at it.
like
really look at it.

i hope you see
vague outlines in the cement,
heart shaped, yes,
with initials stamped
like sad hooves
in their middles
because basically,
that's what love feels like.

and still,
you are not the only one.

you do not deserve
the attention
to be fixed.
you are to remain
a broken doll
at best
on the she

bulldozeri am a poet -
or at least,
i was.

(i am lying.)

i tell myself
i have never wanted anything
more than you,
but i have:

i have loved with my whole heart,
every inch of my body,
every ounce of my soul;

i have taken time and care
with my eraser,
rubbing out the distance
between where my heart lives
and where my body lies in unrest.

i actually let myself believe you
for a couple of seconds,
did you know that?
i felt like you loved me.

i didn't want to get up
and i didn't want to move out of the rain,
i just wanted to sit in your car
in these clothes
forever
because that night was the last time i'll see you.

two days later

renewalyou are small,
yet unchanged
an infant
in stature;
in heart,
an empire.

please,
if you can,
love me;
i am white washed on the shores,
the grains of sand clinging
to your skin until it glitters.

i will start fires,
if it means something to you;
i will scrub my hands
if my blood is your currency.

i have folded under the bends
of your effort,
your being pressing into me
just by the weight i feel
in my heart.

to hear your voice
is to hear a melody
i knew i could never know again,
that i had sworn to forget;
yet upon hearing it,
felt my body swell with its notes
and burst with memory.

you are still one thousand miles

let it go before you messso i was just sitting here
in a room of four people
and breathing like the cold air
filling the walls
would somehow make us happy,

and pretending that music
wasn't sort of like
sucking venom from a wound --
in other words,
fucking useless.

so i was just thinking
how music never really healed
a hole in my heart for me,
how really all it did
was make me think,

and at best,
it made me think about things
that hurt a little less
than what i was avoiding so hard.

i was done with looking at myself
so analytically as i pressed
my features into graphite
on a too-large paper,

and i was done reading baudelaire
as he wrote of l

the first, renewedit was more like a deep-necked well
than anything else -
the feeling that swallows you whole
like a fish gasping for mouthfuls
of sea water, begging for another
shot of life, a glimmer of happiness,
a shock to the heart
that felt light instead of like
the anchor tied to your chest.

all i'm thinking is how
his lips were so soft,
it was like melting,
and how my own were too harsh and eager;
how he was so warm,
i broke into sweat,
and how he was so gentle
but smart, that i felt
my angel bones reach back
to clutch its spine in shivers.

all i'm thinking is how
something small and cautious
fired a bullet so hard
that i can st

sometimes all you really need is for someone toi was loved; it was enough.

the renewal of purgingi am sick.
i am curled around the toilet
like a cat in sunlight,
cradling it like my one and only,
cheek rested on the sill,
a makeshift window;
it is a terrible thought.

the bowl is a vignetted glimpse
into my body,
almost pure art
in its portrayal,
unabstracted,
of my insides.
that is what it is:
my insides.

it is a photograph
of my feelings.
i know this makes me sick
but i imagine i am a bird, still
neither locked by air nor earth,
and i feel a little
lighter.

the lines on my skin, however,
insist that i am human.
i am afraid that they will
glow
in the aftermath of friday,
so i pretend a little more,
a little mo

incendiaryit was the city -- you know, a self-contained organism, a microcosm of reality in which we all take part. it's like a play, with our very orchestrated roles rehearsed perfectly until we can pull them off as smooth as ice.

it doesn't matter which city, because really, they're all the same -- paris, milan, barcelona...lawrence, pittsburgh, atlanta.

what matters is only that we were in the city. i was myself, playing the role of a love-struck jeweler, praying i could find just the right gem to put on my lover's finger someday, and she was herself, playing the role of sara.

sara, my love; sara, my heart; sara, the snow beneath my feet, the i

great peace and beautyi stretch with the branches
overhead, so that i might
grow, so that i might
blossom into something
more beautiful, something
more worthwhile, something
infinitely more than myself.

there is a lot of ugliness
involved in love, and we
shield our eyes to it like
it's the blinding sun,
that blinding truth.

please listen when i say
that the air is too thin
to fill us. please listen
when i say that i can now
understand "too thin." i
want you to hear me tell
you i want to get better,
and i want you to stay
around. i am so afraid
that my body won't, but
even more when i realise
your fingers have become
memories like sound, jus

i'm too sick to lovedon't let me go
if you don't know
what to do without me;

if you can't
sleep at night
because you wonder
whose arms i'm in,
and break bones every time
they're not yours:
it means you should
hold on to me.

i know
it seems like
i might just jump
but i always come back to you.
i'm sorry that i'm so stuck.

but still,
love is when you answer my call,
to hear your voice
a thousand miles away.
i'm sorry we aren't
together
anymore,
i'm sorry i'm
too sick
for you to
love
again.

body languagei listen and you cough
from down the hall
you are whistling
and i can still hear
your throat's identity
shuddering in each note.

it bothers me
that i know you like this.

i shouldn't be able to
wake up and find you
next to me.

i shouldn't feel my face
pressed against your chest,

i shouldn't feel my shirt and bra
cushioning the top of my head
like a makeshift pillow.

i am not who you want,
so you are not who i want.

still,
i put on my clothes
with the intention of you
taking them off.

still,
i'm sorry i don't
know how to love my body
but still want it
with yours.

still,
sex is a way to be close to someone.

it's a w

echolaliayou were the taste of something sweet
with the foreshadowed promise
of the bitterness that would soon
wash me to sea again.

the nights we spent
beneath blankets-
of clouds and of cloth-
frighten me as much
as they please me
to remember-

the roiling ocean,
lapping at our heels
as we became lovers
under the sky;
the curses and hisses
of an extraterrestrial fire
as you whispered to me
to pay no attention
to the teenagers drunken
on the sand;
to feel your skin
along mine in lines
and your lips,
the same;

the entire inability
to dismiss the songs that
our hearts once sang
as fragmented fantasies
strikes chords of longi

resentment like autumnyou're ok with feeling that resentment,
that roiling, needling resentment,
until you realise it's directed toward yourself.

that's when you fall apart.

that's when you realise that everything
could be coming up roses,
balloons in the sky
rising like cliches from the earth,
but you,
who me? little old me? yes, little old you,
you tore down your own joy,

and that's when it overwhelms you
like a forest fire.

you've wasted away your chance,
that innate sense of satisfaction,
to simply could-have-been bones;

no longer can it be yours,
that beautiful uncertainty
of two hearts skirting on edge
to meet, at last
and realise
this

nonfiction love songi am eaten by the sun
holes worn in my clothes
from the radiation,
burning a hole
in my stomach
as harsh as the acid
ebbing and flowing,
oceanic,
around the isles
of my teeth.

like an old sweater,
i am unravelling by my threads;
caterpillars breaking
through cocoons,
never metamorphosing
into the butterflies
they could have been,
the very same
as you and me.

now that i have put you
inside of this jar,
chrysalis sticking fragile
to the copper lid,
you have become
someone i could love.

i hold you like a lamb,
tight to my chest
so that my air
is your air,
and our breaths hit
the same measures.
we are synchronising

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all angles and godmy head -
crying a baby's hello
swallowing,
throwing itself
out with
the bath water -

everything is all
angles and god;
you will watch as i flounder
in the murky streets

one raindrop
turns to
ten
times ten
and ten
and ten
and ten

the sky is beginning
to cry again,
it comes in
through my
window

and i
shut it out,

i
shut
it
out.

roman ruins and red hairi do not have red hair.
i am the darker, starker daughter
of a man and woman no longer
in love. i do not want you
to see me anymore, i do not want you
to see me hiding in the closet,
curled with the cold linens because
they are mine and
they are monsters and
they are fresh breath in the
heavy, heaving air.

forever
i will work to forgive you for
the claws
you sink into my chest,
the rabid beast behind boned bars -
help me dig this earthen hole,
a revelation of mud and soul.

i fold accordion sheaths over my skin,
an unnaturally straight line for every pillar
of the colloseum you've torn asunder,
how very ruined you've tu

a waste of love"you can't care about me?"
you asked, an upstream tilt
like a curl of smoke trailing the end of your sentence -

hear me, please:

i have loved, i have lost
i have hated both and hated the interstitial space more;
i have bled over you, i have bled over virgin lilies,
and ruined them for all this world is worth -

it wasn't what you said that bloodied me up,
it wasn't even how you said it;
just your face was the blankest ream of pale paper,
paler than bone
and cleaner than my pastor's history.

you were blanched of any emotion,
utterly void of dark or light,
but your eyes held every feeling worn on the heart
of man.

i watche

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nosiness and lmfao

by *ohsostarryeyed, Oct 9, 2011, 7:43:18 PM
Scraps

ok,
so my night starts out
in fits of sneezing blues
and dark air.
i find myself in fits
as my sheets melt into my body
but my consciousness
is as present as ever,
so please forgive me
when i can't push my skin
into your personal space
and content myself
with personal questions.

i don't know how to feel thunder,
but i'm betting it's like this,
i'm betting it's like
standing under the beads of
hot shower for long enough
that your skin shrivels like a fig's.
all i get is that it's
electric, and i am
so afraid
to imagine what it would be like
to actually touch you
with intent.

look-

i tell you
how this boy
with cotton in his ears
a hundred feet high
tries to kiss me
because it's my way
of telling you
that i am valued
real estate
in this city
and you are lucky
to live here.

really
i don't think this.

really
i think i am lucky
to have a plot of land
to sink my weary so(ul/les)
into at the end
of the day,
a bed to sleep in
when the sun goes dark.
i want to look at my hands
and see the cranberry stain
left behind from
touching you.

maybe these weren't
the best intentions
after all.

16 Comments

nosiness and lmfaoby *ohsostarryeyed

Scraps

oh my god don't even ask about my titles
or my life really
neither will behoove you

love 1 1

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!Sana-girl Dec 18, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Feeling colors and sinking your weary so(ul/les).

~Iceblueeyedgirl Dec 3, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Very Lovely!! <3<3

~katiebowdridge Oct 11, 2011 Student Writer

haha i love the title.

~-dragonpoet Oct 11, 2011

I read, and read and read your work and i'll never get over how much I can apply it to my own life. I'll also never get over how simplistically amazing it is

*ohsostarryeyed Oct 31, 2011

thank you

~sheraine Oct 11, 2011

cranberry cranberry
sigh

*ohsostarryeyed Oct 11, 2011

i don't know if it's normal to feel colours, but it's the colour i felt

~dewandfireflies Oct 10, 2011

Beautiful. And Real.

*ohsostarryeyed Oct 11, 2011

~dewandfireflies Oct 11, 2011

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