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a letter to ethanyou're fifteen minutes away.

that's a quarter of an hour, that's ten miles, that's space enough that i never have to see you again.

but still i feel my heart beating like a rabbit's foot against my rib.

look.

i'm a girl still in denial
of being a woman with
breasts and hips and a womb.  
i'm a child with my heart and i will surrender it foolishly
to the first boy to give me roses and push them into my hair.  
i don't know how to love,
the way i don't know how how to stop.

but let me tell you this- it happens.
they both do.

i loved your fragile brown eyes like i'd never seen a warmer fire.  
i sank my bones like an anchor to
you arei want a city ruined
every time you love me.
i want to show how loudly i shake,
enough to break
faults and how it will never be yours,
and bring down skylines
when you aren't here.

there are seven weeks until my blood runs blank,
but it is so full tonight
it could drown a man.
i hope it drowns you,
the way it carries the only beautiful thing about me
to you;
my heart, my love.

it's time you pull together
your telephone wires and breathe stars
back into my body-
it was so dark without you.
there was no moon,
just the kind of black
you know could be no emptier.

i am effulgent again
with the ways i've needed to feel,
i am
it's an analogy for you.your sweatshirt became ghost to me.
between two months is two shorti like to think of you.
sometimes you are a butterfly,
wings stretched back
in long arcs,
bones breaking into flight
behind your protruding chest-
you are beautiful.

i find myself sinking
into the irish kills in your eyes,
the gaps in your smile.
i touch the cauterised cuts
sealed by metal and fire
on the backs of your swollen knuckles
and kiss your crooked lips.

in two months you will leave.
in the wake of st. valentine's sacrifice,
i will send my heart to war with you.
look beneath your pillow
and find it there;
look in the space between your walls
and there it will be;
look within your chest, beside your own heart
and
things i don't know about you that bother me thati wonder what it's like
to fall asleep beside you
in a post coital haze,
and to wake in the morning
to run to class.
do you wake me,
do you kiss my forehead,
do we make love again-
i don't know,
not yet.

and do you wet your toothbrush
before applying toothpaste,
oh,
tell me you don't leave the sink running,
it must get awfully tired.

and what do you dream of
when i lie next to you,
blissfully more than just a body;
what will you dream of
a year from now?
please tell me i can fit into
your big picture
as easily as i can fit into
your arms,
eternally.
revelations in the mudi only want to fall in love
if someone is there
to fall with me.

i want to jump from high places
and pretend i'm flying,
i'm a bird, i'm light enough at-fucking-last
for the air to catch me,
and the harsh grounds beneath me?
can't touch this.

but i'm earthbound
and parachutes will not work
if you do not open them,
and i am just so sick
of feeling like maybe,
becoming an abstract painting
on the rocks below, would be enough...

but there is something beating in my chest.
i'm very afraid of what it is.

and i don't know a lot,
like the size of the universe.
or why you sought solace in the south.
or how i came to be in this cr
spoiled little girli have turned my body
into a void
so that i can love
with it
instead of my heart.
i feel nothing
so i feel nothing
for you,
but your skin has not
met mine
in a week
and it has me
worried.

this one
loves completely vanilla,
though there once were poems
of red clay and sun;
this one
kisses with no ridges
and i cannot seem to
find a way to stay captivated;
this one
touches when i cannot remember,
so i run
when i see the silhouette of his face,
giving flashes
like nightlights or fireflies
of a dark room
i seem to have almost
forgotten.

i think you have spoiled me terribly
because i feel nothing
worth feeling
and k
100 sunday crosswordsthis is a story of broken pieces
letting go feature by feature;
shattered pieces, ice rain,
and something blacker than sadness
turning from snowfall to knives
and the scarlet ground that follows.

this is about knowing when to stop
but never knowing the time.

because fingers snap louder in the cold,
they shiver and shake, shiver and shake
until the tremours turn to bone
and you feel it when they break.
a century's warning isn't enough to prepare for an earthquake;
a thousand years is still a blink when the last sinews
split.

there is nothing welcome about the open air
and how it bites your exposed skin,
its teeth sharpen and g
the saturday after your birthday is where i foundbefore you there was an incessant need to be touched
but for no longer than the time it took to touch, sweat, and moan
and never by the same hands twice;
for vacancies to be filled
and to never have an empty bed when sleep finally came.

when i found you it was dark and i was drunk.
it wasn't a story built for the centuries,
but we will be the lovers whose names are remembered for the years to come,
tied and woven in song and into the bodies of trees, we will be so in love
that the angels above will cry in jealousy because in my haze,
heavy and raw and with everything burning inside me, i'm afraid i fell in love that night.

being
first weekend and realisationsyou begin to talk
because talking means that
someone else can't
&you start to realise
(as most girls do)
that you have a boyfriend

&soon
he's not just a boyfriend;
he's your boyfriend
&he's not just better than
anyone else in the world
he's better than
anything else in the world

&you would trade years off your life
to spend a little longer with him
or to see him smile when he's sad
or to feel his face in your hair
the way he does when he hugs you
&you can't feel it
because right now he's too far away

but distance is only the space between
point a and point b
between you&between me
&if you give it just a little more tim
a thorough submissioni have found my heart-
it has put itself into this.
my hesitations are little more
than bad habits,
filed somewhere between
biting my nails and always saying i'm sorry.

the expectation of the winds
blowing softer til they ceased
ended with your mouth on mine;
the nerves fraying from fear
have been tended to with needle and thread;
and the water i so wiklfully wouldn't touch
feels warmer as it inches
like your hands
up my ankles to my bare knees.

i have found my heart-
it has put itself into this.
my stomach turns the ocean calm
when i think of the messes i'll make,
and the sewing you will stitch.
and i'm terrified
like ni
the vomiting crowd of coney islandthe destructive walls are shaded
in grey and i am remembering
every feeling i have forgotten-

i am terrified.

this is a city that never sleeps,
the bones of my chest thrumming
like taxi cabs in the streets,
my fingers shaking
in want for comfort and solace
and love.

i am not standing
in lorca's vomiting crowd-
i am his vomiting crowd,
looking high and low
and between my clenched fists
for catharsis and purification,
for the reason of this illness
pressed against my skin,
for the indefinable sickness
i drown in like bubbles of spit
day in and day out.

i fear the restraints
i've placed for myself,
that they may not be the
scattered grassrootsi am the great plains-
vast,
barren,
and sparse.

i begin losing my hair and
scattered grassroots
define me.

i am tumbleweeds lost in the wind,
tumultuous dust storms
from the dryness i leave you in.
this becomes my skin.

i miss having someone
to tell i love,

but the ache it left in my bones,
deserts and sands,
is reminder enough

that fond remembrance
doesn't mean it's
there.
sugar freetoday my stomach told me i got a letter from you.
it clenched and cursed,
seeing my name on an envelope with no stamp,
cursive writing and no return address.
i didn't know.

once i did though, my stomach swung
its angry fists and crowed,
I TOLD YOU SO.

it was right.

my hands were like stoplights
in a hurricane,
malfunctioning and saying stop
when i turn green,
shaking with each gust.

i don't want to read how you are
or if you still love me.
i don't want to feel anything
or see you in my mind's film reel,
now shorn and with glasses,
but worst,
in uniform.

it makes me swoon on my feet
and not in that lustful, romantic, 1950s way
but the kin
toy soldiers.there are few feelings
more southerly,
bitter and sour,
nerve endings, spray,
than the skin
tearing itself from your lips
because it knows
what it has once touched.

the left-behinds,
the never-weres
are strawberry-burnt
and sadder than the loneliest moon,
sinking for years
over the missouri banks,
the virginia hills-

i lost the sun to you.
you have promised to turn me into
the lone pair of
baby shoes slung about a telephone wire,
high and forgotten
and never loved;
promised a life full of wear,
fully effulgent and sweet laughter,
and instead hung limply
as a plaything for the wind currents.

i'm still a stranger in my
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More from *ohsostarryeyed

the thing is i wish i were kidding but man,the sky fell when you left.
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like an old sweater,
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now that i have put you
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at this hour,
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of my b

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sandstorm

:iconohsostarryeyed:

there is sand in my teeth
from days i don't remember;
hot-sun deserts singeing
the hairs on the back of my neck,
feet back from burns:

i know what it's like
playing with fire.
i know how to perch
like birds on my thin toes
along a wire,
i know the electricity
coursing through the rubber,
a centimetre from death:
i have yet to fall.

precarious placements
on precarious precipices,
i am wondering if my wings still work,
or if i've purged them out;
if they've atrophied from my back,
or filled with bile.

the sand shifts
and i am looking at bone.
a skeleton, full and articulate.
the desert has charred him black;
his skin has burned away.
he has
sand
in his teeth
from days
he will never remember.
:iconohsostarryeyed:
more treatment writing idk this was just a lot of feeling
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:iconseeclear:
~SEECLEAR Jan 17, 2013
nice
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Jan 24, 2013
:aww:
Reply
:iconaquarius-claire:
~Aquarius-Claire Dec 31, 2012  Student Writer
i love you
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Jan 13, 2013
i love you most
Reply
:iconaquarius-claire:
~Aquarius-Claire Jan 14, 2013  Student Writer
nuh uh
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Jan 23, 2013
uh...yuh
Reply
:iconhazeltown:
!hazeltown Dec 30, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
"i know what it's like
playing with fire.
i know how to perch
like birds on my thin toes
along a wire,
i know the electricity
coursing through the rubber,
a centimetre from death:
i have yet to fall."


I love that.
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Jan 6, 2013
thank you :]
Reply
:iconiampoetry:
*IAmPoetry Dec 30, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
"i know how to perch
like birds on my thin toes
along a wire,"

I think you should further this part into a new poem and continue the image. Lovely words.
Reply
:iconamweitz:
*AMWeitz Dec 30, 2012  Student Writer
This is absolutely wonderful. I don't agree with your comment; this is NOT just a lot of feeling. This is extremely well constructed, coherent, easy to read......and can I be perfectly honest? Sometimes I get overwhelmed with the imagery in your poems, because you often include so many different images with different textures and implications and whatnot that the poem becomes everything and nothing at once for me. (It's the same problem I often encounter with reading Dylan Thomas.) But this is different. It's simpler, and though extremely powerful emotionally, it's much more straightforward and less maddening with its expression. You have other images (the second and third stanzas), but you flesh out different aspects of the desert scene, really giving the reader the sensory experience of being in your shoes and making the emotion you've tied to the (desert) experience to all the more palpable. (Objective correlative, yay!)

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I really, really like this poem in particular.

(So don't diss it.) ;)
Reply
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