[x]

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.

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

alpengloweverything hard-kept in the heart is falling onto paper. each word so well-fought to be kept within the chest becomes a snowflake from november skies, but the winds are unseasonably warm and a fire is kindled inside each bone in place of a bitter chill.

there are ten thousand things i can never tell you.

the way that wars are fought, i wage battles among my selves to keep the quiet. you will never hear my voice, too soft like the pillow beneath your head each time our bodies find each other, say how my breath becomes a porch swing when we touch and i sway.

i can never call you by any name, given at birth or given by heart. you will neve

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

unending, ceaselessnothing exists
better
than the moment
hesitant
anticipatory
of entrance
entranced
by the sway
porch swings
of hips
how pendulums
tick

and we talk
murmurs
until taciturnity
takes hold
of each others' tongues
and gasps
sudden
cause gaps
in the connection
unbreakable
as unity
unties
only to retie
in ceaseless
reunion
again.

my first drunk poemwriters write whilst drunk
because every word
fumbled and smisspelled
comes out beautifully
because of the truth it holds

my ear bleeds from constant burns
and my stomach burns from constant bleeds
because beauty is never enough untouched, it seems,
the way anything i put in me is always too much.

i bled and evoked sympathy tonight.
i drank until i needed a body to stand me straight.
my organs writhed like heathens in moonlight ritual
and i let it shake.
i shook to be honest
but i was never honest enough
to admit from where the vibration came.
i shook with fear
and trepidation
and loneliness
and never, ever being adequate

the commutei keep your kiss
under my bed:
i won't lose it
just because you aren't here.

instead,
i will hesitate in the spaces
between the weeks
we are together,
and we are
apart.

i will write you letters
and gaps and commas
when my head stops spinning
and my pride takes a bow
to the lion of my heart,
and feel the stinging air
of imagination
seep out of its balloon.

put your (love) affairs in order, dear
and find me under your blankets;

i want the places i know best
to be the ones made of skin,
secretly tucked away
in the crook of your elbow
where my body rests, or
behind your ear,
like a pencil-

i want you to write me words

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

centre for psychological healthit is three days
until march falls again,
false promises of spring
kissing the air
until it begins again
for winter;

three hours
until i feel my heartbeat
find its way
into the oceans
my blood spills,
poetry,
across porcelain
and skin
mirroring it;

three minutes
until i shift,
unbearable,
in a crimson chair
that begs for me releasing;

three seconds
until i swallow,
a bird,
sticking bones,
and pray for a
tooth of glass,
a jaw of metal, of
sharp,
kiss me,
an instant,
the way
you
once did.

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.

virgin culturethere's a little more to love than lust
and a little more to a person than a label.
you can try to sum me up in five words or less and you'll find those words,
but you won't be able to reduce me to them.
you can't turn me into something that can be thrust,
curse-like,
down the grapevine
when there's something more to me than the colour of my eyes or the size of my chest.

and that's something we could all do with remembering.
but this is the culture we were born into.
where the length of your hair is more important than the sincerity of your words,
and nothing matters as much as the kardashians' latest scandal or talking some hot c

mother.i'm not exactly a person-
more like a body
filled up with
things i never should've known
and things i never could've said.
and i wonder what you'd do
if i could.

so i tell strangers, i tell you,
because i'll never have to
look you in the face
or see your eyes hide
behind walls that never had to be built-
there are bodies buried in those, you know.
i never wanted any of that.

the way i never wanted to be the girl
who ran away from womanhood as it approached,
because adolescence was so much sweeter
at four feet tall.
i sprouted breasts in panic.
my limbs stretched and the pains at night
weren't just from growing pains- they

schadenfreudei found love
in your bone structure,
troublingly beautiful
with your soul worn across your lips.

you remind me of the sunshine
i lost in the circles
i left behind
to find someone an ocean
less far.

instead,
i am here,
watching the birds take flight
from the edges of your mouth,
watching their wings curl
with every word
strained with an accent
owned by my ancestors
born on ships.

i want you to tell me again
about the times
you found a purity in his eyes,
the blank skin upon which
they were set like jewels
and those when
you grinned cheekily
when i told you how
terribly beautiful
you really were.

i find myself wis

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

presumptionsi know i'm a very common-,
innocent-looking girl.
i look like i floss my teeth
at least once a week
and have never worn
thong underwear,
like i devour books like candy
and never talked during class.

it's funny when people are nothing like how they look.

so let me tell you something,
let me set you straight:
i'd have you believe
i'm not some heavily medicated girl
with snakes up and down her body
in bright red rows, all raw and scabbed and
constant, ceaseless, neverending reminders of fucked-up and failure...
but it never took much for you to talk me into bed.
letting you think i'm some perfect porcelain figurine
without crac

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More from *ohsostarryeyed

this is less of a love poem and more of athere is something to be said
about resisting the temptation
to start out with a bang.

the hallway of your neck
has never lost its scent
and it's something, i swear,
i swear, i can never forget

because it's something surreal
to wake up while you're asleep
and feel you pull me closer
til our faces almost meet-

but please,
hold onto that almost,
hold onto it like stardust.

you need to touch me in a whisper
because it's been too long
since i've felt the hand of someone
who actually meant it,
someone who actually meant something

and i'm so glad, my god,
i'm on my knees
i am praying to(o,) my god
that we won't burn out so qu

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

presumptionsi know i'm a very common-,
innocent-looking girl.
i look like i floss my teeth
at least once a week
and have never worn
thong underwear,
like i devour books like candy
and never talked during class.

it's funny when people are nothing like how they look.

so let me tell you something,
let me set you straight:
i'd have you believe
i'm not some heavily medicated girl
with snakes up and down her body
in bright red rows, all raw and scabbed and
constant, ceaseless, neverending reminders of fucked-up and failure...
but it never took much for you to talk me into bed.
letting you think i'm some perfect porcelain figurine
without crac

a lack of language, in coloursyou tell me you miss me
and that i am more beautiful
than any girl in georgia
or even barcelona.

everything is fitting like magic
between fingers when they
finally, finally
touch,

and i swear for the past three nights,
that's all i've dreamt.

give me acrylics
and i still can't make you see
the exact shade of warm
you are to me.

give me the ocean
and there are not enough waves
in its body
to show just the way i feel
when our own vessels move together.

seven months since we last said goodbye,
since we last said hello-
i could fill libraries
with reasons
to love you.

what i really want to ask
is if you think you can

home is in the hollow of darkness .collabi stand quivering,
like a candle's flame open
in the winter breeze.

my heart skips
a beat. then another,
and again.

death feels like this, when
you let it creep into your
hollow bones again.

spreading out
like a spider's web,
it catches
everything
big or small before
collapsing.

it becomes true that
you are never freer than
the moment you breathe

your last, and let your
fingers slip through the thin cracks
til you disappear.

forever
lost in eyes of the
forgetful.

so breathe deep young one,
as deep as the hollows of
your lungs allow you.

cut free the tangles
that hold you beneath ever-
shifting tides, and know

projected profitsi keep picturing us in fifteen years, but it's more like ten. we're sleeping and the quiet sun gently pushes on our eyelids. we turn softly in the mounds of white cloth covering our bed, one or both of us making those slight moans of vague consciousness completely against our wills.

we live in a house, or maybe a flat. it might be in europe, in one of the countries you visited when we found our ways back to one another. the buildings are smooth and white, but the garden is not lacking for colour. the greens are denser than water, the sky more saturated blue than our swimsuits, hanging off the lip of the small balcony.

maybe it's switze

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spoiled little girl

by *ohsostarryeyed, Oct 9, 2012, 6:32:09 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

i 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 kiss no one
worth kissing
and no one
worth touching
has touched me
since.

spoiled little girlby *ohsostarryeyed

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *ohsostarryeyed

becomes a spoiled young woman
because she cannot stay so innocent
when all the light is gone.

-

i swear to you the last thing i can have is feelings for this guy. boymanthingperson. i don't know he's too old to be a boy but i can't be old enough to like men. and i don't like him anyway. i insist. so i tell myself that sleeping with others will prove that to me. so far it hasn't.

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~BegginerMay Nov 1, 2012 Student Artist

this is amazing. you're truly amazing.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Nov 25, 2012

you're crazy, m'love <3

Reply

~BegginerMay Nov 28, 2012 Student Artist

Reply

=MySincereCondolences Oct 21, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

So good, really emotional. Wish I could write this good.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Oct 23, 2012

you're lovely <3

Reply

=MySincereCondolences Oct 25, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

I'm truthful

Reply

~LovelyDearyYou Oct 15, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I love this.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Oct 23, 2012

i'm glad <3

Reply

~sasukekiller Oct 12, 2012 Student General Artist

so beautiful

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Oct 23, 2012

thank you!

Reply

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