[x]

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

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

constellations are just bodiesyou left me in my bed-
i was crying-
when you walked down my stairs
for the last time.

you were to spend the night-
you lived hours away-
until you told me
you couldn't do this
anymore.

i was fine-
you were just a constellation-
until your words
forced images of my last love
before my mind's eye.

i cried before you-
i hadn't cried in months-
but i didn't cry for you.

in retrospect, as you closed my door-
it was the last time-
my only thought is
why didn't we fuck
before saying goodbye?

the end, actuallylassitude builds
nests in my bones
flightless birds
forming words
as effective at becoming airborne
as the words "i'm sorry"
and sometimes
they just refused to try

the most prominent thought
circling my head
like the words that could soar
was knowledge-
there is a big chance
we will not make it through the night,
that i will never be held
captive
in the cage of your eyes
and trapped by a heart

i must be committing
some atrocities
but i do not know which ones-
there just might be
a limit
on the number of tears
you can shed
over one person;

we are not snakes
and cannot remove our skin
so we cry instead

but throug

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.

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

before georgia takes you again

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.

write what hurtsi'm here to tell you
about fire and living
& how both burn even if you ignore them

it's not about what feels good
it's about what doesn't
cornering what hurts
and exposing it
really displaying it
pedestal on high
for what it is
and not what it pretends to be

you are not living
until you hurt
you can't be alive
if all you know is comfort

comfort is only a sign
that you are doing what you know
it is admittance of limitation
because you are human
and only know so much
and it's agonising to think
that you can be comfortable with that
and not want to reach out
and touch every thing you find
and read every book you see
an

standing armyi didn't feel myself signing away
the next indefinable period of my life
to worry and unease
when i couldn't find words
to tell you what you saw
in the
spaces
between.

if i don't break our bonds
tying us like kite strings
across a few cities
and maybe a couple hours,
i will write you letters
instead of quiet times
resting on your pillows,
or the inlets of your arm.

i will be segmented
like the trunk of an earthworm
between boston,
the berkshires,
and missouri's banks;
i will wait for the mail
and days of leave,
the way i never was able
to project ahead to see
i was the last person,
a child in a woman's body,
to enli

the first poem i wrote since i told you i love youthe star-soaked stains
that covered our nudity
gives way at last
to a tequila sunrise,
so low in the sky;

it's still bright enough
to sting my eyes,
and yet i can't bring myself
to hate it.

your body next to mine,
every effort is made
to move a heavy limb
closer
because any space
we have
is space i don't want.

i am sometimes humbled
by my feelings,
the way they swell
in my throat
just how the ocean
tastes the shore.

there is always something new
to find hidden in my heart,
summoned by my words,
or the salt of your skin
wearing like wind on shale
against mine.

i don't think i can ever tell you
i love you enough.

i

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

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 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

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More from *ohsostarryeyed

cryingi envy how children cry
misery dredged from the
pits of hell to fill
their window-wide eyes with
seawater, bellows
like empty trumpets sounding
for every conch-shell ear.
children do not cry for
beauty, they do not cry for
themselves, they cry for
love and attention and audiences
to follow their plights
and sit as ship anchors rooted
to the ocean floor.

ignore this, bthis is exactly what
is supposed to happen,
no miles-long limbs
holding back like ropes,
finding lips
and love
more proximal
to our own

but jealous hearts
inter cede.
i am a sad bird,
hollow bones weighed down
with melancholy envy,
disappointment
and heavy air.

i am not in love,
i say, and i am right.
but that does not mean
that i don't love you.
that does not mean
that no unhappy numbers
and shapes will slip
into my mind, broken slumber
and blue sleep.
tonight i will dream
of paphian entanglements
and sweet sorrows
slipping in to contrast.

i am sorry.
i am envy incarnate,
a green eyed monster,
and tell m

europai've washed my feet in the streets of paris
and danced in croatian nightclubs.
i've basked in prague's own sun, wet hair sun-stiffened and bright,
seen the stars in florence, asking the heavens to give in to the moon.
i've felt the city lights of london paint me in their glow
and lost my scarf to grecian winds,

and still, it is to here i return.
i am going to live and die in your country,
not my own, not my familiarity,
and stay within its soil
until you can see me
as more than just
a ghost.

this is not my home,
but this is where my heart is.
i want to call this home before i am old as mud,
to show you my heart in every

9334your shadow on my wall has faded,
along with your fingerprints over my life.

my skin is breathing memory,
a mind that sits for no moment
in silence.
my fingers -
these once traced your lips.
my shoulders -
these once held your hands.
my heart -
this is where you once lived.

i've been dragging blades
across my skin,
digging in at certain places.
trying to find and take away
every part of you in me.

and i will bleed,
from all of the places
you once loved.

i will turn them to something
like waterfalls,
and it will be beautiful.

the numbers on the clock
will no longer mock me
in remembrance of how i
have been and how far

skinny.i feel my ribs
burn into the floor
hypodermic needles
on the shore
of the sea
the thin liqueur i yearn to be
is miles and miles away from me
and as the seconds drip by
like sour milk permeating the soul,
i realize that
i want it too badly
to ever have it
for my own.

timeline of a shadowthe sunlight is soaked in irreverent reveries,
painted deeply with
lake shadows playing by the shore,
children dressed in the black of high noon,

water-skinned and weaning off of the sun
as it encapsulates the droplets
and swallows them whole-

for soft sleep
for nourishment
for protection from this world
that will pluck their lake coats
from their very backs
and show them what pain really means-

the sadness that comes with water
when innocence is left for ruin
the association with tears
it bears on its shoulder,
a burden

the impossible night
when the sun falls from its perch
like a bird without flight
burrowed into the e

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the commute

by *ohsostarryeyed, Oct 30, 2012, 11:10:23 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

i 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
that make me start to hum.

the commuteby *ohsostarryeyed

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *ohsostarryeyed

i caved. i like this boy. why did i decide this and realise the extent of it like three days before i see him? FUUUUUU-

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~pengirl100and2 Nov 2, 2012 Writer

I read this a while ago and had no chance to comment. Once more, I am left unable to tell you how I like it, because your words hit hard and leave me speechless.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Nov 25, 2012

no worries, dear; thank you very much

Reply

Mood: Love

~Mordial33 Nov 1, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Beautiful, amazing, and all of those other awesome words that express these same thoughts!

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Nov 25, 2012

thank you <3

Reply

~Mordial33 Nov 25, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

You're very welcome!

Reply

~TinzTheCan Nov 1, 2012 Student Writer

Oh my god. This is so perfect and wonderful. You're so talented I am jealous. Gaaaah. Keep it up!

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*ohsostarryeyed Nov 25, 2012

you're so lovely <333

Reply

~TinzTheCan Nov 26, 2012 Student Writer

nou o: <3

Reply

Mood: Love

~hater12 Oct 31, 2012

WHY IS YOUR MIND SO BEAUTIFULLY CREATIVE?? Share with the rest of us!

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Nov 25, 2012

you are so lovely <333

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