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if alice in wonderland was set in 2012,i might cut my hair if it didn't remind me of you,
but just like the fade from september into the pits of october,
i'm not alice, this isn't wonderland, but i am just as surrounded by things that yell,
"eat me! drink me!" and they don't say it but i know they'll all make me bigger,
sadder, fatter, too big to fit into a house, my arms my legs come shooting out,
everything i feel is just too loud-
i should be better than i am.
i should be taking the world by the shoulders, shaking back its shoulders because i am a storm, i am a force of nature and you will take notice-
but my winds are quiet. my rain is sad.
i'm too afraid to swell up in full vigor,
to take what is mine in case it's taken from me again,
i will never forget what you did- in camera flash moments, in sharp moments-
to leave me broken.
there are some cuts that never close up.
there are some things that never get spoken.
and there are some things yo
ruined flowersi open myself up,
til the water
bathtub ring stain
pink on porcelain.
i used to be nature
i used to be beautiful.
chemicals & acid
ate through my flesh
& i became
but something i could not want
something i could not love.
i am dried petals
forgotten to be pressed
of a loved book
or even one hated,
just left to desiccate.
i have plucked my own roots
from the soil
thinking i could become
i did not know
i would ruin what i was.
i did not know
i was beautiful- sad, yes,
but i was beautiful,
just as i was.
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 never, ever being adequate
or even happy
but i smiled and let everyone know
that i felt like myself,
and no one ever needed to know
that the only reason i felt so honest
was because i never feel like i can
stand on my own two feet unaided
or stop from trembling
or hold in outbursts of emotion
because if i do,
i know i'll break.
for those who want to be in loveyou want to fall in love
hard enough to break your bones and
lighten your feet
lighten your heart
so softly that the butterflies you feel
pattering with their gossamer wings
beneath the cage of your ribs
and the breath,
blue in the summer,
can kiss you and the monarchs
as sweetly as your love
and her lips.
you dream of them at night.
silken like clean bedsheets,
familiar as your favourite chair
when you curl up with
a mug of herbal tea.
you feel at home
with her body curled in yours,
only able to sleep
with her skin under your fingers
scenting the blankets
with something no perfume
could ever mirror.
you write love letters
you dream emptily
unless she is there.
you want to fall in love
the way the gods drink ambrosia,
you want to treat her
better than their nectar,
sweeter than honeybees
and their summer-sticky feet.
you want a love beyond poetry,
from winter flurries
to springtime rosebuds
to summer sweet lemonade
to autumnal red leaves u
adulthoodwhen you interact with other grown-ups,
there are things you need to remember.
i am learning the fine art of Adult Small Talk-
banter for banter's sake and smiles and short, impersonal anecdotes
because you can't risk letting anyone in,
god forbid someone actually gets close.
you keep your friends in your stomach and swallow them at night to keep them close
and put your cheery face on for medical professionals even when your throat is too swollen
to drink down those friends.
those friends, you know they'll never let you down.
you see your human companions on lunch breaks and weekend days.
at night, young adults have sex and fall asleep together;
at night, older adults complain of headaches and sleep on opposite sides of the bed.
your human friends don't make you feel as good
as your other friends make you feel.
they ask about your life and how you're doing,
ask if you're still in therapy and if you're eating,
and god forbid you let them in.
they're your human friends but they don't get
moments of being awakehearing from you
gives me road rash
the kind the drunk man
who touched the shoulders of women
in long, lingering lashes
gets when he's thrown
from the bar
it slaps me in the face
harder than winter wind
after a night spent
alone in a bed
or not alone in a bed
i wonder if you wonder
if i'm sleeping with somebody
if i'm in love and happy
if i'm alone and miserable and
aching for someone like you
because i admit i do-
i spend some time
wondering about you.
old love begets new lovei shut myself in
with the walls of nighttime
and a razor
that i'm not where i want to be.
you don't pick up your phone
but you don't look happy either-
what you do look like
is someone in need of a reminder
that you're still young.
i haven't seen carnival lights
since i saw you;
i haven't had sex on another
pull out couch.
i spend nights in my bed
or my lover's,
and still i think of
times i've hurt you
and times that pass me by
when i'm still trying to sleep.
when i break my loneliness
just to be lonely with a friend
and a six pack of good beer,
you're what i'm pouring down my throat,
you and every time i remember
learning to kiss a boy
the way he liked;
how no nightmarish hands touched me
when you were around;
that i stopped acting
like the girl you
and only when the morning comes,
raking her fingers over
the rawness of my skin,
do i know i've found more love
than i've lost.
my palpitationswhen a palpable change
breathes discordance in my chest,
it is because
i am missing you.
you are an essential element
found in the body of the universe,
lock and key
struck in me.
i want the love i feel
to shine from me
the cosmos and stardust
collecting in the corners of your eyes
while you sleep.
and when i trail my fingers
like routes along a mountain peak
over your neck,
the thrumming is the sound
of solar flares.
i want there to be no question
that when my heartbeat stutters,
it is imitating my words
when i tell you that you are
my sun and stars.
on firstsI would often tell you that you
were the most beautiful woman
I ever saw. When I saw you in red lips
last year, I found it hadn't changed
As I told you this,
you flashed me a grin,
put a fist to your mouth
and dipped your chin. You said:
"Yeah, I was the first girl
but I wasn't the last.
If I know you
like I know you, despite the time
that's passed- you've said
it since, and you'll say it again."
You were right,
and you still are:
the fragile truth of my whims,
I never quite meant
it the way I did then.
five downlove, tell me -
tell me i see the future and you
will wind up well alone;
i don't want you with anyone,
i pull your air into my lungs,
an influenza in every syllable of
breath. and i am a cluster of hills
across your face, the reason you
said you didn't believe in
wearing sandals in july.
i keep track of time
in terms of crossword puzzles,
sundays especially difficult
because i used to pray like god listened
to my repents and hopes then.
you would take my unfinished columns
and fill them in with a different pen colour
and that was how i knew things were
and there was never any bitterness
to it either, the passing hand to hand
of platitudes that wilted like the heads of birds
but never broke too much. tomorrow night
i will do the sudoku puzzle instead and
ask the moon to put its trauma back
where you kept the pencils
(when you kept
than the needle)
instead i tuck my hands
under the pillow beneath my head,
hoping that hiding them
will keep me safe.
To Whom it May ConcernWriting now by candle light
upon my bedside sill,
impresses thoughts blackened of blight:
Of past regards forgotten, till
reflections blindly bittersweet
of love and laughter passed;
Begotten then of innocence--
three sheets tied to a rotting mast--
impend upon me with such weight
they feel as though a leaden vest
contorting ribs into a knot--
an airlock shut within my chest.
For I am old and bitter now,
my time and words long spent.
So now I sadly take the bow
of a man left but relent.
And thus I transfer onto you
this single mock decree--
the curtain-call of my revue:
My death-bed rhapsody
on marrying medusaso she
told me, hair water-
falling down over her
ship's deck shoulders, that
she would like to be
with me: we
could write stories, said
air; the ground splitting
beneath me into warring
factions and i
had been standing on the
17th parallel for
too many years now, as the
pressure escalated up, up, and
"you won't be happy,
with me," (her stainless steel
nails dig deep into
my serotonin skin as she
takes her place beside
me from the
fall) "no, you
assures me, "but then,
again, you never
but with me, she
slurs, rolling perfect
-ly spherical marble
eyes and running her
skeletal fingers through the
swirling cascade, you could
write a story; you could
be a story.
and see, poet, i
had always longed to
be a heroine and, failing
that, a work of
ships, she and
i: sent them out to
stormy sea and
sink as she
friday night.on our first
you took me to a cemetery
just outside of town.
i guess you wanted to
what you would do to me.
on dying youngdeath is senseless, and in this
infinite senselessness there is a loss
of words. a loss of hope. a loss of
the Great unifier- the uninhibited
inhibitor, the petulant bird of prey
soaring over all heads, landing and plucking
from our masses the young, the old, the
wicked, and the innocent- the fortunate
and the unfortunate alike.
i have walked myself through eighteen years-
a small, contemptuous age: bent on destroying
everything, and keeping all the rest-
a timeless, weary age, popular culture demands
that these are the best years of life, when you
have not yet known it. and i am not denying
that i have lived-
many a night, i have sat on rooftops,
questioning my favor, questioning the gods,
smoking was the big fuck you, the proclamation
that i would not tremble at death's feet,
that i would welcome it, that i would
tower over it, my entrails glittering
upon my wrist. my lungs hanging blackly from
my ears. i realize the staunch idiocy of both
smoking, and not smoking, of tryin
I have thought about
kissing your scraped knuckles
as much as I have thought about
slicing my skin wide open like the sky.
I have dreamed of brushing
your collarbones with my mouth as much
as I have dreamed of greeting death
with a kiss on the cheek.
I have already loved you every
minute of my dragged out life.
Please do not think that
you weren't enough.
(My wiring is faulty.
I was always just a building
destined to burn.)
this is harder than ''i'm sorry''I know I'm the last person you'd expect to hear from
but the way you used to say my name is impossible to forget:
like a secret. Like a lifeline. Like I was the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.
And I know we drifted apart. I pushed you out to sea without a thought of where the swells would take you, or what monsters the waves would wash up on your shorelines.
But I swear, I'm not the person I was. And I don't think you're the girl you were.
I think you liked yourself better when you were seen through my eyes, when every conversation was a love note I wrote you with my voice. You used to find yourself so much more exciting, but to me, you were goddamn electric.
Now I'm not asking you to come back into my arms or my heart or my sheets, but I'm begging you to come back into my life. My sentences were more eloquent and my words were much more confident when I knew you were in my audience. It's a sickness, this thing that pushes my pen to paper, that implores me to write, but
maybe you never belonged to meI can still feel the weight of your lips on the curve of my collarbone. Sometimes, it feels paralyzing, crushing, absolute. Sometimes, it feels like home. Like everything.
I once heard that when you can't fall asleep it means you're awake in someone else's dream. I wonder which one of us was dreaming that night, because everything was too quiet, too easy, too perfect. You used to fall asleep next to me, your body curled against mine. It's a warmth that's not easy to forget. A hidden smile tucked into pillows and sheets. It's easy to think these things will last forever when you're tangled up together. For me, the strings of my life will always be tangled up in yours. Forever tied to you. No matter hard they attempt to fray. To fall apart. To sever.
It's snowing for the first time this year. Soft and gentle, glittering in the sunlight, falling in large flakes, easy and quiet – nothing at all like the storm that rages inside of me, turning up the corners of my heart, throwing shrapnel
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More