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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
because any space
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
i don't think i can ever tell you
i love you enough.
if i could, i would never get dressed
so that you could never be sad-
a rewind every time
my clothes touch the floor,
never anything but nude, not naked
because with you i can be bare
i can let you see my entirety
and leave my arms uncrossed,
i can let you in
and not fear that you will break me,
or force my inner things out.
i can love you with open arms
and my lip
the best way to remember somethingi cry
every time you write me a letter-
in all my damaged glory,
still loved across miles of river and fields.
you are unyielding and unforgetting,
finding the words we never had
there are many moonlit stories
to recount and to expound upon in
i've got a burn on the toe of my shoe
from getting too near the fire with you-
the bruises on your skin
lasted for days;
the headband your sister gave me
and the way i cried
when it broke;
climbing up stairs, skewed like piano keys
in the winter air,
and entering your house, where you told me
to tug on my sleeve
because my battle wounds were exposed;
your dog curling up on your bed
to keep me company,
the way i was welcomed in your house,
getting drunk on vodka on new year's,
the first time you made me cum,
finding ourselves at a party
on the porch where we met-
i am amazed, astounded, awed.
you can love me even though my ear piercings are crooked,
a broken smile on my teeth
for every time you ran away, afraid;
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.
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 your earthly vessel and called it home.
i staggered home drunk every weekend we were together
by word only.
and i felt myself falling apart when i sighed
with sleepy repetition as we exhausted the same jokes as ever,
just a million miles different.
my mind drifted but i loved you.
the feathered finches in my chest were beat
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.
playing godi am the last paramedic you want to respond to your call.
by no means am i inept at my job- i am, in fact, the best in my precinct. my problem is sometimes i think i'm god.
the people who are drains on society - the welfare collectors, the addicts, the elderly, the people who wronged me in high school or remind me of the people who wronged me in high school; the people who cost me taxes? oops, i made a mistake. i'm sorry, mrs. doe, but john didn't make it. our team failed to correctly assess and promptly address his condition. our condolences.
i have let hundreds die on my watch. just seen the spasms stop, the light leave their eyes. i have saved hundreds as well. i am god and i choose who is repentant and righteous and allowed to carry one; i choose who is to be condemned to an eternity of hellfire and brimstone.
tell me- does this make me a bad person?
lovedrunkshe looks at me, all big doe eyes and cupid-bow lips, tells me, now i'm not trying to say i'm about to kill myself, but i'm about to kill myself.
the traffic light is glass. not that it's reflective, not that it's bright, but that it's so slow, a liquid, moving like a year. it's also what my blood has become with these words.
we're in my car but i'm scared. i know i'm the one behind the wheel, but i don't know what she's got in her purse. i don't know her name but i do know she's drunk. so am i. i know we shouldn't be driving but i couldn't leave such sad eyes at a bar. i guess, if i'm being entirely honest, i also couldn't leave such a beautiful body at a bar, either. especially if some guy with worse intentions than i couldn't pass her up.
talk to me, i say. i don't glance up from the road because i'm scared of what i'll see, and what i won't.
you're not my fucking therapist, she tells me. i know she's wearing red lipstick and i imagine it turns to venom with those words.
christmas is not only in decemberyou sleep through so much sun
that it is the moon
who rises for you.
born in the russian springtime
with cyrillic letters on your tongue,
you are endless.
you are a ring,
curved to infinity
your hands belong in mine,
or else on my hips.
curve me into the shape
of an s,
narrow me in the centre
to give room to your arms-
they belong around me.
you are a gift;
when i fall asleep
on the opposite edge of the bed from you
and wake curled to your chest,
it is christmas every time.
go to sleep for the love of godi kind of feel like ripping my face off.
it's not one of those sad, suicidal stories. i mean, if i believed in suicide in the way that means i could do it, then yeah, it would be. but i don't, and i guess you're kind of lucky for that because now you can go to sleep with a clear conscience.
i won't ever tell you about how many pages and books and scraps of paper and unsent text messages and notes on the backs of my hands i've written for you, or how inarticulate you were when you wanted to say how you felt. i won't ever tell you how i wished for a few words that could tell me that i was loved, even a little, and i sure as fuck won't ever say that when you managed to pull a few words together for some girl you haven't even touched, well, i won't ever say that all i feel like doing now is unravelling the skin on my arms, down to the bones, and watch as rivers of red fall out of me like stars.
maybe i'd be beautiful enough for you then. i
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
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 bursting with fire
instead of hurting, i heal,
and i'm still bright enough
to be burning like god speaks.
i myself speak too loud.
it's what happens at night when i let you love me
and my body writhes with glee
over something it has never known.
i'm afraid to wake the neighbours, or the sisters i'm loving as my own.
when i'm embarrassed by myself,
i won't ask you to hold
InfatuatedI am infatuated with a boy
because his smile is too big for his face
and it feels like the only thing that’s real,
because his eye color is cerulean
and that’s been my favorite crayon
ever since my grandmother
bought me that set of sixty four,
because he’s so damn beautiful
even though boys aren’t meant to be,
because his hands are big enough
to hold the whole world
and he doesn’t even know
what he wants in them yet.
I wish I could find the courage to crack
my rib cage open for him
and point out all of the ways
that he managed to sneak into my heart
so nothing is misunderstood
or misinterpreted anymore,
but I can’t even speak to him
because my tongue ties itself
into pretty ribbon bows
because he is a gorgeous jigsaw
and I don’t understand him at all,
even after a million glances.
So I’m dissecting every word he says,
every glance in my direction,
and every casual brush of skin
to try and find subliminal messages
even if there aren’
swell.YOU SPENT THREE MONTHS ON MY COUCH
AND I PERMANENTLY HAD A BUCKET FOR YOU
TO PURGE YOUR INSIDES INTO AT AN UNGODLY HOUR.
BUT YOUR VOMITING MEANT YOU WERE STILL
AND I'D RATHER CLEAN UP YOUR BODY'S REJECTION
THAN YOUR REJECTED LIFE.
gorgeous.we are all birds
in high swinging cages.
i feel the fear quivering in the bones
of your hand.
if i could
this car crash would be my last
i could curve into the windshield
i am a heap
laying by the four-way.
seventeen eyes turn to the left.
airskinny boy kissed me
kis,ses l,ik,e c,ommas , ,
breaking the waves of my own selfish sadness
o god skinny boy (willow man)
if I am worth something let me know. reasons 1,,2,3, , (4,5,6)
fingers curling over the top knob of
My spine (your spine is tall and proud
skinny love blue-eyed boy godless heathen /while You have no god I find mine in my own blood wide grin kid who is
, ,,, , , , ,,,,,,,,, , , ,,,,, ,,,,,,,
ForeclosureIt’s cold, but not cold enough to feel like February. I’d forgotten how quiet it gets here. I’d forgotten how tucked away this house really was - plopped and precarious on a hill in the middle of suburbia, surrounded by rows and rows of town homes and nearly identical houses. The house across the street is actually a mirror image (I remember going inside when I was a child, to play with a long-lost-and-forgotten friend), except it’s painted pale peach instead of peeling periwinkle.
Not periwinkle, really. Cerulean? No. Blue. Just blue.
“I don’t really like this feeling I’m getting from this place.” she says.
“It’s haunted,” I reply. I cross the sloping lawn, which was always impossible to water.
You could stick the sprinkler on it for hours and have nothing to show for it. The top of the hill would be yellow and the bottom would be muddy and the Homeowner’s Association would still badger for green.
I know Dad just
on the afterlifethere was a heaven, once,
and it was made of grass and
the ground that crawled under it
opened up wider than your mouth and
i saw mountains: i saw
beauty, it was a rough
inverted fountain. i saw
Jesus. he said 'death
is The Promise, and The Promise
never leaves us.' i saw
diamonds, and i saw coals
too it just took a while
to find them. i saw
lucifer. he was sewing
me a nightgown made of
soft liquor slurs. i saw
my brain. it told me
'thanks for the x, not
so much the cocaine.' i saw
my skin strung out to dry
after a long summer rain. i saw
my bones become the frame
of a house beside a lake. i saw
my tongue cradle babies and
tell them, 'the sleep is worth
the wake.' i saw a mirror made
of big blue tears. it said,
'the shit was worth the wait.'
holding.you are lovely. even when you're not
which is most of the time.
you don't speak often.
and yet, i hold on like a
suicide jumper hanging on for a saviour
for a sign that maybe things don't have to end like this.
give me a reason not to jump.
you speak softly, rarely
and i swear, i still wear yellow to catch your attention,
i still put a traffic cone on my head
in hopes that you'll divert, stop, take notice of the road.
please don't swerve me aside.
if you could open me up like you open their legs
if you could open your eyes to me
i promise, i could be more.
i could be more than this girl who is standing in front of you
pretending that she wants nothing more than to be your friend
pretending that she wants nothing more than to laugh with you
when really, all she wants is to make you smile.
all i want is to make you smile
and when we are listening to the beatles and smoking ourselves into other worlds, i am holding my tongue, holding my breath,
things i cannot doi cannot sleep
and most certainly stay asleep-
with the black edged creatures
trembling at the corners
to trap me in tendrils of nightmare,
i shift too emptily for peace.
i cannot brave an appointment
i need hands to hold
this broken ship
caught in the waves with no crests.
i forget about the things i love,
but things i hate include
how i am haunted everyday
how i cannot seem
to call him by name
or directly address him-
there is no "you"
in my words,
only fear and flashbacks.
i cannot leave an unfinished crossword out of my thoughts
just like a relationship that had tapered off;
i cannot let go of things that have melted into my grip;
i cannot break a heart
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More