[x]

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

preemptive breakup poemif anyone ever tells you your sadness isn't physical,
show them the ache in your bones,
the raw skin on your arms or wrists or hips or thighs,
the imprint of your foetal body on your mattress from the days you couldn't bear to leave.

and you see this?
this is what hurt looks like.
i want you to look closer, lean in a little until you can feel the sadness on my breath
and i want you to watch my eyes. count how often they blink and count how many of them are forcing back words i still can never say.
i don't want you to miss a second of how you make me feel.

i want to be what keeps you up at night
i want to be the reason you can't eat

wasting usi want you, ok
i want you to be on your knees
all scraped and red and raw
like you're a child again
because that's all you ever
were
i want you to be aching
the way i've been aching
since the last rays of summer
said goodbye to us,
goodbye to us
and i want you to never forget
that just because
you don't remember my birthday,
that doesn't mean
you'll ever,
ever
forget the feel of my skin
on yours
for the first time
and that someday
this memory will stop hurting.
it never will,
and i promise you this:
every time it crosses your mind-
while you wait at the bus stop,
during a chemistry exam,
the next time a girl touche

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

sleeping dogslet sleeping dogs lie-
do not reach out &
touch his dreaming face,
do not lean close to kiss
his shuttered eyelids;

wait for him to wake &
let time pass
until it is time to love him.

let him rest his weary head
on the arms he wears at home,
cold boston winds
telling him when the
next train comes;
& when he must sleep
in a rusting missouri,
wish him the sweetest dreams.

let sleeping dogs lie
& drift between sleep & awake,
missouri & boston & virginia.
let him sleep unencumbered
& be there endlessly
until it is time to love him.

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

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

life without youi watched you,
bone-handled
battered and floral
suitcase in hand,
as your knotted tree-branch fingers
grip the doorhandle.

i watched you
disappear
before the door swung
shut.
i saw your thin skin
slip between pavement
and cracks in the concrete
city walls.
your keys sunk through
the hole in your pocket
and are sitting at the
side of the sink,
your lunch in the bowels
of the toilet.

i watched your mouth
of broken teeth
spit vitriol soundlessly,
your tendons splitting
from your frame,
you have unravelled into nothing,
i watched you
pack your things and
i smiled.

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

sandstormthere 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

emotion, embodiedthere are things
living in me
that bring the floor
to my knees-
powers like concrete
and steel,
fierce infrastructure
of my bones
filled with something
like fire,
or smoke.

i have been
holding my breath
for so long
that i am scared
to let my body
breathe,
or give vessels,
these things
living in me,
the means to
become something
when i
myself
can't.

i pray to god,
a being unseen,
that i will
kill off these things
living inside me;
instead,
all i manage
to do
is kill off
myself.

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

romanticism is such bullshiti don't understand a bit
what's so romantic
about missing-you and distance,
love stressed and strained like string
across miles of roping rivers;

it's ugly and sad
and there is no cure
because i will not wait by the letterbox
praying daily on my knees to a god i know i believe in but i'm not sure you do
to hear word from you-
that you're well;
that you're happy;
that you're eating and sleeping and feeling alive;

that's what i want, you know-
i want your vitality to blaze like the great chicago fire,
i want to see your scrawl emboldened with each word
i want to see you concretely on your feet
and certain of where you are going
without a ser

it's an analogy for you.your sweatshirt became ghost to me.

if my body could talkit's probably not a good thing
when what you want to say
to your ex boyfriend
is the same
as what your body
wants to say to you:

i don't know why
i still insist on you
when you want
nothing to do with
me;

you don't care for me
the way you did
before;

i wish everyday
that things
would change;

you are ruining me;

i don't know how to
deal with what you're
putting me through;

why can't you love me;

everything you do
hurts me
and i know it shouldn't
matter
but everything that matters
shouldn't, i guess.

what i think i mean
is i need you
to give me my soul back-
i am killing this flesh
without it.

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 1.4 KB more ▶

More from *ohsostarryeyed

sewer rati am a sewer
full of stench and rot
and human waste
(i am a waste of a human)
filled with rats
because only these
diseased contagion monsters
could pretend i'm worth something more
than just a receptacle
like maybe i can converse
like maybe i'm a good listener
like maybe i'm more than just a body
and i have a mind
and someone could maybe love this
diseased vessel
for more than it's worth
so i don't have to turn myself
inside out
so that my bones show to the eyes
of passersby
who see the damage
but do nothing
because it's so
ugly
and not
worth
their
time

across, a crossi like the things that go unspoken
between you and me,
like the night we spent on the beach
lying cramped on a shitty, five-dollar walgreens towel
with another frayed over us,
and hearing the string
of intoxicated teenagers walk by and say,
look
they're watching the stars at night.

and no matter how much that girl,
clearly filled to her brim
with vodka as she tripped along the sand,
lacked eloquence,
she spoke something more beautiful
than a van gogh painting.

we were romance, we were god,
and i know i must believe in god
because of the feeling building in my bones
when i see those "jesus saves" signs,
black with white let

personificationi am a whisper no one else can hear.
yes, your butt looks huge,
yes, he will leave you
if you tell him how you really feel,
and no, you are never enough.

just because only you can hear me,
it doesn't mean i am any less real.
i will tint everything you see
like a pair of cheap sunglasses
with one lens opaque
so that you cannot see anything clearly
and your perception is skewed.

i am in the pilot's seat
and you will be mine
the second you let your guard down.

your heartstrings will connect my piano strings
as i hammer them down and knot with pain;
i will break you to your knees
and hit them to the pavement
like a child in the

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

worcester union stationthe train takes me from you
at a white marble station,
too clean for the city,
too cold for the warmth
you left with me

crocus blue
blooms on your skin
i am sorry
but treasure my scrapes
and bruises,
it is still like having you
with me
instead of miles west
til we can become knots
in the ropes of each other's
bodies, a hopelessly hopeful
entanglement of more
than just skin

this is something
i fear with open arms
and will it closer
to my heart;
an emotion becoming
a corporeal entity
and something
i forgot like flowers
would come again

the beauty of sharing space
with another
is how unlonely it is;
i like to have

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: January 8
File Size: 1.4 KB

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 11
Favourites: 56 [who?]
Views: 583 (0 today)
Downloads: 6 (0 today)

[x]

you are

by *ohsostarryeyed, Jan 8, 2013, 7:59:22 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

i 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 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 my hand
but i hope you will anyway.

i want your skin on mine
and my apologies to stain
and my mirror to tell me,
a lie until one day,
i'm as perfect as you.

you areby *ohsostarryeyed

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

©2013 *ohsostarryeyed

an angel

-

the boy and i are back together

-

i was called an angel today by the wrong person. i want to cry

~~love 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

!justawhore May 10, 2013 New member

it is time. I am done with your bullshit. Say goodbye. Eviscerate. burn nipples off, clit, eyelids. nothing to lose. nobody desreves it more than you. you will be mine till I am done. I have to go on a trip. But you will be joining me soon.
Maybe pack a light bag

Reply

~BMWYSP Feb 26, 2013 Professional Writer

_{"i want a city ruined
every time you love me."

and that right there, is a sonic boom in the heart.}

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Feb 28, 2013

i like this comment

Reply

~BMWYSP Feb 28, 2013 Professional Writer

WHOO!

Reply

Mood: Cheerful

~Highel Jan 14, 2013

it's great when you write encouraging things like that, μέλισσα )))

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Jan 28, 2013

<3

Reply

~allforhim2 Jan 9, 2013

This is, by far, one of my favorite pieces of yours. It's honest, powerful, and desperate.

Reply

*ohsostarryeyed Jan 28, 2013

very glad to hear it, natalie!

Reply

~allforhim2 Jan 28, 2013

you're incredibly talented. i always look forward to reading your work!

Reply

~Saidye Jan 8, 2013 Student General Artist

This is beautiful, as always!
I wish you luck. <3

Reply

Previous
Next