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For the love of birdsThree little birds pitch on my doorstep.
I keep them in a jar
because
nothing I have is truly mine.

I am only the lonely,
waiting for it to come back to me.
Confession in Five Parts1.21.13

i.
my mother asked me, "don't
you love yourself in the winter?"
i said, "no, not really," but
i really meant to say
"hardly at all."

ii.
i am disconnected,
double jointed,
arm out of socket,
breath out of lungs.

i know a cold that you don't.
it reaches deep down into my
bones and whispers, "quiver",
with such authority that even
the muscles in my chest comply.

iv.
please, don't teach me your name
if you are going to leave.

you are the one person
i couldn't handle losing
because everybody leaves
but you.

v.
i want to learn to breathe
like i used to, i want to
feel warm air in my lungs,
not catastrophes
Midwestern Roadmapsi.

wine-fed confessions
are what brought us together;
with a stir of paint chips and skin,
we made clumsy love on the concrete
of a condemned factory,
moving in the shadows of machinery
that loomed like winter trees
or judgmental Gods
who still stopped to smell the alcohol
in our pores.

ii.

"will you pass me a cigarette
and along with that sign your lust
on the paper that will gray in a flicker,
bitter acrid and addictive
like the first high of tobacco—
a euphoric quiver
that lasted only a minute,
gone when you inhaled your second
seeking the same."

iii.

indiana is the land of crossroads,
where the wind blows
to find a better des
Birthday celebrations.Twenty-three cigarettes
at midnight in honour of
the years you might have
lived,

but chose not to.
Virgin QuietDear Vivian,
the unblooded angel who
weeps for me in my dreams -

why don't you make a sound?

shuddering in the corner,
conspicuous convulsions bring you closer
to me than anyone's dared  -

why won't you breathe? is it so
hard to take in life that your
paper lungs are tearing?

where do you go? hiding between
the promises of salvation:

you are among the skeletons in
my closet where no one ever
lives; don't you know, oh
don't you know that morality
will make you a ghost?

they've draped you on a hanger;
your skin is an accomplishment,
bleached and rough and
unmarked by wanting hands.
your bones are gnawed, oh, look
at
Shooting the moonhe will have cause to regret
confession,
because
there will always be rivers,

the black sea
nebulous
with disease;

astronomer's insomnia
  (a sea-fire
constellation)
and midnight
necromancy
  (stargazing
the underside of bones...)
The Pied Piper of Zolpidem.I've got a hole in my
middle where I've torn at my own
insecurities, looking
for a way out of this skin.

I feel like I'm splitting
down the middle and tearing at
the seams, like I'm too small
to keep the nightmares
at bay               (away, away).

And my blood's whistling
a tune I've heard too many times
before, the pied piper
of zolpidem twisting through
my veins.

Headlights on the hillside,
don't leave me this way.
Together.At night my thoughts wander,
and they used to travel miles and miles
to find you sleeping in your
own bed.

(Where you were missing me
as I was missing you.)

Now they whisper across
the pillow we share most nights
and your hair collects them
carefully,

eggshell hopes for
always.
Hands don't have to hurt, you know.There have been hands
in my bed at night again,

only I let them in
this time.
A time before sunriseOut here on my own,
this crushing weight,
lifted,
for a moment.

The burden of a secret
at 4 am,
like a ten minute dream
six feet underwater.

And from our window,
900 million years later,
the last seconds of light
conjure storms
at the end of time
where secrets are told.
We loved in increments.Whisper-wisp,
we loved in falling leaves
and sunburnt skin,
Autumn rain and
the flooded river
bank that broke
your heart;

we loved
in increments
and then lost it
to the wind.
PaginationI perused the pages of your spine,
like a desperate and dying woman
would cling to the collar of the last man
to walk past and say
"I'm going and I'm okay with this."
Turn around.
And hold me around the hips
so when I fall apart,
the last part of me to go would be where
you spent the better of your time
with me.
Cruelest love.Honey,
sometimes love means
sticking your fingers
down their throat
just to keep them alive
long enough to tell them
they're an idiot.

And sometimes love
means waking up in a hospital
bed and wishing you'd turned
left instead of right that
day.
Haunted.The nightmares are back
and they end with your face;

always asking why I didn't follow
when you left.
beaut(if)ulYou exist in the
space where beautiful is a
question unanswered.
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More from =TwilightPoetess

Riding the waves of your finicky heart.Last night, her name broke like the tide across your lips. Do you want truth
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Bring me an atlas, darling; I'll mark all the places I want you to take me in our dreams. There are a thousand things I want to tell you--how much I love watching the sun set your hair aflame, how cute the dimple peeking from the right side of your face is--but I think I'll let my wandering fingers tell you instead. And it's too soon, sleep overtaking me like I'm drowni

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Breaking Burdens

:icontwilightpoetess:

The unspoken rules of society:
when your hands can mimic birds
at 4 am,
tell me your stories
and defy the sky.

It only lasts a little while.
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:iconriseandbe:
*RiseandBe Mar 9, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Gorgeous! Favorite so far.
Reply
:icontwilightpoetess:
=TwilightPoetess Mar 10, 2013
Thank you! :heart:
Reply
:iconriseandbe:
*RiseandBe Mar 10, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
My pleasure!
Reply
:iconkneeling-glory:
`Kneeling-Glory Feb 19, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
:lmao: I used "at 4am" in my poem as well. Damn! I was trying so hard not to duplicate, too.
Reply
:icontwilightpoetess:
=TwilightPoetess Feb 19, 2013
Bahahahaha! >.> You will have to try harder, then!
Reply
:iconvespera:
`vespera Feb 18, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Such a fun project! :D
Reply
:icontwilightpoetess:
=TwilightPoetess Feb 18, 2013
Agreed! And SO addictive. >.>
Reply
:icontubefed:
~tubefed Feb 15, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
:D Ah~ I see mine~ Thank you for including it in this wonderful work. ^^
Reply
:icontwilightpoetess:
=TwilightPoetess Feb 15, 2013
You're welcome!
Reply
:iconvalkvick:
~valkvick Feb 15, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
This puts such a magical, enchanting picture in my head.
Reply
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