deviant art

Deviant Login
Buy ArtBuy T-Shirts & Gear Buy adCast Buy Premium Membership
Shop		  Join deviantART for FREE Take the Tour
[x]
flowerstoo long
i’ve held watch
over slovens in my chrysalis
rooting in my diaries,
in toilets
and in traffic.

i dream of razing their genitals.
if not for this ugly sycophant . . .

no,

if not for limestone
swept
into mud
how would i know
what instincts have been rewarded?

if i hadn’t made things
sacrosanct,
tree lines as noble architects,
a face, some godly panic

then i’d just see a headless corpse
some cat had torn
from shallow burrows
instead of this:

                          an Algernon

as still
and as holy
as
the flowers
that you left.
Stepping StonesI rip pages
out of poetry books,
the titles of
Shakespeare
and Plath
and Dickinson
littering the floor
like trash,
and I wonder
if we don't all
wind up stepping stones
in the end.
Power OuttageAn oil-spill sky.
Stars, heartbroken, mourn the moon,
switching their lights off.
Dust SettlingI need to be honest, darlin';
you haven't cleaned the dust
from the shelves of your heart
in too long.

I left fingerprints there,
once...
but the ridges I see now
don't belong to me.

So,
who is she?
Summer's LamentPregnant moon rises,
light falling like embers on
August's withered fields.
Phoenix SongsBreath like smoke on cold mornings,
we'd watch the sun peak over the mountains
and you'd whisper,
"Phoenix rises in the east,
beak filled with song and feathers burning,
the hope of adventure at the start of a new day."

Phoenix was a mystery  
to a twelve year old boy with big dreams;
in the hours that passed
from one dawn to the next,
I'd imagine a plume of red-orange-yellow-gold
and search the horizon
as if Phoenix would choose to enlighten me
on the ways of waking the world.

Twenty years, turtle slow,
and the only thing that changed was our routine;
we watched the day start
from opposite sides of the sea
but I always whispered your word
blue and gold are not just colorsshe had been blue-sighted
since
dawn cracked her forehead.
it was the dress she wore on his funeral
the color of her school flag
the shine in her father's eyes;
she waited in blue and gold.

no, she refused to set a bar
because
life didn't just come to her.
she earned her place
in her mother's womb
when each blood vessel questioned her
each nerve ending, if she could live
and each antibody, if she was worth it.

see, she doesn't need new dresses.
she has a memory
for each of hers in her locked closet.
she may not wear all of them
(and most she cringes at the sight of)
but her heart
jumps enough
every time bits of her old
Dry SwallowYou have a nasty habit
of touching me where it bleeds,
ragged fingertips catching
rubbed-raw skin.

There's no scab there;
that wound has never healed,
festering yellow and oozing pus—

and each morning breaks
another plastic seal,
white bottles and tiny blue pills
leaving the bitter taste of almost-tragic
on my tongue.

Swallow dry;
that stuck feeling passes,
replaced by lethargy
and the diluted memories
of a time you made me happy,
when each morning broke
under a red sunset, the sheets
strewn around us.

It's fantasy now,
but I still feel the weight of you
during quiet moments.
Damaged goods.Sometimes I tell them that
it's a birth defect,

that when they dragged
me from my mother's womb
they broke me,

that my mother left the hospital
with a cheque in hand to make up for
"the accident," of course.

Sometimes I tell them
that they said,
"she'll live,
but it'll hurt her."

Because I live and
it hurts me and I don't know
how else to say,

"I'm sad all the time
and I can't get out of bed some
days and I've considered that
not living might be
beneficial to my survival,"

and as they try to work
that out I'm heading for the door
with my head down and
my dignity scraping along on
the floor.
VineyardLike a grape,
I squeezed until you
popped;
trodden at heart,
I smeared you on my lips
before tossing your skin aside,
warpaint glistening—

Your tenderness
hooked me and I fought;
your sweetness
roughed my palms,
begged for vengeance,
made me callous—

Nice
is a word
I can't mold around my tongue,
but you drew the summer wine
from our union:

you the sugar,
I the alcohol—

This love-hate
isn't what they said it should be—
it won't sweeten with time;
the bite of vinegar
bitters everything.
Marionette's Grief--C.I remember the moon
in your dark pigeon eyes
as you clung to my wrist
like I was destined to fall.

Your fingers stung into my
flesh like steel coils, and I
pried them off one by one,
whispering, I don't love you.

I don't love you,
darling,
but sometimes I need you
like fish need air in their gills;
I'm a puppet on your strings
and you've tangled me.

Without you I'm breathing ice,
snakes freezing the soft layers
of my lungs with their scorching
touch; but pain isn't love

and there's no happy ending
trapped between these pages
like dried rose petals.

You're a villain
with a mask pulled over your heart
and I have an itch I
the glass jardancing with mary
was like keeping several
galaxies in a jar closed tight;
we took a peek for just
a moment and the image of
stars and nebulae were forever
imprinted on our retinas.
we liked to think
that if we turned off the lights
and looked inside we might find
meteors, fireflies, paper planes,
cranes, sheet music, teacups,
soggy books, broken hearts,
broken pianos, those fifty cents
i gave to that homeless man
last tuesday. we might find
a glimpse of our future, together
or not together. in love,
or not in love. we might be druggies,
or prostitutes, bus drivers, cancer
researchers, secretaries, teachers
(if i am a teacher i will corrupt
the minds of all children, i will
let them think with their hearts
and not their minds
and this will destroy them all)
Anatomy of SelfKeep still,
my bitter heart;
it's not bees in my veins
making that hiss,
but denial
and disappointment
and Type 1 Diabetes.

If heartache was sugar-coated,
I'd be in a coma.

I'm a glutton
for dramatic prose,
and keeping my mouth shut
about the things that matter
is second-nature now;
those letters to the man
who gave me half his genes
have gone unsent too long.

I want to ask him
why our relationship
is two-minute phone calls
and filler conversations.

I want to know
why I can't move him
like a daughter should,
but maybe the bees
that aren't really bees in my veins
are right:

Maybe he doesn't want
to see the poet
be
Jaded GoodbyesThe forest colors
me periwinkle, sunlight
catching in hurt eyes.
Star Swollen--C.The window, tinted with lost dreams,
fogs around my hand, palm print smears
blurring the constellations
into distant twinkle-lights.
Forget that the sky has bad days, too--
I take the stars for granted
when it comes to wishing for you.

Back, when dark days would come-
you were like the stars above,
desperate for my attention.
Silently you’d shine your light for me,
Even when I would refuse to see.
You’d shoot across the darkness,
stroking your splendorous beauty through the sky.
Still, I ignored your pleas,
your devotion went unnoticed.
Until now, now when wishing on a star is all I have left.

Trace a comet's tail
across Hercul
Browse More Like This
Download File
TXT, 832 bytes more ▶

More from =TwilightPoetess

Playboys--DFC 8Aggravation,
broken breaths,
and concrete soul mates.

Aggravation,
heavy and stagnant,
leaves me staring at my phone
longing for more than empty silences.

Broken breaths,
bitterness burning my throat
as seconds click into days
and darling,
if I start to forget
why I was fighting so hard,
will you promise not to hold it against me?

Concrete soul mates,
destined for the pliancy
of someone else's dreams,
arms forever stretching toward the unattainable.
History--DFC 7Heartbeats, galloping frantic,
hurt when twilight falls,
hide disappointed daydreams.
How come, when a story ends,
hope is left burning?
Here--feel the callouses on my veins.
Happiness isn't supposed to haunt me, is it?
Crossing Over--DFC 6The howling wind a haunting tune
as shadows flit across the moon.
Caught in the dark, a whispered croon:
I'll be there soon, I'll be there soon.

Two figures caught by dancing flames.
It's not my fault! I won't be blamed!
Stuck in the dark, I moan your name.
You know I came, you know I came.
Rugburns--DFC 4Saltwater serenade, you, crying coyote,
search for forgiveness.  Entrenched in lies, love falters. I,
bone-breathless, steal the stars from your pocket.
Keep the klutz out of our sordid, static love affair;
blame is a bitch and I won't hurt here.
Hyena howling, you chose to cheat, and I
won't waste time dreaming divorce. You need us both.

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

December 21, 2012
832 bytes
Link
Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 5
Favourites: 13 [who?]


Views: 91 (2 today)
Downloads: 1 (0 today)
[x]

Dry Swallow--C.

:icontwilightpoetess:

You have a nasty habit
of touching me where it bleeds,
ragged fingertips catching
rubbed-raw skin.

There's no scab there;
that wound has never healed,
festering yellow and oozing pus--

and each morning breaks
another plastic seal,
white bottles and tiny blue pills
leaving the bitter taste of almost-tragic
on my tongue.

Swallow dry;
that stuck feeling passes,
replaced by lethargy
and the diluted memories
of a time you made me happy,
when each morning broke
under a red sunset, the sheets
strewn around us.

It's fantasy now,
but I still feel the weight of you
during quiet moments.
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
love 1 1 joy 0 0 wow 0 0 mad 0 0 sad 0 0 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:iconthewitchofgrich:
Mood: Love ~theWitchofGrich Dec 25, 2012
lovely
Reply
:icontwilightpoetess:
=TwilightPoetess Dec 26, 2012
:heart:
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
~intricately-ordinary Dec 22, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
:iconexcitedlaplz: two of my favorite writers! I love how your styles complement each other :heart:
Reply
:icontwilightpoetess:
=TwilightPoetess Dec 22, 2012
Thank you, hon! We had a lot of fun with this. :heart:
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
*glossolalias Dec 21, 2012
:heart:
Reply
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
©2013 deviantART. All rights reserved
About Us | Contact Us | Developers | Careers | Site Tour | Help & FAQ Advertise | Premium Membership Etiquette | Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Copyright Policy