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Our Eyes Closed
I may be simply a faraway star,
I may be faint even at night
but no matter what, I'm always watching over you
You may not even see me,
you may not even touch,
I may blink away from sight
but we'll never be apart
Glitter in the distance
my love, my star
we can smile secretly
a place only we know,
our path on the way home
following with our eyes closed
Brittle TreesWe sleep our silent daydreams
and dream our dreams dismayed
We lie upon the doorsteps
of tomorrow and today
Our hands are brittle saplings
that reach out toward the sky
We know the sun is closer
despite not knowing why
We hold out; roots are steady
we bend out with the breeze
Take the strongest showers
and hold back tired sneeze
The weather is much colder,
we know we cant deny
Our trunks feel so much older
but still were gonna try
Tomorrow and the next day
we grow, and far apart
Our leaves are different colors;
they have been from the start
The winters hardly over
and theres much we need to learn
But with your sunlight daydreams
my heart quivers and churns:
Sprout me birds wings,
sprout my hopes and dreams
Nestled in your branches
warm safe and clean
Shelter me in your safety,
the shadow of your leaves
I may be just a visitor
who remains in your dreams
But soon youll come to get me
and my nest, it stays here
and until now and forever
Mrs. TangerineMrs. Tangerine
every day for breakfast
is quite a fiend
when it comes to fancy dresses
so little she confesses
does not mean
to seem a bit aggressive
Puppet RomanceUnseam me,
strip me of
this and tease me
and pink-rimmed smiles
Pure as lakes,
deep singing eyes
I'll fall into your hands
I'll be your puppet
pull me forwads,
pull me close
I'll keep you warm
I'll be your clothes
Your doll to dress,
your toy to play,
I'll have your way
Tie me up
in these strings
fluff my ribbons,
draw my wings
Powder my face,
paint my lips
meet my eyes,
sneak a kiss
I'll be your puppet
His NightmaresYour dreams are your screams
in which I stand, remaining
till we're torn apart
in midst of our flames
asking, who's to blame
or my betrayal
how sure it was to fail
My eyes sweet with hate
my hands turn to snakes
my smile is no longer true
In your dreams, I'm only who
you see me as becoming;
beautiful, painful, stunning
Your eyes are glazed with endless fear
I've only come to disappear
something you've seen
as only passing
beyond the sunrise
Till Death Do Us Part
A ring on my finger
a cloud in my hands
a smile on my face
who could understand?
My life is rendered, melted down to joy
my pain obsolete, tears now dry
Your ring, my hand..
My life, my heart,
my future, I part
to him still a boy
With these rings
I beg for your smile
for every sorrow to be mine
to hold and sweep
into my arms,
and for every tear you've shed,
I promise to make you smile..
For each day to take you awake
to reluctantly let you on your way
with slipped heart kiss
and to sing you to sleep,
with this voice, your lullaby
and hold you as we dream..
My eyes are yours to swim
my mouth, your sanctuary
from any hurt, dare it may..
I'll fight back your shadows,
I'll cuss out the past
My eyes soft knives
my words administering
to make right of wrong
to what you believed
was your poison to take..
I pray to coax out the smiles
if not, take mine, wide for us both
And I swear I heard your eyes laugh
from the corner of my mouth..
And what words but..
"I love you..." and "I do.."
Stay, Says the DistantI have a lover and he feels two seas away,
only reached in my mind
And my only justification is I know he'll always stay,
and he keeps me alive
Reaching furthest distance,
pushed by land and wind resistance
And maybe you'd tell by my eyes,
maybe you'd see by my smile...
I don't want to be here, but can't you stay a while?
Spent my Sundays dancing as the seasons drift away
Three years, arms wrapped around the non-existance I told to stay
Slipped between, every kink and groove matching.. to fit 'love everlasting'
Swerve to song I'd only sing, and words that always sting
Rapturing and reverberating in a fragile mind
built of hopes and favors, avoiding words, my traitors
tongue-tied and trapped inside my mouth,
as it escapes my head...
And maybe you'd tell by my eyes, maybe you'd see by my smile,
I don't want to be here,
but can't you stay a while?
In My ArmsFallen behind
what once was mine
Smile, bittersweet memory
Keeping within, I've tried to pretend
it was once a sweet melody
Behind my eyes
are roses and storms
are sticks and stones
I've kept you soft embraced
through every thorn
And as it tears through
I'll keep you still in my arms
I'll keep you still in my arms...
I know I'm not right,
when you say you're all wrong
I know that we'll fight,
from all that we've done
But behind the light,
I can see through your eyes
Wounded animal, wings that can't fly
And I'll keep you forever,
still in my arms
Whether the thorns tear right through me
and scar up and down
I'll keep you still in my arms
I'll keep you still in my arms...
Yearning of a Worn FormAt the moment I wish for something to reach out and take hold of my heart
wash out the tears and fill me deep like water inhaled
to soak into skin and bathe me in its bittersweet depression.. of inspiration
To wrap my lightly blood tipped fingers in soothing hands
saying, cooing, quietly and mothering softly, 'brood no more..'
'self-inflict no longer, because I am here beside you.. rest your nervous hands,'
To soften my eyes with naught but darkness, warmed by pale hands, instead of tears
I raise hands to the mess I've created, so brave but so cowardly,
all only in hopes to divide myself from who is 'them'... of such criticizing whispers and stretched smiles
In prayer to a god that cannot hear, please, not like them
dividing myself, parting the wave of eyes, shield of silence and emotionless stare
as their stones chip the paint of my quickly presented mask, that cannot cry
Tears pool in every corner, and glint between, but who could see..
No one has ever looked that far, never so close
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
diaryi thinned recall,
strangled memory until she screamed black
or blue, strung her source of voice along
the willowed incline of vein to wrist and down
let the curl thirstily imply
just how cut it is to pain in numbers:
one scar for extravagant wine dates, three
for the number of times we fucked crying,
eight for forgotten promises of ever after
i heard a sordid song in your tallied matchstick
bones, victorian in beauty & proper repression
of the bloody details like a bruise we push beneath
our hollow skin with dirty fingernails
see, the past is not a headless infant with knives for
playful fingers, though it is not to say
that cribs or birdcages hold anything more than
what we leave them to engulf
i swallowed you whole, ocean— basked by the enchantments
of soft-spoken life, bathed by neurotic erosion.
they taught me that the cleansing of your body now
fades the transient you of yesteryear, speak in familiar tongue:
bathroom stall mirages of rounds, clocks, convey
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
Makers Of The Cage. Holders Of The Key.Our eyes are the closest thing we have to freedom.
We see endless blue sky, and the stars beyond.
We see the beauty of the world.
We see our reflection in the mirror;
the reality, and the fantasy.
Our eyes see far and great.
But the rest of us cannot follow.
Our hands probe the steel bars around us.
Fumbling in the dark.
Cut by the sharp edges.
The bleeding never stops.
Our feet shuffle around.
Trying to go places.
But we walk in circles.
Our emotions go from red to blue;
orange to green;
yellow to purple,
mixing in a haze.
Our mind goes to dark places,
and only wanders deeper.
Oblivious to the place right next door.
It knows the freedom,
it knows the pit.
There are endless paths to take.
There's a cage we need to break.
There is a key ourselves create.
In our hands, it's never too late.
a cherry pit dog heart.she holds a cherry pit dog heart in her hand, arrhythmic
beats like children playing pots and pans in kitchens
mother builds from scratch, black bean soup prepared
for dinner by a creased artist; wisps of white
upon a grandfather's head remind his daughter's child
of winter as he talks of horses in cuba who scratch
their backs on wooden posts; the first time she eats
ox tail is at an uncle's funeral, sitting in the basement,
surrounded by her surname, wondering why everyone
seems so happy; her grandmother keeps having
that dream where she's cooking and pours hot oil
on the animal in the kitchen, singeing his skin—
she cries out at midnight, sobbing for her daughter;
black eyes watch as her child keeps growing,
inspecting her process for future improvements,
while she takes pride in getting her sleeve caught
on twigs as she runs through the forest; motherhood
enters her every so often, at times uninvited, but
never for her prince in white, the bundle curled up
on her bed, floating
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
Just Before Class - RushSitting here,
I'm in a rush
to finish now
without a fuss
as this homework
was not remembered
Told right now,
by sitting friend
that there is something
at the end
that had slipped my mind...
Memory left behind
Now I sit
and now I wait
for the sound of feet
we can't escape
Class soon begins---
Here she comes
with coffee in hand
and click clack shuns
of escaping now
Here she comes,
to the waiting crowd
of students by her door
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More