[x]

RepossessionYour words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding on
the raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.

My ribs cracked from the blow.

But, I think sometimes
of how these were the ribs
that should have chased you away from me,
quietly wondering how you managed to
slither past this cage of bone and flesh
to engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.

You were sweat & spice & scars-

Your eyes,
a thunderstorm of black and blue sex
jarring and devouring my insides,
shaped a faithless religion
through the cracks & broken shards
of my hollowed out womb.

(I want my insides back.)

Stephanie -Collab(I wrote us in free verse over every inch

               of your tattered surface ).

you were the beatific grin

of a kindergartener high off oxygen,

mouth stretched wide as the entrance to hell,

black tongue bleeding virtuous sin like ichor.

(You taught me praying was for the weak

      as I fell for your gypsum nails,

               white teeth scrabbling over my chalkboard frame).

A Gods DebtSutured together by artists,

devoured blasphemy-

hallowed out, & spit back up,

( you are afraid. )

Hooks longing for her ribcage embrace;

god-hands that can't seem to keep to themselves

grapple the gargoyle exterior of her deflowered frame.

( spread your legs. )

Red-inked and trembling,

prosetry masked as screams

knots into her anatomy.

Collection of poetic nothings.We were opal Tuesdays,
mosaic butterflies
tattooed into the
rose garden curve
of my vertebrae,

gliding me through this wild youth.

But, like Icarus—
I was a sky conqueror
& these silk wings

touched the sun.

-

My inhalations are heavy,
like the earth he bruises
beneath his fingertips
as I chase silence.

"You've got a tongue
made for words." He says
against the arrogant thorns
of my briar spine.

"Learn to love yourself."

-

How do I say I love you
without saying I love you?

"I want to replace my heart with you."

-

You are spider silk woven
into my harvest moon
heartstrings, spider
limbs traveling this road map
of s

NecromancyShe replaces her wrists
with the sharp thorns
of roses and slurred
don't-touch-me's

-

as she speaks
in an old tongued
language that whispers

de

cipher

me.

-

She collects stars
on her knuckles,
& her dust eyes
are sad moon nebulas
starved for love.

-

But, the kisses
she sinks into the curve
of her lover's ribcage
by night, warm that
supernova heart.

Lonely Gods"I wish my body to be a staircase

to heaven." She said, "A conduit

of lonely Gods."—Swaying

pendulum hips, she, she

was made of stardust.- Scars sleeping

above a city of sweet bones, stirring

like sun-stricken scorpions during

hollow painkiller nights,

mistaking her redred burns

for Apollos kisses.

"Sadly, this body has whispered away
the last of my secrets."

WillowYour confessional arms are Willow trees,

draping lonely limbs around an empty ink-jar heart.

Scars worn down like henna tattoos.

A night witch scrawling her incantations on blue moons,

rolling her letters into sentences like a curse.

But, it is in these coffee eyes you have found a home.

Scorpion"Show me your bones."

the atlas of her thighs quaked
as she misplaced her skin
in the backseat of his car.

"I'm a scorpion, you know-"

a messy promise
folded napkin-neat.

"Prove it."

& she smirked,
sure of her limbs,
her scars, & her teeth.

"I dare you to stake claim to this clavicle."

Mabonthere are dead leaves
sprouting from her amber spine,
reaching with child-fingers
to devour the sun.

her skin is freezing,
seeping winter through
november pores.

seeking warmth,
the whiskey tongues
of godless boys
wish to decipher
the atlas of her thighs.

counting the sleepy fireflies
alight in her lungs- there is
wanderlust churning & warming
her frostbitten heartstrings.

swinging pendulum hips,

"I am the tease of autumn flames.
I breathe in mint sunsets,
& gasoline dreams."

GravityAutumn wanted to learn
how to

fall.

So, the galaxy of dead trees
coiling in your lungs
devoured her spine.

Your gifts,
a lifeline wrapped around
her neck like a noose;

an orange and red
assisted suicide.

& you said "God bless your
heart." like some divine
higher power could forgive
her for loving you.

Her eyes scream fill in the _____.They said
she has starving
little poet fingers,

& lungs-

filled with
the heroic hearts
of nameless protagonists.

But, she cries

tears of Saturn
on too-little-sleep nights,
& coffee ringed mornings.

They call her vanilla.

Innocence,
much too ripe to fall
with freckles on her
wander(lust)
shoulder-blades
singing connect-the-dot

blues.

Post MortemI am a walking, talking universe of dead poets
who tattoo their stanzas into my flesh
with ghostly, typewriter fingers.

I live and breathe their worldly disasters
like a nicotine addiction I've never had.

Drowning in their scribbles
I kiss their shoreline romances,
envy their Annabel Lee's,
& carry their hearts in my heart.

I am 7am coffee on Sunday mornings:
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen.

I am jealousy:
nothing more than weak words,
& a tongue-tied cliche-

but death becomes me.

Never trust ladies with scythes for smiles.i.
    these god-hands are barbwire's,
    snagging & scarring everything
    they touch.

ii.
    black tongue bleeding sweet ichor
    along the guarded walls
    of skeletal frames.

iii.
    'i want to taste heaven.
    it rests there,
    just beneath your bones.'

iv.
    he is a god dog
    made of scythes & scalpels,
    sewn together with weak thread.

v.
    and she is

BloodI've got a filthy mouth,
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.

21 years
silent

& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth.

I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away

& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere.

But, my veins bleed sweet ichor,

& words are only words, Mother.

ConstellationShe is dream dust,
too bitter or wise
for her own good.

A timeless dragon's soul
somewhere inside a
scaled shell, burning
the silence in her bones
alive, honeysuckle sweet.

She collects fireflies only to
set them free at 3am,
crying to an uncaring moon.

& she's begging for the stars
to take her away,
make this house a home
rigged in the sky.

To me,
She is already naked fever
swimming through the cosmos

& I orbit her.

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PhoenixThere is a fire in your blood,
my dear,—not even a thousand
kisses deep could extinguish.

One caress of golden flames
will scorched the prints of
many a frostbitten future.

Old TricksYour lonely collarbone
whispers of destruction,
and flowery obituaries.

Sometimes,
it sings of has been stories, and—
remember whens.
But, only when I
dare open my eyes.

You weren't the pixie goddess
I painted with pretty words.
You were hard life pains,
and those nasty little pleasures
[ we never dared to talk about. ]

But, I'll save you the trouble
of a halfhearted denial—Sweetheart,
We came alive in my nightmares.

You stole my heart...It's been ages since then,
but it still beats--

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

I've spent light-years
holding you in these
aging arms of mine,
like the 6 trillion
miles you must be
away from me right now.
I'm cold and rusting and…
lonely without your
lemonade kisses,
and those sneaky smiles
reserved only for me.

Three days and the world has gone…
silent.

I can't write.There is a volcano
resting just beneath
my redred skin—aching
and pealing, and burning
me alive. It's blazing
through my labyrinth
bones, seeking and
reaching desperately
for an escape.

I think I'm dying.

Iway Ovelay OuyayWe taught ourselves Pig Latin
and enjoyed pretending
to be possessed nuns
having just escaped a convent—
Our silhouettes dancing along
street corners, pulsing
to the beat of our yesterday
hearts. On those rainy evening
in April, I'd lick blood from
those iceberg lips as I enjoyed
the taste of sweet fire
and coffee beans. You'd
call me a walking oxymoron
because you fancied
the way our curling steam
shaped a fading halo
around my head as I
spoke in a language
few understood.

"Iway Ovelay Ouyay, Angel."

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Androphobia

by *DearPoetry, Sep 29, 2012, 10:29:40 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

i was stitched lips and a flightless raven heart- all sex and a contorting spine; his own lips engraving 'kiss me's' on empty stars. & between you and me: i feared his teeth, & tongue, & honest organs- with skin that begged, 'please, don't touch me.' _{don't touch me. don't fucking touch me.} i am not soft. there is a war raging in my lungs, screaming through the uncharted galaxies of my wanderlust heartstrings. i am not soft. i am lust, & war, & envy— i am sin, crooked, misshapen, & the kind of prosetry yet to be proofread. —but he wanted to claim my guarded ghost eyes and crossed legs. 'just—let me hold you.' his callused hands were cancer, my still body, a clock.

Androphobiaby *DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Personal.

Androphobia: Fear of men.

However, I'm not sure how accurate this is.
As it's not exactly /men/ as it is their touch that sometimes makes my skin crawl.

Sorry for the repetition.

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~ScorpionHoliday Apr 27, 2013

what an interesting fear. I love the poem and it's power to explain the way it feels to be mortified by something. I can understand that fear honestly. Men have not been kind to me, and the ones who have were just trying to sleep with me.

I don't understand it anymore.

my first boyfriend, I couldn't even hold his hand without feeling sick to my stomach. I don't think I have that fear, but I know what I wasn't for a long time, and what I wasn't was...interested in dudes.

~Sigma-Echo-Seven Jan 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

"don't touch me.
don't fucking touch me.

i am not soft.

there is a war raging in my lungs,"

It's been said before, but I really can't overemphasize the sheer force behind these words. Magnificent.

*DearPoetry Jan 9, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so very much.
This is a very angry piece, but I find it to be one of my best.

~x-TheBasicFlaw-x Nov 20, 2012

It reminds me of trying to rehabilitate yourself after abuse, rape, relationships gone wrong... It's a lovely commentary on sex and people and the profound effects of touch.

*DearPoetry Nov 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Wow, yes--exactly. Thank you!

~tiajones Oct 30, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

"& between you and me: i feared his teeth,
& tongue, & honest organs-
with skin that begged, 'please, don't touch me.'

don't touch me.
don't fucking touch me.

i am not soft."

*DearPoetry Nov 9, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

~Eragonlover1 Oct 15, 2012

Wow, I particularly admire the lines 'of my wanderlust heartstrings' and 'his callused hands were cancer' you're creating a tapestry here with your words, it's breathtaking.

*DearPoetry Oct 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

The first you mentioned is my favorite line!

~TonitesEntertainment Oct 4, 2012 Hobbyist Artist

You have a brilliant way of weaving words.

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