Bone child,this December's winterhas your ribs cocooned withmine. & this wander(lust) heartwill sustain warmth for the both of us.
fly.this is hard for the world around us to grasp:these wildfires raging in our retinas& the sins we wear like demonic simileson our tongues- they are not enough.& i am so fucking sorry of saying i'm sorry.but, tell me,what is a young poet(ess) to dowith veins made of kite strings?
Collection of poetic nothings.We were opal Tuesdays,mosaic butterfliestattooed into therose garden curveof my vertebrae,gliding me through this wild youth.But, like Icarus—I was a sky conqueror& these silk wingstouched the sun.-My inhalations are heavy,like the earth he bruisesbeneath his fingertipsas I chase silence."You've got a tonguemade for words." He saysagainst the arrogant thornsof my briar spine."Learn to love yourself."-How do I say I love youwithout saying I love you?"I want to replace my heart with you."-You are spider silk woveninto my harvest moonheartstrings, spiderlimbs traveling this road mapof songbird sin.You are not just in my head now,you are dancing in the lingering starsof my night-witch frame& setting me on fire.-You're not bruised enoughthey said,to write poetry.-Allow these bones to tell your story, Love.
No wander about it, just lust.You were a mid-morning train wreck,the embodiment of poetry.& my clavicles whispered too many nothingsabout your summer storm hands,folding like paper cranesto make wishes upon themselves.wishes are for the weak-stand up,do something about this quaking heart& freezing fingers.Anything.I think I found God then,lurking behind wanderlust eyes.
RepossessionYour words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding onthe raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.My ribs cracked from the blow.But, I think sometimesof how these were the ribsthat should have chased you away from me,quietly wondering how you managed toslither past this cage of bone and fleshto engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.You were sweat & spice & scars-Your eyes,a thunderstorm of black and blue sexjarring and devouring my insides,shaped a faithless religionthrough the cracks & broken shardsof my hollowed out womb.(I want my insides back.)
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 themselvesgrapple the gargoyle exterior of her deflowered frame.( spread your legs. )Red-inked and trembling,prosetry masked as screamsknots into her anatomy.
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.
wet scribbles, tattooed tragedyI am shedding my skinlike the poetry that bleedsfrom your ink-cracked lipsonto the bare bones of myanatomy.Unfold these moon-shy limbsthat chase silence& beg stay-with-me.For you are the only versehidden within this labyrinthof scar-damaged flesh.
I am trying to be honest,but I write so fucking floweryit makes me sick,rose scented stars & love.No.Her: helpless as a lamb,I want raw, achingbone against boneexploring the exposed, nakedpoetry of her universe-( warm, celestial hands forging sandcastle ribs. )Southern earth beneath her feet,wanderlust burned like Apollo's touchinto her spinal cord, please awakenthe empty space between her skin& mine.
William,If I am nothing but an actoron a stage in this dust townof rose torn bones and washed upstars, why is it that the galaxy sculptedcrescent moons in my palmsache?
Sweat, Spice, and ScarsYour eyes,a thunderstorm of black and blue sexjarring and devouring my insides,shaped a faithless religionthrough the cracks & broken shardsof my hollowed out womb.I want my insides back.
She has the moon in her eyes.But, this body is a black hole,a hollowed out womb-and these palms are sandpaperthin and bleeding a silent stigmata."Not yet ripe to fall from her bed,too young to understand her own limbs-"She folds back July's origami skin,wishing for the warmth of winters kiss.She is a raven heart, thumping wildlyagainst the whispers of vintage lips.Her bed is empty,but the sheets are red.
Scorpion"Show me your bones."the atlas of her thighs quakedas she misplaced her skinin the backseat of his car."I'm a scorpion, you know-"a messy promisefolded napkin-neat."Prove it."& she smirked,sure of her limbs,her scars, & her teeth."I dare you to stake claim to this clavicle."
Sometimes, you enjoyed being blind.Over 1,000 letters have found their wayto the pulsating heart of my wastebasket.Until you.You carried them away saying, "I'll use theseto fill the empty spaces of my universe."You proceeded to tape them to your eyelids,wear them like Augusts leaves along your limbs."I will be your voice and I will sing your words to the trees."Slender spider fingers prancing across my misspelled scrawl.
I think you left a piece of you in me.This tangled mess you call a heart,daisy veins & sin;She's bringing me down.& you were merely shiveringkite-string clavicles.Nothing,pressing winter bonesagainst my sun-stricken mouth,darkness searching for a homeburied in my lungs.You whispered breathe melovely in the inhale/exhaleof carbon dioxide suicide.She speaks only of you now,lonely & mourning beats-Crack open this damn ribcage;set me free.
Dear Poetry,I might be dangerously on the verge of being poetic, but-Sometimes I don't feel me in my own skin.I am too many breaks between pulses,& a heart still living in the autumn of 99.I'm telling stories about a girl.A soul made of ink & godly metaphors,too much for a non-homeostatic body.There were once fireflies in her smile,alight between the gaps in her teeth.A rebel,love letters carved into wristsshe never sent.Poetry,She is Porphyria, & you are her lover.
I want to forget names,& faces,& people.I want to forget their veins,fingerprints forever burned into my eyelids;wrists I can't look atwithout longing to tear apart.Spine full, and spiteful:I want to cryroses in my midnight teafor these star collapsed lungs.I want to cry for her& for me.But Shame,she wont allow me the courtesy.
NaPoWriMo: Day 10 Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart, your knees q u a k e d like that Jenga piece that buckled just before your whole foundation t o p p l e d over? I have. & no matter how many times I've restarted your heart, one would think I'd grow tired, eventually; I'm still writing you in poetry (in the most inappropriate of places.) You forced yourself beneath my blades & my fingertips, Licking unstable knees, you were death on my tongue: angry apricot eyes, unforgivable sin scaring my limbs & haunting my dreams.Cardiac arrest & I'd still try to save your fucking life.
a letter to your bodymay we please fallin naked-screaming-love,never-falling-asleep-never-waking-up-love,kisses-that-scald-sore-lips-love;addictive, escapist, my love -i want you inside-outside me,encompassing while delving deep,spine-stretching scratchesup-down and across,you savage, you cannibal,my love.
one more timeOnce I caught a glimpse Of the wild Wonderment in your eyesI was a goner.Caught inside your ribcage (white bone covered in ivy)I helped you heart keep time With mine.Oh, how I pled for your hand to linger On my collarbone.Then One DayIt did.
Leonard.his graveyard skin reflects the darkness as hesighs his winter breath into my hair. I found himin a forest of lonely one day, where we wouldboth hide between conversations. I tried to besummer, with a pattern of sunray on my skinand ice cream eyes and warm evening bonfires onmy lips. he was winter, with limbs like frozenbranches and melancholy breath. we would entangle our bones and together hide alone inour forest of lonely. I'd seek his cool when passers-bythrew their cigarettes at me and my dry summer skincaught fire, and he'd seek my warmth when the frost gotthe best of him and his branches started to break.I'd cringe at the snow falling from his eyes and he'dsigh at the sun coming up in mine, but we'd close themand hide ourselves in the crook of each others neck.
CompleteYou look for comfort in my armswhen all the world intends you harmand seek compassion in my eyeswhen many tongues unfurl their lies take shelter here within my heartwhen others would so quick depart.Such solace sought within my wordsas elsewhere's neither seen nor heard,for in this faithful love of minea true companion you will find.So find your peace within my soul:the other half to make your whole.
The things I've found:The beauty of realising that thisis not a love I fell headlong into at the height of day,but rather shuffled towards sometime after dawn,slumped down next to at the kitchen table,bleary-eyed, mumbled at through coffee and sat, slowly,quietly, companionably waking up to.And that this, too, is good.
Things were simple thenWhen we laid next to one another,our beating hearts aligned, as lovers,it did not matter where or whenfor things were oh so simple then.We'd need not to exchange a wordto make each other's musings heard,for we knew both the why and whenand things were oh so simple then.Like mirrored minds we found a peace the ribs of one completed leaf each, in the other, making wholethe missing part of lonely souls.If only we could live againfor things were oh so simple then.
broken dreams and invisible heartstringsEvery morning,she wakes up to ahollow chest & stormy,red rimmed eyes.It's so easy to be in lovewith being in love;swallowing fake truths& sincere lies.But her heart—it forgot how to smiletwo years ago,because no one can tellthe difference betweenimitations & reality."Please,please find me;I'm lost between the cracks ofdying stars."Desperate to breatheyet wondering how it would feelto drown,she's never belongedin this universe.
Love is an open-ended question, maybe.I don't want to fall in love but I do want to love you:Love you like Fridays and three birthday cheersLove you like wild schemes and spit on our fingersI don't want a romance, I just want you near.I want to love you like sailboats and daring adventuresYour friends and my friends and long, late night callsI want to wander for six months and have my heart brokenWant you to show me it's never quite broken at all.I want to love you like Plato and pizzas and partiesSparklers when we're thirty, barefoot and still freeI want to love you on the sofa when you're dancing and dizzyNew books and bad movies, and you next to me.Love is for all those who beg to be brokenIt's a story to scare us, make us nod and behave.When I'm lost in the night without purpose or car keysI want to land on your doorstep; claim your warmth until day.I want to love you like jumpers and chalk on the pavementPoking fun at whatever, baking cakes the wrong way.I've never seen something to want in sad love
i don't believe in jesusno one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth.i don't get a dollar under my pillow for having sex with my boyfriend.there are no doctors smiling at me when i tell them my cherry has been popped.i am a whore for having premarital sex.i am a tramp for loving someone enough to open my body to them.no one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth - but i slip mine under my pillow anyway, and in the morning when i wake,there is a quarter and a tiny folded note:"you are not a slut."
August Lover,I want to wrap myself in your air,hold your secrets between myribcage-embrace & just breathe.