[x]

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

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.

William,If I am nothing but an actor
on a stage in this dust town
of rose torn bones and washed up
stars, why is it that the galaxy sculpted
crescent moons in my palms
ache?

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."

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).

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 wrists
she never sent.

Poetry,

She is Porphyria, & you are her lover.

I could make a list,but I merely bit my lip when she asked me,

"What is it you're thankful for?"

How could I tell her
I was thankful for this heart
that beats a thousand times over
when I hear her speak?

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.

astrological.i. On some nights,
street lights guide
this lonely heart
to her lonely bed.

ii. In this universe of twilight skin
& mismatched bones,
I wonder just how many poems sleep
beneath the inkwell of her eyes.

iii. My body is a house of stars,
and her palms are black holes
sucking ( me ) into their vortex of

nothing.

iv. She says, "Please—my moon,
please—give these bones a reason
to stay."

& I am whispering lovelies
into the sanctuary of her heartbeats.

v. "Goddess temple,
sunset eyes, &
my windowpane love-

Let us eat the stars
t

fly.this is hard for the world around us to grasp:
these wildfires raging in our retinas
& the sins we wear like demonic similes
on 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 do
with veins made of kite strings?

Sweat, Spice, and ScarsYour 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.

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More from ~DearPoetry

OmegaThere is a wolf lurking in my doorway;
our eyes holding breathless conversations
as secrets whisper through the stroke of my pen
into the awaiting lungs of strangers.

…Soon young pup, you'll have nothing left to say.

My heart is woven together with tight-knit words,
blood red Poe, and thumping Hemingway-
Yet, no headstrong Omega sleeps
within this slightly cracked, ribcage embrace.

"I am unafraid of forests with teeth."

Battle CryI write poetry to ghosts in my dreams
awakening with ink stained sheets
from nights I can't remember,
meaningless phantom words upon my flesh.
And this cigarette between my fingertips
taunts me,"Hey baby, hey—catch me on fire
and I'll burn you away." I laugh, hollow—
unafraid of flames & smoke & shadows.
I've felt it all before.
I'm washing away the ink with homemade
remedies. Like it never was;
Like I never was.
But there is love on my arms now
smirking and itching away at me.
I'll claw it out a hundred times over
because remembering you—
that is worse than self-inflicted injury.

TroyYou have too much time on your hands, Love,

folding paper cranes with broken fingers,

wishing to see northern lights in the eyes of strangers.

There are no lions between your bed sheets

who understand your hunger better than I-

You are licking my wounds; one with the wild.

I swear it's you behind these eyelids- untamed

and desired by this lonely poetic canvas

stained with blood, ink, and words I can't fucking say.

You look like a Goddess standing there reading my skin

quiet and shameless, proud of the gaping hole in my chest.

I know it then, like I know my own counterclockwise heart;

I should never trust my own kind.

"I'll build

Dragons BloodYou are an art journal,
all scraps of paper and profound quotes
of those you say "I'll fucking know one day",
because you love to shock me
with even more profound profanities
and those watercolor fingers
you use to shut me up.

Gently. Always gently.

You leave me moon-eyed;
Dragons Blood still lingering
in the wake of your
heartbeats against mine.

I miss you, and i can't say i'm sorry
because these slender, spider fingers
ache to trace the curved letters of your name tag,
emily.  i notice you write everything in caps.

  ( have i ever told you
how much i enjoy saying your name, -EMILY. )

you are screaming to the world, quietly.
but we, we are mid-morning whispers
over stale, back room coffee,
silent eyes, and window pane love.
these hearts were runaways once;
hitchhikers on a trail to nowhere.
you shared pieces of yourself with me then,
emily, between beats and bathroom stalls.
you were a gargoyle under the heat
of july summer.  evenings were our playg

Je t'aimeShe told me, "I love you this much!"
stretching her arms out
as far as they could go, fingers taught
and desperate.
I looked at her, eyes smiling
and asked, "Only that much?"
"That's all there is." She replied.
And I agreed,

"Vast oceans can not compare our our love,
little bird."

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Submitted: October 25, 2012
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Be a Shipby ~DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Visual & Found Poetry

©2012-2013 ~DearPoetry

“Do not be a beggar dwelling on the past,
but a ship on farseeing water.”

This was so much fun to make, you guys have no idea!
I've started art journaling and this ones theme is like "Be your own goddess." I'll be making my own inspirational quotes, or you know, whatever the hell I want. It's very freeing.

Material used:

Large Moleskine sketchbook
Inkense pencils for the background
National Geographic magazine clip outs
Book page from"Kissing The Witch" By Emma Donoghue
Gesso
Matte Medium
White Gel pen
Liner pen

If you wish to reblog this on tumblr please do it here: [link]

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~Adagiobunny Feb 3, 2013 Student Writer

Wheee, this LOOKS like it was incredibly fun to make!

Love the combined flow of the words & images.

Reply

~DearPoetry Feb 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

You should try it some time!

Reply

~Adagiobunny Feb 20, 2013 Student Writer

I definitely will... ;D

Reply

~TheLaughingDreamer Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

nice

Reply

~DearPoetry Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

Reply

~TheLaughingDreamer Jan 17, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

no problem

Reply

~TheHattersDomain Nov 9, 2012 Student Writer

_{This is gorgeous<333}

Reply

~DearPoetry Nov 9, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

Reply

~TheHattersDomain Nov 15, 2012 Student Writer

_{You're welcome<3333}

Reply

~elphieofkiamoko Oct 30, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

This is beautiful.

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