[x]

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."

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

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?

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

August Lover,I want to wrap myself in your air,
hold your secrets between my
ribcage-embrace & just
breathe.

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?

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?

I'm talking myself in circles,I screamed,

"There is nothing
wrong with me, not a damn
thing.”

I wanted to believe
the big dipper on my arm
meant something more
than sun marks & kisses.

But, how can I trust words
that slip through my teeth
as easy as breathing
when this star
has only ever learned
how to f
a
l
l
?

NaPoWriMo: Day 8I was told
to slice through the thickest
of scar tissue this evening.

Let all my inner demons
fall to the floor
& write them out
in my own black blood.

It’s not red anymore,
even though needles
& the bruises
laid out like war-lands
on my arms
say otherwise.
I don’t think it ever was,
honestly.

Therapeutic,
they said.

My mind is a mess
of free versed insecurities,
cat’s eye marbles,
& untamed forest fires-

but,
I still don’t have the nerve
to slice open my skin
& bleed for her.

NaPoWriMo: Day 10   Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart,
your knee's 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 unst

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.)

dust.I'm choking
on the ink-dipped fingers
of verbs & metaphors
still lodged in this bruised,
paper crane throat;

the starving,
dead-flower scent
of your words,
still kissing my ribs.

How can you judge me-
when you don't bother
to read the naked poetry
beneath the temple of my flesh?

How long can butterfly
ankles hold up a
star-soaked frame?

Don't bother whispering
your secrets to nebulae,
not even the dust in my veins
will listen anymore.

'X' Marks The SpotI am a pirate,
a ghost among the sunken ship
of your treasure trove heart.

Like the last bit of rum in the jug,
I enjoy the way 'fuck' rolls off your tongue,
as if you invented its meaning.

I try to articulate that one syllable,
match your way of speech-

You've never needed to dress your words-
dip them in ink or paint them in poetry
upon the exotic map of my sun-kissed curves.

I have drowned so many times
in the green sea of your eyes
that I am coughing up seaweed
& weak bones.

You tell me not to speak-
that such words sound dirty on my tongue
that my spine is made for beauty
and not for a bounty.

But you, you are a plague

I am trying to be honest,but I write so fucking flowery
it makes me sick,
rose scented stars & love.

No.

Her: helpless as a lamb,

I want raw, aching
bone against bone
exploring the exposed, naked
poetry of her universe-

( warm, celestial hands
forging sandcastle ribs. )

Southern earth beneath her feet,
wanderlust burned like Apollo's touch
into her spinal cord, please awaken
the empty space between her skin

& mine.

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.

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 666 bytes more ▶

More from *DearPoetry

Ask Me To Write a PoemAsk me to write a poem
about kissing witches in my sleep.

Ask me to write a poem
about the bump on my middle finger
from forcing pen to paper.

Ask me to write a poem
about the discolored bruises on my knees
the poetry written in ink upon my flesh—
the love in a foreign tongue on my wrist.

Ask me to write a poem
about Boyfriend,
my possessive Siamese,
about my rose thorn teeth,
and the battle scars I wear like trophies.

Ask me to write a poem
about how my own words make me sick,
about how I swear I'll die by the pen.

Ask me to write a poem
about boys and peaches
and how I wish they tasted just as sweet,
about how I san

He thinks her a Goddess,and he whispers, "Little bird—
Your stardust arms are quaking,
allow me to hold up your universe."

Closed mouthed,I tried to devour myself in my sleep,
all tight lipped and tongueless—
hours after you left me
with only an unbeating heart
keeping me company.

Callused fingers made me shiver,
but never managed to make me burn.

Instead, they left me feeling cold—
a frostbitten liar with a snake for a tongue.

An unnamed poetic.

I'm dreaming of red skies
and dragons of old—
I'm begging, and I'm begging,
and I'm begging—Please—warm me up.

Set fire to these bones—
Give me a real reason to scream.

Because, there rests an old poet
in the farthest reaches of my soul
and she longs to fight this fire with flames.

[

AryaShe is a wolf in her dreams.
Sitting upon an iron throne-
Woman of an old Greek myth,
A woodland Goddess
with a fire spirit sleeping
in her veins, a hyena heart
thrives within a ribcage embrace.
This lovely girl steals the hearts of kings,
assassins, and lowly blacksmiths.

Lacking honor, brave little shoulders shrug-
She whisperes, "My heart beats for no one."

How did you get those scars?And I asked her,

"Do you remember
why I counted tiles-
sat in silence for hours,
wishing on the black holes
in my pockets?"

Stuttering against quiet delusions,
She bit a vintage tongue.

"Because,
I tried to bury myself alive that night,
just to engrave the taste of rose thorn monsters
between the cracks of my glass skin."

Licking dry lips,
She asked to taste them.

Your Poetry Sucks.Poetic verse does not sleep contently within your bones.

You are not made of Shakespearean sonnets.

Metaphors do not cling to your teeth like snowdrops,

and similes do not lurk like assassins behind those false psychic eyes.

Your veins bleed nothing but red.

And your whispers,
they will never leave galaxies
along the length of spines.

So, Dear Heart,
you can take your stars,
your full moon romances,
the many, desperate love letters,
the gag-worthy cliches-

and eat them.

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#Pencils-of-Doom
After School Art Club

#Authors-Club
Where We Live to Write

#LOVE-Original-LIT
All original literature welcome!

#LooseLacesPoetry
Poetry Feeds Our Souls

#The-Poetry-Cafe
Poetry and Writers Welcome!

#AspiringWritersDojo
Don't ever stop writing

#Creative-Writers

#Literary-Visions
Transforming words into worlds

Show all (34)

Details

Submitted: November 13, 2012
File Size: 666 bytes
Submitted with: Sta.sh

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 64
Favourites: 249 [who?]
Views: 2,527 (2 today)
Downloads: 69 (0 today)

[x]

Blood

by *DearPoetry, Nov 13, 2012, 8:25:06 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

I'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.}

Bloodby *DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

"Beauty is how you feel inside, and it reflects in your eyes. It is not something physical." - Sophia Loren

Featured: [link]

Critique by ~LovelyZ Dec 4, 2012, 4:06:14 PM

Beautiful Piece. Simply Beautiful. I loved reading this. It caught my attention and stuck with it
The first paragraph
"I've got a filthy mouth,
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat."
This really caught my attention, just the use and place of words. The house of stars kept my mind thinking and the thriving in my throat made a great touch to the end
"21 years
silent"
Makes you wonder how this came up. You simply could have said "I have been Silent" but instead you made it all more interesting.
"& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth"
The first sentence of this paragraph caught my eye immediately. Is was used perfectly. And then the slithering tongue was a great touch too tell that you were mad
"I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away"
Beautiful paragraph that really gave feeling and passion
"& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere"
I loved this paragraph also, but I disagree. You are not nothing, though it was used perfectly in this poem. I believe that you are not nothing, you are a beautiful poet
"But my veins bleed sweet ichor"
This was a great big time ending sentence, making the blood title beautiful.
"& words are only words, Mother"
A true and beautiful statement. And words are only words.

But your words in this poem were beautiful and have touched me. I hope to critic and read more of your poetry soon.

What do you think?

Fair Unfair

The Artist thought this was FAIR

3 out of 3 deviants thought this was fair.

No Replies

Devious Rating

Vision

Originality

Technique

Impact

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

Please sign up or login to post a critique.

love 4 4

joy 2 2

wow 2 2

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~SvalaW Mar 9, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

The title and first stanza immideately attracted me to read this poem. I like how you play with images of night-sky and mash them together with images of a body. It's really interesting and well done.
And the line that touched me most is "I fear I will write myself hollow" because that's how I feel quite often, though I never managed to put it into such perfect words as you.

~tiajones Nov 18, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

<3
"I've got a filthy mouth,
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.

21 years
silent"

i love this piece. <3

*DearPoetry Nov 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

`dreamsinstatic Nov 16, 2012 Professional Writer

Your fantastic work has been featured in Friday Night Features.

*DearPoetry Nov 17, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much!

`dreamsinstatic Nov 18, 2012 Professional Writer

You're welcome.

~wr0 Nov 14, 2012 Student Digital Artist

---E Awesome!!~ Especially the fifth and sixth stanzas.

*DearPoetry Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

~wr0 Nov 14, 2012 Student Digital Artist

---E You're welcome!~

*IAmPoetry Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

How do you do it? Bravo.

More from *DearPoetry

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Blood

Bloodby *DearPoetry

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style