[x]

No wander about it, just lust.You were a mid-morning train wreck,
the embodiment of poetry.

& my clavicles whispered too many nothings
about your summer storm hands,
folding like paper cranes
to 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.

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?

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

I want to forget names,& faces,
& people.

I want to forget their veins,
fingerprints forever burned into my eyelids;
wrists I can't look at
without longing to tear apart.

Spine full, and spiteful:

I want to cry
roses in my midnight tea
for these star collapsed lungs.

I want to cry for her
& for me.

But Shame,
she wont allow me the courtesy.

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.

Heart:a rebellion
tucked away
in her chest.

they say
she's got skin
unworthy to write
poetry on,
but
she tapes those
lovelies
to her limbs
anyway.

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.

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."

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.)

Depression like lipstick stainsOn some days,

you are the angel dust
settled in my bones
keeping these December limbs
& Sunday-morning-coffee eyes
warm.

But, other days-
other days, I don't know
what to do
with your tornado kisses,
rage teeth that bite
& tear at my poetic insanity.

With these miles and miles
of bodies & hollow space
between our magnetic hearts-

How is it that these light-year pulses
still beat in sync?

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Our Shadows DanceTrail your shadow along my own,
Watch them mix and watch them bend.
One puppet controlled by two strings.
Lets play a little game:
How many horrible nicknames
could I give you in a set time frame?
Wait—but first I need a cigarette,
while you kiss every one of my ribs.
I know which strings to pull,
when it's so easy to be cruel.
Want to really get to know me?
Walk your fingers along my collar bone.
My mask will slip just a little bit—
You get to see what's underneath
the underneath.

I wont waste my ammo, Sweetheart.If I've lost my way with words,
I suggest you get your shield.
The perfect weapon—a broken quill,
Laying among an ink splattered murder scene.

They wear what under their kilts?"Make me sway," she says,
"like a pendulum on a rainy day."
Her hips do the motions her words portray.
That look in her eyes gets you every time.
And it kills you from the inside.
Press your thumbs into the flesh of her arms,
Stop her world from spinning.
Then you realize,
you're the one who's lost your footing.
She's the one who's crazy.
"Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Let me feel you."
Paper cuts--like they're the new in thing.
"Trust me baby, baby, baby,
they burn so good."

You don't know what true love is.Well, you're one to talk,
When you compare love to twilight and sparkles.
Love is angry, love is cruel.
And I refuse to be some pinheaded fool.
I've been there, I've done that.
Sit and watch these scenes unfolded.
You do the motions, I'll do the dialogue.
"I love you.
I love you.
I love you."
Please--this is getting boring.
Don't roll your eyes at me.
I know exactly what I mean.
You'll be there, You'll do that.
Listen to me.
"Just a game, tug-of-war."
They give it that name
for more than one reason.
I'll flaunt my battle scars,
See--got this one in 94'.
Put your game f

A Diary of Flesh and BonesOh, so you want me to be honest now?
Well, honey--that's a little hard for me.

Not to say I chew lies between my teeth
Or spit them out like sunflower seeds.

Read between my lines baby--
You're a psychology major.

Words are unnecessary links in speech.
What's my body language telling you?

But I know what you really want from me.
A line of poetry, a verse of total honesty.

Like I said, that's a little hard for me
when someone's in my shower singing off key.

My body's the most honest thing about me.
Standing here in flesh and bone baby.

Read my skin like a diary.

Poets deserve love poems too.I fell asleep to your words last night,
And the calming way they flowed.

Poems and verses danced,
through my sleeping mind.

I dreamt I was the sonnet,
To your poet.
The lyric,
To your song.

Oh, your way with words
Your way with words is beautiful.

Your way with words is beautiful.
Why can I not be?

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Submitted: December 23, 2012
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Dear Poetry,

by *DearPoetry, Dec 23, 2012, 5:36:28 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

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.}}

Dear Poetry,by *DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Sometimes, I wonder if I should have been someone else,
anyone other than....me.

_{"...Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!" -Porphyria's Lover, Robert Browning}

Featured: [link]

More letters to poetry:

Dear Poetry,I am trying to cover my sadness with words.
Tape them against my scars
& wear them like worthy paper cuts.
My tears are alcohol swabs, burning & cleansing
wounds of my own making. Sometimes,
I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code. This body does not deserve
a warriors death. & poetry, you're a monster—
a creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots, force feed you
down the throats of others. De-format you
& leave you empty; freeversed-
to hang loosely along the heartstrings
of strangers

Dear Poetry,She writes love in blood
between used bookstore classics
and a bare ribcage.

Critique by `MagicalJoey Dec 23, 2012, 8:04:51 PM

You have some fantastic imagery in this (for the entire poem I thought you were writing to yourself, until I read the author's comments and noticed the other two letters) and it holds together very well.

"I am too many breaks between pauses"
- I think I get what you are trying to say here, but in my mind a break is a pause so you are repeating yourself. I would phrase it more like "I am too many breaks/pauses between "

I like the continued metaphor about the girl not being healthy physically (non homeostatic, she is porphyria) as well as mentally (carved into wrists).

I think that non homeostatic should be non-homeostatic, a compound word.

"There were once fireflies in her smile,
alight between the gaps in her teeth."
Those have to be my two most favourite lines.

"A rebel,
love letters carved into wrists
she never sent."
Again I know what you mean, but the phrasing of this makes me think that the wrists were never sent, not the letters.

The font for the last line is tiny...maybe one size bigger? even with my glasses on I had to squint to see.

Otherwise I find this highly original (even though you have done other letters) and full of fantastic imagery. Well written.

Jo

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~enchantressofnight Mar 22, 2013

I really like this imagery:

There were once fireflies in her smile,
alight between the gaps in her teeth.

~nostrovia-poetry Feb 25, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

You use imagery well. It doesn't drown out the poem's message, but provides enough to conjure emotion from the reader and create nice visuals.

*DearPoetry Mar 2, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

~drawAlbert Dec 25, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I enjoyed reading this, It's so fluid and I just love how you show yourself in those words. Good work!

*DearPoetry Dec 26, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

~crashmypartyhard Dec 24, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

_{Beautiful as always. Merry Christmas!}

*DearPoetry Dec 26, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you, and hope you had a good one!

~crashmypartyhard Dec 26, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

_(:

~00FiReHeArT Dec 24, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

This completes me, thank you for writting this <3

*DearPoetry Dec 26, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Aww!

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