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NaPoWriMo: Day 2sometimes,
i have this
sudden urge to cut
my hair.

most of the time,
i just wish I were anything
other than me.

a rocket ship, a bird-
the sweet flavored smoke
I promised my girlfriend
these briar patch lungs
would not in.hale.

instead,
i have fallen in love
with the strangest of things-

eyes that intimidate
godless boys.

the way my scars
play hide and seek
with her hands. -

the love letters
that start and end
with kisses
pressed against limbs.

i make promises
i know i can not keep.

but if i were a liar
i would say i was tired
of writing to the stars.
Sun Child,I am freezing
& I am hungry
for fever’s lips-
her inky fingers
purging
a dry stomach.

My body is an ocean,
my limbs, but oars.
My tongue & teeth,
a life raft
keeping this madness
from sinking into blue.

Offering up 102 degrees
of skin;
You would think
I had something to say.
Muse:She corrodes star shapes into
the hearts of sleeping poets,
slowly, methodically.
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.
It's all about her,-I had never wished to know the moon,
or the burning gaze of her lover.
I am merely a forest of silences,
old dogwoods & untamed hair.

-But, I made a promise
to a bone collector once.
He could have my spine,
my kneecaps, &
one flowered rib,
wrapped & bowed-up
like a present

-if he could fall in love
with things that slip through his fingers:
Me,
the sea,
shooting stars.

-“It would be a sin to love you,
my dear sweet wolf;
you will always cry for the moon.”
NecromancyShe thinks there are nebulae
in the rough of my gutter bones,
some stargazing sanctuary
for lonely outcasts to lay their heads.

I am but a car crash,
spellbound
inside eyelids,
& red inked corrections
on crosshatched skin.

Made up of moans,
the clutching of bedsheets;
I am contemplating
ripping my ribs apart
& proving
I never had a heart at all.

But my moon shy love;
she is determined
to try & wake the dead.
NaPoWriMo: Day 4I might have a scrappers knees,
wildflowers growing on my knuckles,
& I might remind you of every nasty thing
you ever did,
but I don’t see you in my mirror.

I just have the right
to hate my own face.

-

Oh atlas,
I think this hitchhiker’s heart
is breaking &
I don’t have the medical skill-
or the time
to suture the pieces
back together again.

So please;

lead me,
lead me
anywhere,
but here.
lub-dubThere are lovers
I will never be able to
crawl out from underneath;

I’m caving in, lungs
no longer able
to exhale lovely things.

However hollow, I’ve got
these artist hands,

these god hands of mine
that can save lives.

What’s the point
when I’ve got little
writer veins

& no one can ever seem
to find my pulse?
A lion among sheep.There are ghosts in my bloodstream
kissing concrete cells &
the bedroom eyes of nerve endings.

( foreign words
engraved into my marrow, birds in my chest
& wars not yet fought between my hips. )

I've taken myself apart every night
since I learned how to swallow a pen
without gagging;
limb by steady limb.

Passed around by grabby hands,
a sold, & borrowed daughter;

I am a lion among sheep,
drunk on life & ink.
NaPoWriMo: Day 9More respect
   for hungry lions,
 than man's
        greedy fingers,
she really,
         really
         doesn’t want to write this poem.

As she forgets how to use words
                  (on most days,)
relying on curses
         like casting some witch's spell-
with only ten dollars to her name.

The oldest daughter:

she’s still somewhere in the middle,
filed under
                     miscellaneous

because they had no other way
           to categorize her.

Getting her first gravestone at three-
she prayed
              not to the gods,
but to the lily stargazers
   in her palms.

One day
   she would become
NaPoWriMo: Day 3Today,
I wanted to pluck my ribs
from out my chest &
hang them about my house
like wind chimes-
dangled brutality;
a taunt for hungry wolves.

I didn’t grab for sharp objects,
I just wrote about it.

I never knew
I wanted to be a writer
until I lost something.
I still don’t know what that is-

(my mind, maybe.)

But words,
they fill gaps
that had no stories
to keep them
from hollowing out
in the first place.
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.
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 unsta
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
                    ?
Browse More Like This

More from ~DearPoetry

Dream a little dream.Right now,
I wish pretty words
would roll off
my tongue like
syrup.

[If only
I could keep
my eyes open.]

Maybe I'll dream
p o e t i c a l l y
and awaken
tomorrow with
ink stained
bed sheets.
The Power of Spoken WordIf I could give a voice
to the words scribbled
down deep in my flesh,
coursing through my
bloodstream romances
and lodged in the back
of my vise throat,
with lungs slowly
s u f f o c a t i n g
from lack of spoken word--
I believe I could
churn the hearts of
love sick coffee shop attendees.
anger every government official,
and cause a riot in the white house--
as I place a pen in the hand
of every child with poetry lurking
behind innocent eyes.
April ShowersStaring up at you under the porch light,
I thought how cool it would be for rain
to suddenly pour down like kerosine
and set us both a flame.

[You found the idea appealing.]

Featured in Groups

:iconpencils-of-doom: :iconwriterspen: :iconpoetryistheanswer: :iconlooselacespoetry: :iconcreative-writers: :iconliterary-visions: :iconpoeticalcondition: :icondaily-art:
×

Hear me howl.

:icondearpoetry:

Tell me again, Father,
I’m the perfect daughter-

when all I want to be
is the crescent moons
resting like strong soldiers
in the grooves of my palms.

I am but
(outgrown)
lonely bones,
quaking with frostbite,
numbed with rage.

A wolf's jaw:
locked, teeth tearing
into the chilled flesh
of your neck.

2,273

241 59 56
:icondearpoetry:

Hear me howl.by ~DearPoetry

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I'm a wolf in my dreams, sometimes.
Category: Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

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March 8
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:icontomea:
~Tomea Jun 9, 2013   Writer
From the first two lines, all I can think about is Ellen Hopkin's Identical. Gods, your writing is so edged with reality its difficult to find a single flaw in it. I love how you write. I hope I can write someday like you can.
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry Jun 10, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
I haven't Identical yet, but I plan to.
And, I am sure you can now--truly.
Reply
:icontomea:
~Tomea Jun 10, 2013   Writer
Its one of my favourites by Ellen Hopkins. Have you read anything of her yet? Impulse is probably her best.
Reply
:iconpapernation:
~PaperNation Mar 30, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
It astounds me how you can just pull me into another word with barely a page of text. You're my inspiration on dA, and I hope that I'll get to be as good as you one day. One can dream, I guess...
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry May 31, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you!
I'm sure your work is great!
Reply
:iconpapernation:
~PaperNation Jun 1, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Aw, thank you! Your poetry is really amazing though. I adored the amount of emotion you put in, it's incredible.
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry Jun 3, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you--I try! :)
Reply
:icontiajones:
~tiajones Mar 15, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
wow! two fantastic pieces in a row. i really like this piece. <3
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry Apr 2, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks! :D
Reply
:icontiajones:
~tiajones Apr 2, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
of course. (:
Reply
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