[x]

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.

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.

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.

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 shivering
kite-string clavicles.

Nothing,

pressing winter bones
against my sun-stricken mouth,
darkness searching for a home
buried in my lungs.

You whispered breathe me
lovely in the inhale/exhale
of carbon dioxide suicide.

She speaks only of you now,
lonely & mourning beats-

Crack open this damn ribcage;
set me
free.

astrology.i lost my cigarettes today while
sparing kisses to too many witches
with apastron blackberry tongues.

& like the scattered stars of scars,
saturn's rings whispered secrets
to the telescope eyes of these strangers
cradling galaxies between lovely bones-

( their fingertip heat
knowing nothing of intermissions. )

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?

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?

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.

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."

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

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.

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.”

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

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."

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Universe Girlshe
fell in love
with Pluto
while he was
still a planet;

but
she could only manage
to fall in love
with shooting stars
in the glare of your eyes.

what more could you truly ask
from a universe girl?

I loved a girl.i loved a girl.

i loved a girl with a love
for cummings & sandburg
& sexton.

i loved an unflinching
poet of a girl.

& with no better diction:

they called the shaking fists
at her sides, her silent act
of pacifism, cowardice.

i’m the coward;
she bled for the both of us.

roses and brier“I’ve never planted roots-“
she said,
believing her body to be
on a road trip
to nowhere.

“Well—“ I smiled,
“let’s be like roses & brier.
We will go nowhere, together.”

9729 kilometers away, to be exact.i have these bones like flowers-

fragile and finely plucked,
these lily stargazers
are kissing ocean beds,
making love to sirens
while yearning
for a taste of her
wander(lust).

i want to tape maps to my limbs-

throw caution to the wind
as i gather up
every love letter receipt,
from every false attempt
i ever wrote her
& forget for just a moment
that even still
light-years away,
she does not love me.

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Submitted: January 14
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Heart:

by ~DearPoetry, Jan 14, 2013, 3:14:04 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

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.

Heart:by ~DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

_{don't tell her she can't.}

love 3 3

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wow 2 2

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~UselessItalian Mar 2, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

I adore this poem.

*bloodawni Feb 18, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Oh, this is gorgeous in its simplicity.

~DearPoetry Feb 19, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

*bloodawni Feb 19, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

You're welcome!

~Elaine-Moon Jan 19, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Oh gosh. All of your poetry is so amazing!

~DearPoetry Jan 19, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks!

`dreamsinstatic Jan 18, 2013 Professional Writer

Your fantastic work has been featured in Friday Night Features.

~DearPoetry Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks!

`dreamsinstatic Jan 19, 2013 Professional Writer

You're welcome.

~tiajones Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

i absolutely adore this piece.

1. i love the first three lines, about having a rebellion tucked away in her chest. it makes her seem so powerful, yet unseen. like she's waiting for the day that power should be unleashed.

2. i also love that you'd said "they say she's got skin unworthy to write poetry on". often- people think it's silly to write poetry on your skin, so if they think she's unworthy even of that, it seems they think very low of her

3. i love the temporary feeling and the imagery when you read "she tapes those lovelies to her limbs anyway." i can almost see her standing there- neruda and sandburg and sexton, all these pages ripped out and taped to her with her arms stretched wide.

absolutely lovely

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