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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

wet scribbles, tattooed tragedyI am shedding my skin
like the poetry that bleeds
from your ink-cracked lips
onto the bare bones of my
anatomy.

Unfold these moon-shy limbs
that chase silence
& beg stay-with-me.

For you are the only verse
hidden within this labyrinth
of scar-damaged flesh.

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.

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?

Bone child,this December's winter
has your ribs cocooned with
mine. & this wander(lust) heart
will sustain warmth for the both of us.

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.

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.

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.

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.

she knows her paper cuts by name.Rose blood
on her tongue
reminds her of yesterday's.
Lonely bones.
A heart's hoarded secrets,
love me pretties, &
scarlet letter dreams.
But
do these boys know
of the bitter winter
churning,
like a blizzard
in her veins?
The sharp edges
of half-empty
kisses,
or the crisscross
folding
of origami limbs?

Her eyes,
as deep &
unfeeling
as the ocean;

The rule of nines.I know more about half-moon palms
than most know about lifelines

the kind that beg dandelion child,
love-yourself-breathless.

I know about forged castle ribs & broken homes.

Myths that are half fact & imaginary friend
turned bogieman -

Fangs that tear clear through ice-bone hearts
like they are nothing but pretty paper
to be folded over, again & again & again
by the hands of quivering youths:

Icarus, the reincarnated
sky conqueror searching for warmth.

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.

Sometimes, you enjoyed being blind.Over 1,000 letters have found their way
to the pulsating heart of my wastebasket.

Until you.

You carried them away saying, "I'll use these
to fill the empty spaces of my universe."

You proceeded to tape them to your eyelids,
wear them like Augusts leaves along your limbs.

"I will be your voice and I will sing your words to the trees."
Slender spider fingers prancing across my misspelled scrawl.

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More from ~DearPoetry

Cemetery CatsThe wolves were out that night—

and all of the hook laden quips
that we concocted
fell upon lips
like a hummingbird's whisper.
Then, they ignited into flames
like burning stars.

That should have been us:
beautiful ash, supernova romance
with tongue and fingers soaked in ink.

We always did find the taste of Heaven
stale, like coffee three days old.

And with that taste still lingering,
you were a walking oxymoron.
A sinner come to save
these easily swayed, glass bones
from smashing into oblivion.

I longed to taste that wild,
untamed energy beneath your skin.
Devour that dragons heart,
and tattoo love along the bruises

She writes the unknown.Locked away in a convent,
her curling smoke iris's
whispered blasphemies.

A phoenix lay restless between
her tongue and teeth, burning
burning burning - her alive.

A fire in her blood-soaring
through labyrinth veins
seeking an escape.

ShoppingI'm not looking hard enough—
but I'm seeing underneath,
the underneath.
Tell that to my knees,
the very ones
that throb, and ache.
Bruised from car doors
and you.
They hurt a lot worse
than it looks.
But, boys don't like girls
with broken knees,
bloody fingers,
or eyes for someone else.
I don't bother anymore—
looking, that is.

I write and write and write
and write and write and write—
Of loves that never happened,
flaws and imperfections—

[ as I forgot how to shape my lips
to form words in my defense. ]

Rats and RosesI don't like rag doll dreams.
The kind where I literally
start falling apart at the seams.
Euthanize me,
won't you please?
I'm comparing rats to roses.
Because, and this hurts me to admit-
years and years before my bones
are washed clean of your fingerprints-
Sooner or later,
you're going to forget my name.
It will no longer slip through your teeth
to rest at the tip on my tongue.
But,
in the eyes you found your 'other',
We will always be the lovers
who mixed their ashes with gun powder.

Shhh...Whispering sweet little lies
along the narrow pathways of my heart
I caught the lurking shadows
behind your large city eyes.
And with barbwire fingers,
You stroked all my pretty s c a r s.

[Don't say a word.]

I am a poet.At least,
that's what my
skin tells me when
I bleed.
I'm slowly melting into
bed sheets not worth
lying in twice.
Half sick of shadows,
I think I've lost my mind.
My thoughts are s p i n n i n g
and my bones are shaking.
But I keep repeating re-peating
repeating your name like a mantra.
All I want to do is sleep.
But you see,
I bleed more than red
and there is this ink pen
digging through my skin.

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Submitted: January 16
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I am too many flavors...by ~DearPoetry

Traditional Art / Mixed Media / Other

©2013 ~DearPoetry

...for one fucking spoon. -Staceyann Chin

People have been asking me who my favorite poet is--and it has to be this woman. She fills me with so much feminine empowerment and inspiration! If you'd like to listen to one of her spoken word pieces, 'Feminist or a Womanist', click here: [link] You wont be disappointed!

The background was done with watercolor crayons in my moleskine.

Featured: [link]

*prettyflour Apr 7, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

This has been featured in my journal!

[link]

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~DearPoetry May 31, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

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~Adagiobunny Feb 3, 2013 Student Writer

This is a great line... I will have to check her out.

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~DearPoetry Feb 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Please do!

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~nifty-ness Jan 20, 2013 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

awesome artwork!

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~DearPoetry Jan 21, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks!

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~chancerox Jan 17, 2013 Hobbyist Digital Artist

The video is incredible. She is truly an inspiration. Great interpretation of her work

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~DearPoetry Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you, and I agree!

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=MrsKyoya Jan 17, 2013 Student General Artist

This is so cool! I watched the video and I could swear Ive heard her before but I cant remember exactly where but I know I did because, really, who could forget hearing something as amazing as that!

Reply

~DearPoetry Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I'd like to see her perform live one day, I'm sure it's wonderful!
She has other poems up on youtube, just type in her name.

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