[x]

Lonely Gods"I wish my body to be a staircase

to heaven." She said, "A conduit

of lonely Gods."—Swaying

pendulum hips, she, she

was made of stardust.- Scars sleeping

above a city of sweet bones, stirring

like sun-stricken scorpions during

hollow painkiller nights,

mistaking her redred burns

for Apollos kisses.

"Sadly, this body has whispered away
the last of my secrets."

TigressShe is the kind of girl who smothers herself in astronomy,
New Age philosophies and coffee shop poetry.
All fire and dragon scaled-
She hides her tiger stripes behind bruises and ink stains,
living her life by way of verse-
throwing Hemingway around like insults.
Writing her letters to the moon,
she hides her heart underneath her own floorboards,
folding blank paper birds just to set them free at 3AM.

But, it's the lipstick stained collars,
the rose thorned fingers,
and the dead stars in her chest cavity
that tell her- even a tigress can bleed.

Dragons BloodYou are an art journal,
all scraps of paper and profound quotes
of those you say "I'll fucking know one day",
because you love to shock me
with even more profound profanities
and those watercolor fingers
you use to shut me up.

Gently. Always gently.

You leave me moon-eyed;
Dragons Blood still lingering
in the wake of your
heartbeats against mine.

TroyYou have too much time on your hands, Love,

folding paper cranes with broken fingers,

wishing to see northern lights in the eyes of strangers.

There are no lions between your bed sheets

who understand your hunger better than I-

You are licking my wounds; one with the wild.

I swear it's you behind these eyelids- untamed

and desired by this lonely poetic canvas

stained with blood, ink, and words I can't fucking say.

You look like a Goddess standing there reading my skin

quiet and shameless, proud of the gaping hole in my chest.

I know it then, like I know my own counterclockwise heart;

I should never trust my own kind.

"I'll build

Never trust ladies with scythes for smiles.i.
    these god-hands are barbwire's,
    snagging & scarring everything
    they touch.

ii.
    black tongue bleeding sweet ichor
    along the guarded walls
    of skeletal frames.

iii.
    'i want to taste heaven.
    it rests there,
    just beneath your bones.'

iv.
    he is a god dog
    made of scythes & scalpels,
    sewn together with weak thread.

v.
    and she is

OmegaThere is a wolf lurking in my doorway;
our eyes holding breathless conversations
as secrets whisper through the stroke of my pen
into the awaiting lungs of strangers.

…Soon young pup, you'll have nothing left to say.

My heart is woven together with tight-knit words,
blood red Poe, and thumping Hemingway-
Yet, no headstrong Omega sleeps
within this slightly cracked, ribcage embrace.

"I am unafraid of forests with teeth."

It tastes like love.I could speak of her in riddles,
in aged, anatomy textbook terminology-
but, I wont.

You see, I cuffed this angel to my bedpost.
I sank my teeth into feathers she wore like a cage
and asked if I was dreaming, because Love,
you're not holding me. If you only knew the you in my head,
every night--tearing with these heavenly fingers
at the cracks in my sanity- you would allow me this!

Her tongue tastes my tears; nails clawing, clawing, clawing-
she takes away my pain,
but she doesn't belong to me either.

"We are but wolves.
Tell me, what does my blood taste like?"

N o v ai.
This distance between us
is devouring my lungs.
I'm left here gasping,
trying to suture back together
all the broken nights-
the cigarette burns in my bedsheets.

ii.
I'm tracing maps on my limbs,
and I'm painting black holes on my palms,
pressing them into letters
left on my nightstand
untouched and unread.

iii.
I keep telling myself
none of this is about you.
But I'm reaching for empty galaxies
as I try to remember what it felt like
to be one of a binary star.

iv.
Light-years away, and I'm here-
just another nova on your ceiling,
searching this vast universe for you.

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.

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."

Missing BonesWe spent our nights star gazing
on the top of that local bar on 5th street.
You said you loved me by night,
that no star or moon in any given universe
could compare to me; that we were lost warriors
searching for a home within the roots of one another.

I believed myself a wandering ghost among the living,
searching for missing bones and the warmth of another's grave.

You shook me then,
kissing me where it hurt most-
just to test a theory.
You whispered,

"Like dead birds,
you are not faceless;
your rib cage has a meaning."

And I believed I loved you then
underneath the moon and stars
tipsy on your smile and your words
a

Androphobiai was stitched lips and a flightless raven heart-
all sex and a contorting spine;
his own lips engraving 'kiss me's' on empty stars.

& between you and me: i feared his teeth,
& tongue, & honest organs-
with skin that begged, 'please, don't touch me.'

don't touch me.
don't fucking touch me.

i am not soft.

there is a war raging in my lungs,
screaming through the uncharted galaxies
of my wanderlust heartstrings.

i am not soft.

i am lust, & war, & envy—

i am sin,

crooked, misshapen,
& the kind of prosetry yet to be proofrea

Je t'aimeShe told me, "I love you this much!"
stretching her arms out
as far as they could go, fingers taught
and desperate.
I looked at her, eyes smiling
and asked, "Only that much?"
"That's all there is." She replied.
And I agreed,

"Vast oceans can not compare our our love,
little bird."

Dead Bodies Don't Cryi.

You are born with twisted feet
and a pockmark on your chest.
Your poor mother is drenched in sweat,
straining to breathe,
thanking God it's over.

She cradles you in her arms
and kisses your forehead with curved lips.
Your father reaches out to hold you
but has to pause because
your mother will not release you yet.

The family pays a visit,
hovering in awe, praising, laughing.
You look around for someone to blame.

ii.

When you learn to write
you use all the wrong letters
because you feel sorry for the ones
that get left out, like X and Z.
And you wear mismatched clothes
because you don't like the idea that
only certain c

WillowYour confessional arms are Willow trees,

draping lonely limbs around an empty ink-jar heart.

Scars worn down like henna tattoos.

A night witch scrawling her incantations on blue moons,

rolling her letters into sentences like a curse.

But, it is in these coffee eyes you have found a home.

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More from *DearPoetry

NaPoWriMo: Day 7Watch out.
She’s a devil,
that one.

Glad for her spine,
& her teeth,
even God hands fear her.

For she has arched her back
for a flower-woman
with sin dripping
from her fingers

-who taught her
how to laugh
like the stars.

NaPoWriMo: Day 6It’s hard enough to love her skin on good days,
feeding encouragement to wide eyed strangers
as if to fill the emptiness in her own gut;
she lives on a diet of sad stories &
starving lips.

[Sometimes,
you must shed your own skin
to save it.]

NaPoWriMo- Day 5She used to try and catch butterflies
until she realized their beauty
rubbed off on her fingers;
but she will always be loving you
with those digits.

20 years from now
when even the love on her arms
is unrecognizable.

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.

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.

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.

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Submitted: July 16, 2012
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I miss you

by *DearPoetry, Jul 16, 2012, 7:43:11 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

, and i can't say i'm sorry because these slender, spider fingers ache to trace the curved letters of your name tag, emily. i notice you write everything in caps. ( have i ever told you how much i enjoy saying your name, -EMILY. ) you are screaming to the world, quietly. but we, we are mid-morning whispers over stale, back room coffee, silent eyes, and window pane love. these hearts were runaways once; hitchhikers on a trail to nowhere. you shared pieces of yourself with me then, emily, between beats and bathroom stalls. you were a gargoyle under the heat of july summer. evenings were our playground; rose garden beasts lingering in feverish night.

I miss youby *DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

Unrequited love and a closet case, perfect.

Critique by ~NotenSMSK Mar 21, 2013, 10:19:37 AM

This is a fine work.

The fact that it starts with the title on wards adds it to a unique category and that itself increases its appeal. First, considering the over all impression.

The work seems to portray love for someone who the writer or protagonist seems to have left in some way, or was unable to help in their time of need OR was unable to understand their needs. It can be either of the above options for me.

The portion within the brackets adds to the emotional content of the work and I really liked that addition.

The portion after the brackets were a bit hard for me to fully understand but they gave the impression that I just stated. They portion was a bit confusing - the mid morning whispers and ahead seemed to ring a bell but I was unable to pinpoint what you might have intended to say.

Over all a fine work.

What do you think?

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1 out of 1 deviants thought this was fair.

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Critique by ~LiteratureQueen Nov 12, 2012, 12:37:31 PM

So, let's first say this is a pretty much used but never boring subject.
And that is really the truth...

I saw the title and seemed interesting, after reading this I saw you picked the title out very well.
It describes the whole poetry in one (kind of) sentence.
But I directly noticed something which bothers me;
You didn't wrote with any capital letters. I can highly recommend using them, since it looks way lovelier with them.

Further the spaces are a bit annoying, you first spaced, then a bracket, then again spaces.
It looks kinda disturbing for me...

But I like your big knowledge of words, it's an important thing of literature that pretty much people don't have.

What do you think?

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1 out of 1 deviants thought this was fair.

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love 3 3

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~oneofakindwriter Feb 11, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

i have a few comments..
1)why does emily have a name tag?
2)where she go?
3)this poem drew me in from the very start i enjoyed it very much

*DearPoetry Feb 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

1. Because these two work together.
2. Everywhere. She has a wanderers heart.

~752364 Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Holy SHIT I identify with this. Though in the way of your Emily...

*DearPoetry Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh yeah?

~752364 Nov 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You have a way with words; wielding them like sword and shield under attack, using them as blankets on cold nights, drinking them as tonics. I envy you your skill.