[x]

a snap of bellsa.
i have never brushed the soft skin of Genesis
i have not.

but i know that wild horses roam the space
between extremities, that is why i sleep with eyes
closed, so i am not without
oh, i am not within.

b.
does summer wonder the touch of frost,
does it feel the flake of blossoms as springtime peels away
or do my eyes deceive
do you think its smile is as soft as its skies

x.
she does not step she does not see
i do not taste
the silver synapse clapsed between

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

Night CattleShe owns her flesh.
Old goddess, beautiful decay-
draping along the length of her bones
like a Shakespearean sonnet.
When the graveyard lurkers
come to pray upon a carcass,
they will howl their mournful sorrow
to the earth below their claws.
Devouring her, respectfully.
She, with an aged bird spirit:
unable to be caged.

Stream Of ConsciousnessI've wanted to write everything
For a while now, it's something I've yearned for
But I don't think I can

I wish I could blab just a
Stream of consciousness
But I don't think I can

There are a lot of things I don't think I can do;
Live my life
Go to school
Succeed at anything
(Other than being a cutter)

I am so sick
I'm so proud of my cuts
I make hundreds in a sitting now
And it's not unusual that it's more than once a day
I like to look at my skin,
Turning into not-exactly-skin

I'm holy, but no one worships me
Except my reflection I suppose

Mirrors and pictures
Only reflect the breaks I made in my skin
A scabby armor bu

ersatzyour wake is the warm
languid whorl of a sachet-latté
morning after,
gone when six a.m. rain swirls
pavement scents of whiskeysmoke
& a careless caress away
under cinnamon-sugar grace --
and it was only ever this:
you were lovely
by trembled halflight, when you almost had
my summer-boy's eyes.

Witch TrialI believe I was a ginger headed poet in a past life,
who wrote love through magik spells—
burning candle wax, whispering incantations
under a full moon and painting pale,
naked flesh with dirt and ash.
Dancing with ghostly ravens through flames,
to the thumpthumpthump of my storm heart,
as it became one with the earth.
I roared my passions and my glory
to the heavens above, laughing
like a crazy eyed crone for the sake
of those who feared me.
My witches tongue, hissing, 'Come hither!'
as heat licked my shoulders like an old lover,
come home.

Bookstore ReligionLurking in the shadows of roses,
I formed my own Gods,
my own constellations
between the thorns in my teeth.

Naming them after characters
in a November's love story,
Porphyria, Dorian, and Gatsby-
I tasted earth and copper pennies.

Choking on peppermint and oils-
out of my mouth in rambles of
hideous beauty:

I recited poetic prayers to the classics.

Are you Gay?My heart threatens to gag me.
Needing to exorcise a demon,
these speechless fingers tremble
against silent computer keys.
Voice hiding, far off
in one of those dusty shelve books
with the yellowed pages, smelling of
age and wisdom's of years past
one finds in a 25 cent bookstore.
I think I'm dying, gagging and choking
on words that lock themselves willingly away
behind a worthless, self loathing poets tongue.
"I don't know."

I. don't. fucking. know.

I must hate myself, or this demon that breathes
its hot, angry whispers inside my head
would set me free from a castled prison
built within the marrow of these cowardly bones.
Sp

Sky EyesDesert hands tell tales
of a hundred arid summers, but
you are no longer as cloudless as they

(there is a storm
creeping through blue, blue veins).

But tell the sky to keep her sorrow,
that grey cascade blurring against
eyelids and horizons;

and suppress her misbegotten
droplets, seeping into the sodden
ground underfoot—

for there is still sun in your sky eyes.

AndrogynyWhy is everything broken down?
Sorted Bit by bit,
And plastered with a label,
Pushed in to fit,

What are you and who am I?
Memories and dreams,
Beyond my mind,
Not so cut and dried,

When all your lines are blurred,
What is this life?
When you care,
What does it matter?

Intentions and thoughts,
Or am I only black and white?
Do you love me?
For I am only shades of grey,

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.

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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.”

Hear me howl.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.

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.

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.

Muse:She corrodes star shapes into
the hearts of sleeping poets,
slowly, methodically.

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Lesbianby *DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Visual & Found Poetry

©2012-2013 *DearPoetry

Words hardly break her heart.
She knows her ribs stretch open,
breathe-
To love a woman.

Book: Kissing The Witch, by Emma Donoghue

---

Oh how I love found poetry.

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~Alloronan Jan 26, 2013

Really like this style, it's beautiful!

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*DearPoetry Jan 26, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you! <3

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~Tobyk947 Oct 10, 2012

Did you like this book a lot or not very much to doodle in it?

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*DearPoetry Oct 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I loved it.

I bought a clean copy to keep for myself.

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~Tobyk947 Sep 25, 2012

I've always wanted to do this to a book! Very beautiful.

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*DearPoetry Sep 25, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Get one from a used book store and have at it!

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~jRaeffervesence Aug 31, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

These are so good.

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*DearPoetry Aug 31, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

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~xodieromanticxo Jul 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

found poetry at its coolest!

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*DearPoetry Jul 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Yes, I agree.

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