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Stitched LipsHer lips, soft like old paper
tastes of stardust and ink.
I'd kiss her a thousand times over,
just to savour the poetry resting
on her wasp tongue—
but, I'm kissing ghosts
with empty eyes, void, naked,
and vulnerable like sleeping
gargoyles in the mid-day sun.

[ I'll love her quietly, close-mouthed
and tongueless,
in the arms of stone angels. ]

Cigarette BurnsI dream in static romances,
where time stands [ still, ]
and clocks no longer
ticticitc
to the sound of h e a r t b e a t s
and old school radio tunes.
The incense of my soul
smell like cherry blossoms,
and what should be
sweet kisses,
big city summers:
A place where I can wear these
[ hieroglyphics ]
On my flesh like a fashion statement

[ And not be just
another angel
covered in ash. ]

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

Cerberusthe Gods abandoned you
the day you tore into poetic flesh.
slithering serpent, cold blooded-
blue blood society reject.
you left awkward love bites
along the edges of these ribs.
marked for today,
yesterday is mocking you-
6 trillion miles away.
i spend my forevers counting
your heartbeats with each
intake of breath as
somewhere, far off
Hades has you by the collar,
a hungry dog
standing alone in a bone-yard.
strange, how even still
with all your self built
p h i l o s o p h i e s
you became one with the earth,
devouring it whole with chunks
still stuck in your teeth.

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

Old TricksYour lonely collarbone
whispers of destruction,
and flowery obituaries.

Sometimes,
it sings of has been stories, and—
remember whens.
But, only when I
dare open my eyes.

You weren't the pixie goddess
I painted with pretty words.
You were hard life pains,
and those nasty little pleasures
[ we never dared to talk about. ]

But, I'll save you the trouble
of a halfhearted denial—Sweetheart,
We came alive in my nightmares.

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.

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

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?

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.

He isn't you.He isn't wishful paper cranes,
or Paris dreams during cold
Autumn nights. He isn't You.

But, he's trying so hard to
make me forget  [ you you you… ]
like pressed flowers hidden
between the bindings of
unfinished books, placed
at the top of dusty shelves.

His eyes are supernovas,
dead and lonely.
They don't sparkle like
your blue ocean irises.

But…He loves me.
I can feel it through
shy smiles and the way
he touches me with
gentle artist fingers.

[ He makes
  me want to write
  p o e t r y.         ]

BloodI've got a filthy mouth,
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.

21 years
silent

& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth.

I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away

& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere.

But, my veins bleed sweet ichor,

& words are only words, Mother.

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.

Closed mouthed,I tried to devour myself in my sleep,
all tight lipped and tongueless—
hours after you left me
with only an unbeating heart
keeping me company.

Callused fingers made me shiver,
but never managed to make me burn.

Instead, they left me feeling cold—
a frostbitten liar with a snake for a tongue.

An unnamed poetic.

I'm dreaming of red skies
and dragons of old—
I'm begging, and I'm begging,
and I'm begging—Please—warm me up.

Set fire to these bones—
Give me a real reason to scream.

Because, there rests an old poet
in the farthest reaches of my soul
and she longs to fight this fire with flames.

[

You found loveSly shoulders with
tiny bruises not
meant for lovers eyes,
Teeth and wicked collarbones:
You argued in the stairwell,
Fingers flirting with
that pretty dress of green
as you felt yourself asphyxiate.
Her lips, the antidote—
to your wildest dreams.

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3am Poetry I bit my lip,
keeping myself locked away
as your curved fingers
taptaptaped away at my
abdomen.

[ permanently engraving
love stories on my skin
as if my body were your
personal typewriter. ]

Only the clench and slight
q u i v e r gave me away.

[ Your mouth was wild
tasting of dark secrets
and 3am poetry. ]

"It's your eyes
that give you away."

On the ledge,I contemplated suicide
as my feet mimed the edges
of skylines,
and the act of lovers,
intertwined.
Dancing on the roof tops
and staring down at street lights
the edges of my world turned
m o n o c h r o m e
like a photograph forever
stuck in time.

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.]

That...trickI felt my skin itch
and tear under the pressure
of your slurred tongue,
slithering along
the curves of my
contorted spine.

[You left me b r e a t h l e s s. ]

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Paper Hearts and Tattoo Love Stories

by ~DearPoetry, Mar 31, 2012, 9:56:32 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

She tattooed love in a foreign tongue
On her left wrist—
Just so others would ask what it meant.

She sank her teeth into its meaning,
hoping one day the brand would bleed
Its definition upon her skin.

Lingering there, a forgotten kiss.
Lip-stick stained collars,
Little bones wired are ready,
Folded like patterned paper.

origami hearts—
Sprinkled every which way.

Sharing herself fully with no one,
She made sure to leave her mark,
On every heart that beat her way.

Paper Hearts and Tattoo Love Storiesby ~DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

©2012-2013 ~DearPoetry

One of my all time favorites!

March 17, 2011

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*LaCiCi Jul 4, 2012 Student Traditional Artist

Astounding! Your poetry remind me of some characters I have, and it really is amazing anyways <3 Great work! Wish I had found you earlier

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~DearPoetry Jul 4, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh really, which ones?

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~midnightbluedestiny9 Jun 15, 2012

that is so beautiful, I keep getting shivers at your writing!

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~DearPoetry Jun 16, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

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~midnightbluedestiny9 Jun 17, 2012

Reply

Mood: Love

~lickmybutt1 Jun 12, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

You write absolutley BEAUTIFULLY!

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~DearPoetry Jun 12, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

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~lickmybutt1 Jun 14, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

You're welcome

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