[x]

She has the moon in her eyes.But, this body is a black hole,
a hollowed out womb-
and these palms are sandpaper
thin and bleeding a silent stigmata.

"Not yet ripe to fall from her bed,
too young to understand her own limbs-"

She folds back July's origami skin,
wishing for the warmth of winters kiss.
She is a raven heart, thumping wildly
against the whispers of vintage lips.

Her bed is empty,
but the sheets are red.

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."

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."

Her Musethese words are not poetry

swimming liquid fire through ashes

of dead phoenix veins.

no, they are rough and callused

with over use, their own faithless artists

spewing black tar from their lungs

in the hopes to one day breathe again.

nothing moves her.

she would rather scribble her heart out

on physical manifestations of her own reality-

on skin and bones she worships like a temple.

"Write of me," he says, "right here."-

planting sun-stricken kisses

along the hollow of her burning throat.

"I want to be where your heart sleeps."

'X' Marks The SpotI am a pirate,
a ghost among the sunken ship
of your treasure trove heart.

Like the last bit of rum in the jug,
I enjoy the way 'fuck' rolls off your tongue,
as if you invented its meaning.

I try to articulate that one syllable,
match your way of speech-

You've never needed to dress your words-
dip them in ink or paint them in poetry
upon the exotic map of my sun-kissed curves.

I have drowned so many times
in the green sea of your eyes
that I am coughing up seaweed
& weak bones.

You tell me not to speak-
that such words sound dirty on my tongue
that my spine is made for beauty
and not for a bounty.

But you, you are a plague

Sweat, Spice, and ScarsYour eyes,
a thunderstorm of black and blue sex
jarring and devouring my insides,
shaped a faithless religion
through the cracks & broken shards
of my hollowed out womb.

I want my insides back.

A Gods DebtSutured together by artists,

devoured blasphemy-

hallowed out, & spit back up,

( you are afraid. )

Hooks longing for her ribcage embrace;

god-hands that can't seem to keep to themselves

grapple the gargoyle exterior of her deflowered frame.

( spread your legs. )

Red-inked and trembling,

prosetry masked as screams

knots into her anatomy.

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

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?

William,If I am nothing but an actor
on a stage in this dust town
of rose torn bones and washed up
stars, why is it that the galaxy sculpted
crescent moons in my palms
ache?

Stephanie -Collab(I wrote us in free verse over every inch

               of your tattered surface ).

you were the beatific grin

of a kindergartener high off oxygen,

mouth stretched wide as the entrance to hell,

black tongue bleeding virtuous sin like ichor.

(You taught me praying was for the weak

      as I fell for your gypsum nails,

               white teeth scrabbling over my chalkboard frame).

NaPoWriMo: Day 10   Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart,
your knee's q u a k e d like that Jenga piece
that buckled just before your whole foundation

t
o
  p
  p
l
  e
   d
over?

I have.

& no matter
how many times
I've restarted your heart,

one would think
I'd grow tired,
eventually;

I'm still writing you in poetry

(in the most inappropriate of places.)
You forced yourself beneath my blades
& my fingertips,
Licking unst

NaPoWriMo: Day 9More respect
for hungry lions,
than man's
greedy fingers,
she really,
really
doesn’t want to write this poem.

As she forgets how to use words
(on most days,)
relying on curses
like casting some witch's spell-
with only ten dollars to her name.

The oldest daughter:

she’s still somewhere in the middle,
filed under
miscellaneous

because they had no other way
to categorize her.

Getting her first gravestone at three-
she prayed
not to the gods,
but to the lily stargazers
in her palms.

One day
she would become

NaPoWriMo: Day 8I was told
to slice through the thickest
of scar tissue this evening.

Let all my inner demons
fall to the floor
& write them out
in my own black blood.

It’s not red anymore,
even though needles
& the bruises
laid out like war-lands
on my arms
say otherwise.
I don’t think it ever was,
honestly.

Therapeutic,
they said.

My mind is a mess
of free versed insecurities,
cat’s eye marbles,
& untamed forest fires-

but,
I still don’t have the nerve
to slice open my skin
& bleed for her.

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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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.

Stone AngelsHe had tigers blood.

Poetic fingertips
that called to me
like a siren's song,
while his demonic tongue
hissed 'S h i p w r e c k e d'.

We covered ourselves in ink,
danced along jailhouse walls
under street lights, the edges
of skylines, darkened alleyways
and the parking lots of churches.

No fear,

We spoke in riddles— gestures;
the quiet sweep of eyelashes;
cigarette smoke that lingered
long enough to shape heavens
within our irises while crows
rested on our shoulders—perched
pecking, waiting for one to move.

As we were nothing more than
long-limb statues atop gravestones.

Poets make the best liars. His black eyes were stars, and
the c o n s t e l l a t i o n s in their depths
told me sad

Scorpions and Love LettersI never longed to hear him call me
'Dear Heart' as if he wrote love letters
to his own, bloody mass of an organ
that beat up a rhythm between my
bruised yet sturdy, castle ribs.

Anonymous scribbles,
itching between the stitching
of a patchwork Frankenstein.

As I will never give it up to the poet
with the sloppy tongue-
ugly verses dripping from his lips
like a love sick plague
leaving me hollow;
a soulless shell seeking escape.

I'll never love him.

This Scorpio heart is mine.

Covered in barbed wire,
It stings and it cries—
but it rips and it tears
and it bites—

TragedyShe said, "The way you go about your life is pointless.
You bury yourself so deep into those notebooks—
the world passes you by as those 'artist' fingers cause you cramps."

And I stared at her with angry eyes and angry fingers,
saying, "I'm sorry I don't have a life worth writing about, Mother."

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

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Repossession

by *DearPoetry, Oct 2, 2012, 5:45:13 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Your words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding on the raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the_dust. My ribs cracked from the blow. But, I think sometimes of how these were the ribs that should have chased you away from me, quietly wondering how you managed to slither past this cage of bone and flesh to engrave your fingerprints into my marrow. You were sweat & spice & scars- Your eyes, a thunderstorm of black and blue sex jarring and devouring my insides, shaped a faithless religion through the cracks & broken shards of my hollowed out womb. _{(I want my insides back.)}

Repossessionby *DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Collaboration with the wonderful ~SiennaRevolution
Go fav hers! ---> [link]

love 2 2

joy 1 1

wow 1 1

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~ScorpionHoliday Apr 27, 2013

aaah I love this. this is so remarkable, beautiful, and powerful. It was a passionate read from beginning to end, and I enjoyed every word. I might have to start following you!

~themorningtrain Mar 3, 2013

The last line, "I want my insides back" is powerful.

*DearPoetry Mar 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks.

~chewyraezen Dec 15, 2012

beautifully done!

*DearPoetry Dec 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

~craneHARDCORE Oct 12, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Wow this is just amazing.

*DearPoetry Oct 12, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks!

~craneHARDCORE Oct 13, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

You're welcome!

~livinittothemaxx Oct 6, 2012 Student General Artist

beautiful.

*DearPoetry Oct 6, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

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