[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."

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.

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."

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

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."

RepossessionYour 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.)

I could make a list,but I merely bit my lip when she asked me,

"What is it you're thankful for?"

How could I tell her
I was thankful for this heart
that beats a thousand times over
when I hear her speak?

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).

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.

'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.

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

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?

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

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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ImmortalStanding in a darkened graveyard,
She watches the graves,
Of friends, family, lovers.

They have all take their last breaths,
She will never take another.

She weeps,
Knowing that she will never again see the light of the sun,
The warm touch of a loved one.

She must steal the innocents of the blind,
Those that wouldn't understand,
Knowing nothing of her kind.

She doesn't want to.
But there is always that craving,
Deep inside.

This is the only way she can survive.

My Lowly PeasantWhy hello there, My Lowly Peasant,
How are you this May morn'?
I've seen your teasing glances,
Making me recollect of nights before.

I don't want the royalty,
Who ask me for my hand.
So the answer to your question simply being,
I'll take your delicacies over any other man.

Tonight,
The many nights before,
And every night, again.

For the pleasant nights spent,
In the arms of a lowly peasant,
...Are the best I've ever had.

My PrincessHello there my Princess,
How are you today?
Come and dine with me,
Like you did last night,
In a forest far away.

I know I'm just a lowly peasant,
Like you tell me every day.
But if I didn't know any better--
I'd say you liked me that way.

You see that crown atop your head?
--A perfect image in the morn,--
However, late at night,
That crown becomes adorned.

So--My Princess,
Come dine with me,
Like you did last night,
And many nights before.

ShrapnelI
c
a
r
e
so much,
I
h
u
r
t
inside,

Whenever you
c
r
y
my name.

When you hurt yourself,
I feel it just the same.

Should I care,
Or should I not?

...I can't take this anymore!

This
self-destructive
path you're on,
I can no longer follow.

At this rate your body will self-destruct,

3...
2...
1...

I ref

EchoesI'm listening for
e
c
h
o
e
s,

Answers
to my many
s
i
l
e
n
t

Tell me what I'm missing.Tell me pretty boy with the broken wings
--Are you a fallen angel?
One sent to tempt me with thine beauty?
Press thy lips against this cheek,
and show me what I'm missing.

Oh the irony...
-An Angels lips upon a sinners cheek-

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[x]

She Talks With Monsters

by ~DearPoetry, Jul 3, 2012, 5:27:51 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

This girl never had a fear of monsters. She allowed them to rest on the insides of her eyelids, the crook of her neck, the empty spaces of her chest cavity. She had no fear, there were much scarier things in this world than darkness, clawing at her back. Living for the night she etched her dreams upon the bars of her cage whispering of centuries past because she truly missed the sun, grass on her back. Frosty Decembers have her forgetting what it feels like to love, but she knows who she is— she doesn't need the taste of cigarette ash suffocating her inside her own flesh. November skies tore open this night, ripping a hole in her bedsheets. It is in those dark spaces between bone marrow and heartbeats that she finds herself- tattered and breathless, whispering dark secrets into a strangers ears. Her origami limbs folding like patterned paper only to reach desperately for the sun kissed frills of Apollo's robes.

She Talks With Monstersby ~DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

So, this originally went a completely different way--but I love the end result.

love 15 15

joy 4 4

wow 8 8

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~Blackhatarcher Mar 15, 2013

I like poetry that I don't understand at first. Then I reread and I understand a little. But still it is unfathomable. At is still good.

~DearPoetry May 31, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

~OragamiThoughts Feb 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Liked the tone, the imagery, and the underlying themes.

~DearPoetry Feb 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

~Ricardo-Orozco Feb 12, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

you are my favourite poet... even though I don't fully understand some vocabulary. I feel I can learn from you. I like how you always include something about the body; our emotions directly affect our body

~DearPoetry Feb 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

What words are you having trouble with? Maybe I can help you!

!WiNGz69 Jan 7, 2013 Student Writer

Its been awhile since I read this one but this holds a special place in my heart. Thank you for sharing.

~DearPoetry Jan 9, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

This is one of my favorites, alone with Cemetery Cats.

~bookaddicted Nov 14, 2012

I THINK (and let me emphasize, THINK) that this may be my favourite out of all your poems.
I say (and emphasize) the THINK because, well, I haven't gone through all of them just yet

~DearPoetry Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I really need to edit this piece.
Not liking my own flow, but thank you!

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She Talks With Monsters

She Talks With Monstersby ~DearPoetry

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