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DearPoetry

Who needs the moon;I am a hyena.
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Literature

Pretty

to you i am only me beneath sun shadows & "pretty" little stereotypes. you hang my insecurities from my neck like a sex thief - stealing me from myself. were you that hungry - starved out from the frostbitten world between your own thighs? aroused & f r u s t r a t e d - you are a bruise - purple & ugly - there is nothing "pretty" about you. no inch of the cosmos rests like a fever beneath your skin. You: a dead wasteland of - cold. i am uncategorized space, a body of seared rose petals & thorns. like a burning kiln - phoenix feathers, i am the eye of Jupiter's hurricane, raging for centuries. -DP

All

342 deviations
Literature

Pretty

to you i am only me beneath sun shadows & "pretty" little stereotypes. you hang my insecurities from my neck like a sex thief - stealing me from myself. were you that hungry - starved out from the frostbitten world between your own thighs? aroused & f r u s t r a t e d - you are a bruise - purple & ugly - there is nothing "pretty" about you. no inch of the cosmos rests like a fever beneath your skin. You: a dead wasteland of - cold. i am uncategorized space, a body of seared rose petals & thorns. like a burning kiln - phoenix feathers, i am the eye of Jupiter's hurricane, raging for centuries. -DP

Featured

87 deviations
Literature

NaPoWriMo Day: 1

I’ve got 30 days to defy Icarus: teach this rose thorn heart how to fly. [   All I want to be        is the space between                       the stars.                                       ] But, I’m here, ripping holes in blank pages while nursing nebulae knuckles with white plastered walls.

DLD's

4 deviations
Literature

astrological.

i.   On some nights,     street lights guide     this lonely heart     to her lonely bed. ii.  In this universe of twilight skin     & mismatched bones,     I wonder just how many poems sleep     beneath the inkwell of her eyes. iii.  My body is a house of stars,      and her palms are black holes      sucking ( me ) into their vortex of      nothing. iv.   She says, "Please—my moon,      please—give these bones a reason      to stay."     & I am whispering lovelies     into the sanctuary of her heartbeats. v.   "Goddess temple,      sunset eyes, &      my windowpane love-      Let us eat the stars      t

Personal Favorites

27 deviations
Literature

The anatomy of my survival.

I am machine, cold, though I want to be devoured like sweet blood oranges. Scarred, crimson fruit in autumns alleyways. & for those unaware, this is a freudian slip. I have never known the meaning of silence. I am too loud, not loud enough. My knees are their own bruised universe as I ask for wisdom spread along my soil. My branches - they shake with insecurity. This cemetery cat: I want him to hurt me. Claw his way through my anatomy - into the darkest parts of me. This is not love. This is back-alley romance, untamed wanderlust & he begs for the chance to find it. - He is pieces, emotionally cursed. A black cat, & I am not sup

Poetry

114 deviations
Voices.

Found Poetry

14 deviations
Literature

Supernova

She only ever wanted a real reason to scream, collecting her tears in jars and hiding them behind Poe and Hemingway; she secretly hoped for an ocean to call her own.  She would name it after an aged bird spirit, pain manifested in many a Gods image—believing our vast universe formed by the callused hands of artists. "They must have a sick, twisted sense of humor."  she said, eyes on the moon. And I asked her "Who?" curious, because I'd yet to figure her out. "The Gods; they give dead stars the prettiest of names."

Prose

1 deviation
Literature

( 4/04/2014 )

Everything here is so fucking loud and this dragon eyed girl doesn’t feel like filtering anymore. She doesn’t want to answer the phone today, either, so- she stuffs her ears with silence, and her mouth with new names as she kisses swollen knees. She’s pondering socks now too with their mixed & matched indecency. Real ladies wouldn’t dare step outside wearing one pink & one green sock, only, but she’s no lady.- A red lipped hermit holding a knife to her own throat, screaming- writewritewritewrite idareyou! maybe, who embraces the sun and the rain on her face for the first time in weeks. Oh poets with your

NAPOWRIMO

56 deviations
baby blues.

Photography

9 deviations
Literature

Cigarette Burns

I 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.   ]

Old Poetry

73 deviations
Loneliness

Moleskine

7 deviations
Literature

NaPoWriMo: Day 10

    Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart,    your knees 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 unsta

NaPoWriMo 2013

10 deviations