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HaloThe sky was abstract so I knew you could relate
I told you I saw a unicorn in the clouds
and asked if you could see anything else up there
You came to life as if the clouds had been following you all morning,
"I've got clouds at my house too!"
You didn't know why I laughed.
You laughed, too, because it was your special mind.
The sky is heavy with guilt today, horned fragility,
I should've known you would love it anyway,
I can hear you tell me there's a heroine in rainbow armor in the sky,
you ask if I can see it too.
I'm not a star as bright as I'd like to be,
but know I'm always here,
just like those silver lining clouds
that follow my Angel home.
You didn't know why I smiled.
You smiled back, because it was your halo heart.
ArsonIt wasn't expected to ignite this, but our words
have long ago run away and your words
are calling me back home
to start a fire in dark hallways
with friction of lead and teardrop matches.
Mutual hardships can smooth sail our rhyme schemes
across sublime between the murky skylines
of debilitating storm waves in the scenery.
Please don't abandon ship, leaving me
to merely imagine your natural resources of breathtaking imagery,
shipwrecked on writer blocked, soul deserted islands...
Yet, unbeknownst to you,
I had already left long ago...
Swept away in the stormy waves
And sent down to drift along the river of life.
It feels like I've gone so far away,
And you... your words are unreachable.
It seems like I'm stranded here
All alone, wordless and empty, but so full
Of yearning, of tears, of ghostly memories
Of the life I once lived...
That's where they are!
I've finally found your words again!
Now... I realise the lie I had been living.
There was no soul deserted island
On which, I, alo
Aloe VeraYour baby and you are perfect sunlight to radiate our spirits
Together we'll do well and feel better keeping her warm
Her white sand belief in me doesn't yet believe
your polluted airways of exhausted fumes
so please settle with second chance clouds in clear skies
so our sound advice of the rain
doesn't cover her in muddy lies
Not gonna mention any names
just gonna lay it out for us in the lost and found box
hoping you come across it before
someone else who's not as forgiving as I was
Those ice cubed stares of yours are trapped heat
browning my skin in overexposure of sun ray eyes
and your slapping of the sunburn on my back
and shoulders you'd rather be crying on
are stinging me to split ends of ocean-salted hair.
Well that felt good getting out in the air.
Best Friend Poet VowsWhen our pens have died
where the ink dried of gray cloud cement
let it lead us down suntanned sidewalks, skipping
over cracks of pale heartbreak and hidden shade
cause we've been alive this whole time
just scared half to death
of being caught in the rain
with the pen's blood on our hands.
Erase it, shake it off, we can stomp
in our blood puddles, jump
from our peeling skin, potholes
to whole new worlds than what we saw from our windows.
We'll sip Life's Lemonade
from the last of our straws
Conversing how those wind currents and windfalls
are still just our oxygen
throwing tornado tantrums for a little color
cause they realize their potential for becoming air balloons.
We can grow from these captured experiences
we can call it photosynthesis
and when our sun rises, yawning
in our flower beds, stretching
our horizons, what words
will bloom from your fertile soiled eyes?
Words are the pollen for our
Writing season Together, as one
Why must we tie the knots if
Wright BrothersHoneysuckle sunlight drips as planned
where I was awaiting birds to whistle their morning dew promises
'Today's a new day.'
Free spirit vapor, so I wrote and I wrote
like King Tut preserving his body to maintain his spirit.
Words floated into space bars
raise of our pens to propose a toast
'You hold the key, key, keyboard to any heart daring to listen.'
I felt like an exaggerated cliche standing in rain
but it's been so long
I believed it as fresh metaphors of my own
bowing at the mercy of acid toes
in its butterscotch gown.
I was a fire ant of anger, my nerves,
twitches of flame, the fear
of pillow smothering smoke clouds, until
I settled as a cooling rain fog, rising
from heated surfaces.
Hold your chest to my ear so I can hear ocean waves
We can smell sea-salt breeze from our hermit shells
So much time to waste
carefree in baby blue turbulence
Banana split sunsets just as planned
prepared for but not e
this is a warning.i.
The first thing you need
to know about people is this:
If you cut off our head,
we will grow two in its place.
We will divide and conquer
until there's nothing left
but tiny gaping mouths,
clacking and salivating
at the crumbs of an empire.
They tell me hurt is like
a paper cut:
quick and forgotten,
Hurt is the first step
off a balcony,
the first gasp
in a chain reaction
screaming from the railing
to beyond the pavement.
When I finally hit the ground,
I looked up and saw my halo
dangling from the edge,
He said, she said,
I wanted, he lost, she won,
I ruined this, I broke your heart,
he left me,
I miss you.
This is nothing new.
Your tragedy is always
what's it like to realize
every slash on your soul
has an identical twin?
What's it like to know
you're going to die
the same way everyone does:
scared and alone?
We are disposable.
The hydra g
Peter Pan EnvyWe molded pirate ships
from heavy storm clouds,
flags puffed up
and scooped out
like handfuls of sand
while the car windows
steamed in the cold.
You told me stories
of a boy in green
and his war with
the hooked man,
said they took
those like us
to the first star on the right
and straight on to morning.
You made me believe
and when life got hard--
mom hopped up on pills,
nights filled with demons--
I breathed wishes
to be stolen away.
No pirate ever darkened my stoop
with his wayward compass
or water-stained maps;
no fairy ever left glitter
smeared on my skin
like good dreams.
I look to the sky
when the wind blows
and hold my breath
with his name on my tongue
all the same.
War and CancerI want to go back
and meet us one more time,
before the war and the cancer
took up so much of the day -
before my father could no longer
remember what the present
was supposed to mean
and your mother
could still get dressed
without losing her way.
I want to know
what it felt like
to board a plane
to somewhere hidden
and not care
if our names and faces
to walk as long
as we wanted
without the sun and moon
creating an argument.
I want to feel you
roll into my arms
where I forgot to cut the grass
and you did not
water the flowers;
to hear you
watching the cardinals
unearth the spring.
And to know once again
how this place
started becoming new.
The Re-Prettify ProjectBreathing in silver filaments
will not make you pretty on the inside.
You cannot polish and buff
lung or aorta
until it is shiny and new.
If you have filled your life with toxins
and allowed your eyes
to cloud over with coal dust
do not, my friend, do not
seek silver linings from anything
but penance and kindness.
Throwing gold-dust over your head
will not administer you a halo.
thirstYou tell me to breathe in
the scent of my tea:
Apple Cinnamon Spice,
it is crisp and infusing
the aroma into my lips.
Honey coasts along my spoon,
apple biting into its
golden flavor. Cinnamon bursts
forth for a brief moment and I am
SeptemberThe summer was so hot
the dogs stuck to the sidewalks
with the newspapers
and the black metal cans
everyone left waiting on the curb.
You could smell it
in the glass pitchers
on table tops,
and the sheets that never
dried on the clothes lines;
the canvas beach bags
mothers dragged wearily
across the sand
and the ice cream trucks
melting across the highways.
Children felt it open
up the windows at night
and find a corner
of the bed to smother,
while fathers baited it on hooks
or mowed it down
in flat, dry stripes
as if begging each other
And the crickets just hummed
beneath the corn silk
and the dry mouth
daring the cats to play
hide and seek -
searching for September.
It was so suddenIt was so sudden.
It was so fast.
It was so scary.
We were so happy.
It was the best.
But the thunder fell.
And now there’s nothing left.
Note to SelfDate a librarian; they'll read you until your spine falls apart, and still love every page. They'll underline your highlights, your endless seas of profound poetry, as if they've mistaken your manatee appearance for a mermaid. They'll hang off the cliff of your chapter 15 and dive into the next page as if you're about to reveal what they've been looking for. And when they don't find it, they'll tear out your words letter by letter with a hush, asking you oh so sweetly to stay quiet. Finally, they'll bind your broken spine with tape and set you on the shelf for misplaced books until they forget you were ever there, but they won't be done with you. They'll never be done with you; even when it seems your pages, your rib cage and heart, is filled with nothing but dust.
Letter Of RecommendationBefore you walk out, hear me out--
Girl, there is no doubt
you're going long routes;
just recollect this future reference:
Hold up; hold it down--
Sugar rush in high heels
is not the only way out;
not what it's all about.
Let things run their course--
Walk in other people's shoes;
Take a stand, corrected.
Now, turn around--
Display every angle of this attire;
it suits you rather well.
Take a seat for this--
I could break it to you easy, but;
bliss is ignorance.
& whether life's weather foreshadows a breeze--
you're gonna fall hard, swept off your feet
to weak knees. It's not over; it's over
Before you dive in, test the waters--
Girl, he's still your Father,
you're gonna go farther;
just forget those past recollections.
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More