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onto skin that
the golden glow
away from the sun
and the slivers of light
slide to earth
the gods of love
22 Degree Halothe windowpanes
cold reflections of your
until they stare from the street
glasses, dregs dodging
draw the curtains on the sun
to steal your halo
Dirty Sheetsmy bed still smells
of hair and
and moisturizer on
like the smell of
against cold air
for me to leave without
part of you with me
But if Shebut if she
where there's none of her,
carved paths in mind
all but a greeting,
for her name
much less, a face
where she might return
where I could only remain
had made me stay
boy, youre all
back pressed into the seat
and straight and
disappears, surrounded by
curves under to touch
watch the show so
I cant see your
I want to know you
lose this tension
chest tighter for
each way each strand
I want to
your long red
Grandma's SandalsWith my eyes closed that little plastic circle is silver, and that nylon yellow shift, yeah. Thats gold.
Theres nothing like it; youre not, that I know. Dressed up for pretend, ugly dirt-scrubbed toes curled over the end of grandmas sandals. Dead-persons clothes.
Your tiaras cracked, a terrible sphincter opened were there was once a rosy pink jewel. Its there like its responsible for what youll grow to live; nothing but shit and the stench of pot. Its even there in daddys car, just a part of the fabric; its probably seeped right into your bones.
The look of your hair, like maybe I hope child services will take you away. Filthy, sickening blonde, thin and lank and unclean; its how you say monsters stay, even if they bathe. As if youre posing as one of them, to prove to me they do exist, its there, I swear to you, look again. Please, just-
One of your drawings is picked up by the wind and is tossed
FingersFingers lift to his mouth, cigarette caught by gentle lips and his eyes close for the seconds he wants to ignore. With the lights out, sunshine, red hot against his eyelids has left the room there anyway, the window, the table, the door. He still cant hear her breathe but feels her chest rise, her shoulders fall against his chest.
Frightened, he drops his arm to the couch as if the seconds had become a moment stretched too long; he looks. Taps the crumbling ash into a glass before it falls and hurts her. Burns her.
Lips pressed just slightly open by his thigh, her soft body follows. Ups and downs he lives to trace with hands, with eyes, with anything; hes caught wanting to wake her. Lifts fingers to his mouth.
She shifts in her sleep; breasts no longer crushed together, her elbow slips off the cushion. Her hand hitting the carpet shocks her, and as she stretches it reaches blindly for his hair. Curls right in and pulls him to her, he abandons the cigarette in favour of thos
StrangersGive me a minute.
They know itll be longer, but hes walking away, past the waxen grey expressions, the swollen black balloons. Hes silent beneath the eulogy, soft and distant words fashioned for strangers, falling on blind ears. He knows its all pretend because really, what is there to say? And even the too-light coffin, the box of mahogany and plastic, the bed of white velvet lining and the brass handles and opal inset design; even thats deception, empty and wasted. Itll rest deep below his feet soon, beside the corpse of a teenager and the yellowed bones of a disenchanted poet, unoccupied as it, too, returns to the earth.
He little understands this hollow gesture, this lascivious ceremony, but knows its for the strangers. They cling to death, adore it, use it for all the human struggle it superficially adorns them with. Someones mother, lover, brother, friend. Death to them is commercial, a way to pretend to seem real. Real
the truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
You Were Born Missing SomethingYour skin is glazed with crystals of frost
and your heart's valves are close to
freezing shut tight
from being devoid of something
Though I am torrents of hail, whirling storms,
warm tears streaking,and tornadoes of rage
that flow uncontrollably through my veins
and out of my mouth,
every breath near you is warm
because your words are so cold
I am a natural disaster at its finest
with bones twisted in painful angles
and a crooked spine
you were born spineless
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