|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Cigarette SmokeCigarette smoke reminds me of brick walls
Cool to the touch and rough on my back
It makes me think of stairwells and sidewalks
Forgotten butts and gum in the cracks.
When my nostrils burn I remember people
People I loved and people I miss
People who gave me good advice, bad advice, whatever
Life stories in 10 minute increments.
Cigarette smoke brings me back to secrets
Things only admitted outside the back door
Crazy theories, ideas and plans
Painted with lips and dirty fingers and ashes.
When I wrinkle my nose and cough a little
I remember glowing embers in the dark
I think of the bonds I have made and broken
Silently leaning shoulder to shoulder.
Cigarette smoke doesn't seem to bother me
Though I've never smoked one for myself
I sit on upturned milk crates empty handed
And yet my heart is calm and full.
Cold SweatSweat runs across my skin on tiny little feet
Finding curves I had forgotten
Hiding from the heat
I am once again suspended
Between cotton sheets and sleep
Will morning never come
Will I never find relief?
Nail PolishYou seemed like a good idea at the time
A pick me up, a new leaf, a challenge
Though there was the matter of convincing myself that you'd suit me.
There you sat, in all your glory
Shimmering colours that I normally would have shied away from
But hey! Change is good, we all need a little change.
I tried so hard to stay in the lines, I really did
And I tried so hard not to upset you
I thought I might faint from your noxious emissions but I held on with a smile
Surely, we'd turn out fine.
Just a bit more to smooth things here, a little clean up there
A bit of flailing and all is set--now then, that wasn't so bad.
And now to protect you, from myself
From my clawing and my cleaning and my cooking
From my picking and my prodding and my poking
From my scratching and scraping and such.
Keeping you pristine is my utmost concern, I'm sure I'll get used to you
As long as I don't fuck this up.
But the first chip flaked off this morning
And I'm a little nervous, I admit
I am having second thoughts
WishI wish to be a boat
Floating on the sea
I wish to be a mountain
I wish to be a flea
I wish to be a dancer
Or a gymnast on a beam
I wish to be a memory
I wish to be a dream
I wish to be an anchor
Something solid, something stable
I wish to be a dandelion
Or a pair of jumper cables
I wish to be a goat
So smelly and so nimble
I wish to be an autumn leaf
Or perhaps a silver thimble
I wish to be a river
Cutting paths where I choose
I wish to be a raging fire
Or a pair of dainty shoes
I wish to be a lover
With a pair of healing hands
I wish to be a fingerprint
Or ever shifting sands
I wish to be orange zest
Or lemon, maybe lime
I wish to be a typewriter
A brief wrinkle in time
I wish to be a bandage
On an elbow, or a knee
I wish to be a poet...
But I am only me.
KintsukuroiI have never been more okay than now
In the knowledge that I am broken
I am tattered and bruised and there is blood from every time
That I tripped and my knees bit the ashphalt.
My bones have cracked under the weight of poorly thought out decisions
And my skin has stretched to contain my weight
Silver lines, on my hips, under arms
They do not fade.
There is proof, at my throat, of the surgery
Of the staples, of the fear, going under
Of the hysterical tears that streamed down my cheeks
for seven hours straight when I woke
And I am glad of it.
The other marks you cannot see
Though my eyes, they may betray me
or my arms, when they wrap around someone
and they are not quite sure that I will let go.
See when you fuck a person up from the inside out
Some things take a little longer to show.
I hear you there; I know. I am a whore, a harlot, of course
But the words you tried to paper mache me with
Are starting to sound a little hollow
And I am beginning to lose their meaning.
I am not quite wh
Castles and cavesI have built many homes in castles and in caves
I have crafted oriental rugs of moss and turrets of oil drums
I have stacked my walls with itchy hay bales and reinforced them with 2X4s.
From the treasure-filled garbage heap have I foraged
I have harvested doors and tables and chairs with three legs
From the ground itself I have sculpted my bed
And found rocks to be the most satisfying pillows.
In the trees I have done battle, real battle, I swear
In the meadows I have healed my wounds
I have walked trails known to no other
And in creeks I have cooled my fevered skin.
In the sunlight, I have played freely
I have danced to my own little beat
I have breathed deep and felt joy
From the top of my head
to the toes of my dirty bare feet
And in the darkness, I have been still
In my castle, in my cave; staring at nothing
I have sang quiet songs that refused to lie dormant
And mine have been the only ears to hear them.
ArizonaArizona from the back of a truck
Late night melting ashphalt
Sunburned thighs and tired eyes
Gravel at the small of my back
A can of warm tea tucked by the tirewell
Smell of oil, gasoline
Searing metal, scorching wind
Hair lashing at my cheeks with no rest
Tracing rust pattern pictures with my dirty fingers
A jacket bunched under my head
Sore neck, sore shoulders, sore ass
I did not think to empty my pockets
Elbows familiar with sharp contact
Dreading potholes, cursing sand and dust
Away from the world, I am alone
Playing guessing games with myself
Playing with sounds and smells, the sky
Bits of streetlights and road signs at the edge of my vision
Where are we now
Where am I
Just drive, who needs a destination
I will doze off while we roam
Let me lie, arm covering eyes
Let me stay here, this is home.
Talk to BoysMy momma told me not to talk to boys. Boys are only trouble. Boys will cause you to sin. Boys only want sex and then they will leave you in the dust with a broken heart and babies. That's what happens when you talk to boys.
Protection is the answer. You must protect your heart and you protect your pants and don't worry little darlin', Daddy's got a shotgun to keep those evil boys away. No one's gonna harm my baby. You just stay right here in this golden birdcage and you stay clean, untarnished. An angel. A trophy that some man will be proud to have one day.
Because eventually, you're supposed to marry one of these boys, oh, no, now men--these men that you don't talk to. Somehow, without communication, a 'good' man will find you in your little cage and break the lock. He will be wonderful and you'll get married and you'll live happily ever after with babies. That's what happens when you marry men.
And IF you break this pattern, if you talk to boys before they are men, they will manipula
UntitledIt's hard to pull out of all this self actualization
Amidst the flying accusations
Of 'supposed' childhood tragedy
and definite mental insanity
You see I have been trying so hard to survive
That I forget how to just be alive
And I have to fight while I write just to breathe
And I lose track, sometimes, of...things.
I don't know how to relax.
I don't know how to let it all go.
I don't know what to do if I don't have to
Claw my way out of another black hole.
I don't know how to be okay
All I know is how to fight
All I know is one must know the dark
To appreciate morning light.
But what do you do with a sunrise?
What does it mean to be 'free'?
When I win all the battles
and I break all my shackles
What...what will there be left of me?
In TimeI wait:
underneath my thoughts,
through its riverbeds.
tears fall into dry banks
memories fill them.
...Tension, is building between
our bones; cracking
these boundaries that bind
[lets not get lost in the moment
Our Wayward Starsguide the specimen
through the maze
and through the rain
rinsing our clothes
like they're still on fire
and somewhere, well
they probably are
and you pray
like tomorrow itself
is the fuel
that empties our dark places
like what lives there
goes away at dawn
but it doesn't
and i pray
like tonight itself
is the dark
that fuels our light
like what lives in each
feeds the ugly other
and it might
but, we're all prey
and the dream itself
is the place where
our chemical flames
hit the surface
flailing as we sink
in panicked clothes
from a distance
we must look like
lost, accepting the
drowning slow burn
of our descent
we look like what we are
MoreWith a broken heart- you’ll starve
All the love you’ll receive will drip out
And constantly you’ll be ‘needing’ more.
melting i've kept a philanthropist
chained to a metal desk
he's starved to the ribs, smeared
in hate and loathing,
starving and sensitive.
i watch his eyes,
melted silver pills
stretched between two little pits.
today, i'll unlock him.
give him a blanket
offer him coffee,
and a fresh heart
(i can spare a pulse)
love is a medicine
that will never cost a thing
Love's FearHe holds her,
maybe he is ready
to talk about love.
He takes a breath.
She takes a breath.
She is not ready for love,
her heart is cold;
left from a frozen wasteland of a childhood,
she can not receive his love.
He takes another breath,
maybe its not the right time,
He noticed she was upset,
the scars on her arms left a trail
to her heart.
He is unsure.
She is unsure.
Maybe love is possible,
a hug can go a long way in life
thawing ones insides.
Chewing the half moons of his fingers.
Chewing the half ways of her fingers.
He sighs, ready to take the big step,
lightly taps her on the shoulder;
he is now ready he thinks.
He opens his mouth to speak.
She opens her mouth to speak.
CoffeeI love you like I love coffee
A comforting aroma, bringing discomforting memories
See, I can't take you straight
I sugarcoat you and whitewash you until you suit my tastes
You are fantastic over ice and with so much caramel and whipped cream
that I can no longer taste your bitterness
Or when you are full of Bailey's
When you are mocha
I love you like I love coffee, darling--
That is to say,
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
Keep in Touch!