|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
(Do Not) Fear MeDarling, do not fear me.
Let me scale the walls of your distrust
Let me work at the stones
And clear the locks of their rust.
Darling, do not fear me
I could never do you harm
Why, these fists are weak, this tongue is sweet
I want only to lie in your arms!
Darling...darling, do not fear me.
I want only to love you, to know you
I want to laugh with you--
And when upset, console you.
Darling, do not fear me.
I will only touch your heart
I will kiss your rough skin
I will caress your lips in the dark.
Oh darling, do not fear me
For when I tire of your love
I will not say cruel things
I will not yell, nor scream.
Darling. Do not fear me.
I will leave with a smile and a kiss
I'll be gone in the blink of an eye--
Why, there'll hardly be anything to miss!
Darling, you see, you cannot escape
You will love and be loved
and then it will all go away
Though I mean you no harm and I often say,
Darling, do not...
The tree and the reedAnd when your rage is taken, where is your voice?
When your power is stripped, what is left?
I find it so difficult to be intimidated by you
You, whose bones are the same as my own--
For though you shake me, you cannot break me
And you cannot take what I've known.
If all your pomp is tattered
And you slip from your imaginary throne
If you have no barbed insults to throw
And no gilded credentials to show
Who are you if you stand alone?
So you have more money than I--I see.
So you have at least three degrees.
You have connections and cars and a great big house
You stand as a tall oak tree.
But I am a fire, darling, I am a river
I am the wind and the rain and the sea
I was born of dust and of tears and some old barbed wire
You are a tree, but I am a reed.
Life is liquid, ever changing,
and I bend and I curve with the flow
Never broken, never shattered
Though I waver, still I grow.
SalvationFor who among us hasn't longed for sweet salvation?
Salvation from red-eyed demons, and the dark shadows that trail us
Salvation from the worry and despair that perches on our weary shoulders
and gnaws steadily at our heavy bones
Salvation from the horrible consequences of the bad decisions of others
But never, never of our own...
Who among us will take responsibility
For our own sin and salvation, and grasp firmly this brief life we have
The pristine and the unclean
The pure and obscene
Who will admit that truth is a double edged sword
That salvation itself carries consequence
That there is comfort in imperfection
That you can stay a victim who needs saving your whole damn life
Or you can be the defiant and daring hero
But even heroes harbor holes
The strongest hearts carry weakness
And Salvation is, after all...
Only but a pretty word.
Colorado StormAnd all I can think of right now is a Colorado storm
There have been none to compare since I've known them...
Watching from a distance, they look so calm
Big piles of glowing cotton trailing sheets of soft grey cloth
Until the first waves roll in, and you realize that the beauty bears violence
and you had best seek shelter where you may
Until the first tentril of wind lashes your face
and seeks out your bones through your ill-prepared clothing
Until the hail bruises your skin like so many insults hurled in a schoolyard
that you swore would never hurt you
Until the lightning blinds you like an over-enthusiastic camera flash that you knew was coming
and you couldn't hide from, or it would ruin the picture
Until the thunder rolls through your eardrums and your feet and your chest
shaking loose things you thought you had a hold of
Until the rain threatens to drown you in a million silver needles
worse than any doctor visit you've ever known
Until you give up the running and the gasping and
These decisions of mineI keep making these decisions of mine
The ones you don’t approve of; how dare I
You brow beat and shame me as best you can and yet
I am finding, more sure than ever, that this is what I want
Who I am
How I feel
What I think
And my smile is no longer dependant
On the one that crosses your face so rarely.
How dare I offend the delicate constitutions of those who judge me
for not letting someone else decide my life for me
How dare I speak and think and decide my own fate
How dare I touch or tease or masturbate
How dare I WANT.
How DARE I FEEL.
HOW DARE I DESIRE.
How dare I.
How dare I?
The how is quite easy.
By placing my lips on another pair, without care, without fear
By walking out my door with silly hair and silly boots
By being kind, by loving more, by standing up for those who don’t stand up for themselves
By learning, by testing myself, by making mistakes
By being honest about what I feel
By LIVING with a smile hiding at the edge of my wide open e
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
A lifeA life
when i stimulated the prayers of rib-beat
when i licked the temple of my teeth,
speed pushed my fingers shaped like confessionals
clasped holy, carved my throat to fixing-
lover; i did this for the anthem of your eyes,
the feel of strangled feet crushing the fame of stars
for the glow of streetlight worship, for the moons
of your crooning throat, for the halls of your arms,
the strayed revels of your arms,
lover: you manufactured a god out of the drugs i used
and had me addicted to the divine, to the dignity of music
you pressed in my direction: just what i am, hallelujah,
marijuana, day and night-
lover, i fell in love with your culture
that preached the real definition of dusked kneecaps,
the plea of closeted throats, the whisper of bless,
unlearning how to say please god in borrowed tongue,
i fell in love with your attention, nervous grace
lover. i levied the rubble of my sins
Synesthesia - III have learned not to say
when your voice burns under my tongue -
learned not to shiver
at the cold of sirens on the street -
learned not to describe
the pricks and strokes and touches.
I have learned that skin cannot hear,
nor ears feel
(whichever it is).
How strange to think:
I may travel all my life
and never find a lover who can hold my laugh in his palms.
Even The City KnowsIs it at all easy?
Being by yourself, I mean.
Sitting in a car, on a train, on a bus--wherever you might be now, isn't it hard to be a drifter?
There are no men with newspapers, no women with strollers, no love-crazy teenagers, no annoying toddlers, no anybody.
You stare out the window, like there are people out there, calling your name. The trees are out there, and they've lost all their leaves, all their buds--they've lost everything, just like you.
The sky is out there, and it's gray and colorless, just like you.
The stars are out there, and they're so blown-out-of-proportion, and they're just like you, too.
But the trees, the skies, the stars, they're used to being left alone.
You lack the ebullience of your drink, but it, too, is fading.
Frost has gathered on windows, on the ground, on rivers, everywhere.
Frost comes and goes, just like you, when you finally melt away.
The city draws to darkness and quiet--it disappears, just like you.
But, even frost
the tattoo artist.she finds gems hidden underneath my skin and
rips them out with her teeth, the sores
along my arms swelling with pride and red; never
has she wondered if the pain would make me
grit my teeth into powder—no, she knows
i take it like a man takes steak:
raw and tough and bloody, like my fingers
after picking scabs to let some fresh air in; her
words are etched on the point of a needle, and she
is a tattoo artist drilling ink into my body, her lines
thick with moxie: "alive" splayed out across
my wrist, "awake" above my heart—she paints
a vision on my eyelids of an endless sky and
tells me it doesn't belong to me, but that i
can have it; perhaps foolishly,
i believe her every word
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
Where my corpse is foundAs I lay here,
On the guest room's bed,
My grandmother exchanges the oxygen
for the delectable scents of cinnamon, sugar, candy.
She does this through the magic of baking
Gingerbread Men, Gingerbread Houses, Yule logs, Candy Canes.
While I smell my cruel ex-boyfriend's suffocating tangy cologne.
I hear the laughter of people outside the streets.
Their loud, cheerful voices show the huge smiles on their frost bitten faces.
While my ears hear the bitter melody of arguments.
My parents' failure to stay together as promised in a holy place
caused my lovely imprisonment here at my sweet grandparents' house.
Through the slight opening of my door and through the windows,
Color penetrates the Darkness I have worked hard to create.
One usually embraces the Illuminating Decorations.
While I lie down here to reminisce my friends
Who are Traitors;
Proof of their conniving betrayal was the broken art project
of A Christmas Star
sitting alone on the floor.
People at this time feel w
When the movie is overIn that quiet, after the credits, after your heart has been wrenched from your chest
After the hope, and after the longing, and after your tears have been laid to rest
When you are still, there in the darkness, you will realize the story is not your own
That broken things are still broken, and though you are loved...
You will always be alone.
Crown of ThornsShe wakes up with red staining her pillow
and the taste of blood like iron in her mouth
It stains her teeth and leaks from her lips, and as she
rinses her mouth out, she can’t help thinking that
it’s better than dirt and ashes
it feels like she’s wearing a noose
of broken promises and shattered glass
that tightens around her throat with every day that passes
She nails a smile to her face
and doesn't let herself think the word dying
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More