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Morning TeaShe told him once; the evening sky left her in euphoria. The following morning, he wore all black and put stardust in her tea.
Deaf MuseI spill my soul, disguised
as words, into your palms, which
I suppose I mistook for open.
Only you throw
them away. I reel,
when you say;
“Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
ReincarnateI imagine that I’ll come back
as a librarian, a man and somewhere
in Borneo or Edinburgh,
trying to make sense
of the things I left behind,
we’ll find each other, again -
they say souls travel
in the same circles, and we’ll remember
over words, poetry
and the music you made;
the keys to Freon playing behind us.
it may be a poignant reunion
of once weary souls,
filtering through the universe
time and time again.
I’ll tell you we were lovers in a past life
and you’ll roll your eyes
as you did once before –
a firm scientist and open cynic.
I’ll shrug, as always,
and show you how we unravelled ourselves
todaytime takes away all the pleasures
of the day; the drum
of falling rain waning
to a muted beat, and we watch
as the world glows,
from the jaded sun. today
the universe is ours
stars an exhibition as we
soar, me and you; birds
Oaki knew a girl once,
with an oak heart and guarded hands
(gloved from touch)
uncrossed her ankles,
let naked fingertips
touch well-read lips, and
her heart kind of turned
i miss that girl,
with the oak heart -
she was tougher.
SandcastlesOn the beach alone,
brown-eyed, petite, kneeling in the sand
she spent an hour of her life
that'd be washed away by sea.
the silent bardthe ground shifted
beneath the weight of their hearts
and he said;
the temperature dropped, that
time of year, warm days
and cold nights
the wind whispered
away to simple words
space junkone moment I was talking
to the man on the moon, and
then I was falling
i was surrounded by
clouds, a wispy layer as
my body started to burn up from breaking
and then, cool solace
as the ocean devoured me,
blowing silvery bubbles
as I floated like
rogue space debris -
nomadic to time and space.
pedicellariaeI am not a
I am a sea
spikes and venom and
but everyone seems
to call me
by the wrong name
what I forgot to sayto the girl who lives like a hurricane:
don’t expect to tell me about
your addiction to self-harm and
Nyquil and have me smile;
although, as I shiver from lakewater
and things less tangible, I seem to
acquire a talent for glossing over the list
of things I need to tell you--
is an asshole. California does not
begin and end in a tiny town where
people operate like clockwork around
the same happy working song. I am not
a fountain of wisdom, and, to be honest,
I can barely understand you over the
thunderstorms in my own brain.
you are beautiful and you are
to the girl I left back in time:
purpose is not a given. I am
the same teenage angst who used
to wear too much eyeliner and
complain about my future
as I’d foretold it-- loveless and whiny,
like me. I am her plus a few more
self destructions and minus
a lot more days to continue striving
alongside you for simple goals and
simple friends and simple memories
I won’t remember.
to the girl who see
my heart is just paper for muscle and ink for blood, but i like to think that if i tore out a few pages and bound them in leather, it might just mean something.
and i tell you, i want to tell you, no, i am not more than that. i am not human, made up of muscle and bones that break, but words. i am books and flowers and the coffee i had this morning because, no --i cannot be me. i cannot be this.
i don't want to be here, scared these little sinews are snapping like dental floss between my hungry teeth.
i've smeared my make up over your neck and collarbones, wrinkled your shirt with my paint-chipped nails, and somewhere between the first pain and hiccup of a sob, i've forgotten how to speak. you hold me tighter each time it steals my breath and listen to make sure i remember how to after it passes, say my name softly to remind me to stay with you.
and you've pressed your hand over my chest, as if keeping it there will hold the weathered organ together.
on loving lengthwisei.
in my near-nineteen years of life i have never wanted something, someone so much.
[no, i swear, not even death itself]
waking up without you hurts.
even though you don't have one, i slept with my webcam on last night so maybe you could catch a glimpse of me sleeping.
you say i shiver in dreamland, and i tell you that's because i hardly dream --there is nothing in my mind then but grey matter and cold air, because even with the heat blasting at seventy and four fleece blankets, i have trouble making my own warmth.
you told me that even so, i was smiling. and i said that though i don't remember, the only explanation would be that i was dreaming of you --before you were mine, you were my only dreams worth remembering. now, you're the only ones i ever have.
going out in winter seems colder than ever without you here.
it makes me think of years ago, when i found that without flesh, it is impossible to insulate bones. you would sit next to me every morning on the bus, and f
jointedi remember days of holding your hands
and swearing they felt so heavy,
the synovial fluid that welled up
around your joints was liquid lead
for years i wished to give you
one thousand of my white blood cells
for each day i had to leave you
stranded on the kitchen floor
and when i finally learned the words
i wanted to tell you:
the doctors never made you stronger
with any injection or titanium bones
but you did yourself
every morning you stood
and opened your eyes
a woman asked me
if i would like to take home flowers for you
and i wanted to ask if in the coolers
she had enough yellow roses
to fill the spaces between your
kneecaps and every joint that ever ached
so maybe you would come back alive
if i could promise
pain wouldn't greet you
i do not love holding you up
like a sinking ship
--your hipbones are jutting above
seas of skin again, icebergs
tearing both you
and me apart
have you drank water today?
because i worry
there is no fluidity in the way
you move anymore
you are all angles, angel
your body creaks and moans
like an old, worn out machine
and i don't have your schematics
i know you've taken a tape measure
of every inch of yourself but
i cannot measure your mind
to figure out how to fix you
even though your spine
has more ridges
than the rocky mountains,
you know you cannot move them
you cannot pick up textbooks
your stockpot full of water
please, don't forget how to smile again
i remember all those years ago
when you lost so much of yourself
that even though i could help you up stairwells
and wait for you on the bus every morning
those beautiful twenty six muscles
slippers your ghost eats peanut butter
out of the jar. an atomic grease
fire tongues our oven like an
if only we walked on clouds
if only we lived in the belly of the ocean
I am a natural lucid dreamer. When I was sick,
I dreamed away whole strings of days that burst
with causal power, as if the sun, shining past
my silted eyelids, had spilled a home behind them.
You watched how well I played that girl:
high heels, sparkle eyes,
sitting on his work desk with my lips curled,
legs crossed, booze at needle length
beneath my skin expelling floral tones,
I pretended to fall asleep on top of his blankets
so I had access to my concave nest,
a place without his hands on my stomach, no,
and without his mouth on my shoulder.
Now I am not even here
and he doesn't know, not at all.
My respectability besieged
the rest of me when I believed
in being respectable, for,
like a miasma of red night,
pulling up sleep in orange-tasting sinews,
you were born from a nautilus shell
to ensnare the thirst of laughing.
Had you been tossed so far beyond yourself during the night
that you woke up aware that you think about eternity
because it's manifes
In another tongue, in a far-off townSometimes I dream that we met in a place
where sadness was a foreign language
where you couldn’t understand the words I whispered in your ear.
Where I couldn’t taste it like molasses on your tongue or read it in your smudging script,
see it painted on your face or feel it, warm between your thighs.
Sometimes I dream that I met you in some other fashion, stumbling over unfamiliar lines
but not here. Not here.
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More