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Poem #18remembering you
sends a sudden rush of pain
through my already breaking heart.
but trying to forget you
does so much more to me.
it's best for me
to keep a distance.
my head screams
"who cares about him?"
but my heart whispers
"you do, stupid."
Poem #44Your blue eyes held mine for so long,
and then you left.
So this is my new home, lover,
this place called "misery".
My heart is left to ache
And if I die tonight,
it will be with you in mind.
Poem #45Born again to die again,
I shudder as I lay in the mess that is my life.
Were we made to suffer, or to wait it out?
Only time will tell.
Right now all I want is for you to hold me,
and if you do,
I'm going to burst into tears of joy.
It has been far too long of a wait
Poem #43Please excuse my heart
while it skips a beat.
I don't want that to be
a reason for you to keep your hands off me.
Poem #51Today I was weeding
the garden of my life
and I found myself
the most beautiful rose,
simply because I have been
pricked by those thorns
one too many times.
Mamas ought to be warning
their baby girls
that the devil himself
is most often found in
the form of teenage boys.
Poem #49We have a wooden door in
with our family tree etched
that my mother made
when I was very young.
I spent my youth
the names of people
that I had never met
but had somehow managed
to make me who I am,
names that I have
since then forgotten.
I remember my young hands
over the name of my grandmother
who had died
shortly after she was diagnosed
when I was three years old.
I often wonder
if she and I would get along,
if she would
the young woman I have become,
if she would understand
that I was engulfed in sin
before I understood the
right and wrong.
Poem #13Do you remember me?
I'm the girl you threw away.
The useless source of nothingness
that you willingly hid from the world.
Do you remember me?
I'm the one you never loved.
Here, in the dark,
I feel so very alone.
Do you remember me?
I'm never there anymore.
My world has collapsed,
and it looks like you forgot to save me.
Don't you remember me?
...I remember you.
Poem #70I am fragile.
Your words could crush me
if you allowed them to.
I am stuck between
right and wrong
and always have been.
Sometimes I want
inside your mind
and eat my way out.
Poem #69Have you ever heard a song
that makes you want to be a different you?
You close your eyes and think,
"Damn, I could be so much better."
I wanna be the poem that reminds you
that you don't need to be better,
that this world is whirlin' and twirlin'
and that we have to stay true
if we wanna make it out alive.
I wanna be the breeze through your window
in the middle of the night
that tickles your skin and whispers,
"You can do this",
because you can do this.
I wanna be the hope that lingers in the pit of your stomach.
I wanna shine through at the end of the day and remind you
that life ain't a race,
it ain't a game.
It's all that you are and will ever be.
Take your time and smile,
don't rush to get ahead.
You'll get there.
Maybe later than you'd hope,
but you'll get there.
I know because I, too,
am on my way.
The Days of Our Livesmonday said that you loved me.
he whispered this through broken teeth
and touched me with hands that were
crackled, like boiled eggs.
tuesday stole you.
her eyelashes batted too slowly
and i saw you leave,
brought you back to my door-
meek, wet, and disheveled,
clutching wilted roses.
thursday, ever tricky,
hid you in the orange grove with a lady
and no amount of april fools could convince me to stay.
friday let me cry at her bosom,
she stroked my hair and murmured lullabies
into tangled silk.
saturday was kind and gentle.
'fear not,' he said, and patted my hand.
'he will return.'
you did. saturday dragged you home
and draped you over our lovestained couch.
sunday was the meanest day.
he gave me bruises and whiskey-tinted kisses
all up my neck.
i was packed to leave,
monday said that you loved me.
he whispered this through punched-out teeth
and touched me with hands that were
tainted, like last week's garbage,
so tuesday tol
yoursi am more
of my bones.
of my spine,
on my skin.
in your throat,
of your hands.
i am what lies
beyond the hike
of my skirt,
of my jeans,
the gossamer sheen
of my shirt-
Valtreki miss you like hell.
hell, i miss you like
roses in our bath,
the water going cold and your warm legs against me,
the shampoo in my hair
pop pop popping
until you pushed me under,
our goosebumps colliding like
flint and steel.
hell, i miss you like
dewy orchard apples, crisp and sweet-tart
and cold, so cold,
your tongue like a pink lady,
i miss you like
the snow outside our window,
our backs frozen against the trees
and your eyelashes-
flavoured like saltwater and rain.
i miss you like
the fog that roamed our streets in early morning,
apparitions, phantoms, spectres,
cloaked in blackness.
the sound of your breath.
the silence is the only thing i've come to fear.
there are stray-cat men who ramble through my bar rooms,
ponytails that drip down their backs
and they wear ink beneath their skin,
blue jeans that are soft and faded, hands
whose callouses rub spots on my tables, and
how many times have i felt the sticky-cold smack of a bandana,
the bristle of an unshaved mouth running rough against my thigh?
there is a certain poetry about the way a hair
sticks to naked skin.
i am weaved between burning legs,
dripping oil and gasoline
we roar like tigers
in a concrete jungle.
the morning after is
heat between my thighs and an empty bed,
shy noseprints on the window and my best friend
poured in a dirty glass,
if you feed them,
stray-cat men have a way of coming back.
on the nights when i forget whose name i need to scream...
shrinkingplease, don't tell me how beautiful it is that i've parted my thighs like the sea.
because there is nothing pretty about the tears in last nights dinner, or the way my hands shake around silverware. i am not poetry, but a language lost --in the spaces where flesh used to occupy lies everything i needed to say, kept as the only thing i could ever bear to swallow. if you try to write sonnets about the scars on my knuckles or the arch of my ribs, i will tell you in nine syllables less that this is more than abstinence and foggy reflections. i will tell you how my little sister can carry me in her arms like a child, and how my father can hardly navigate my bedroom floor without touching the brown vomit stains that makes his brow heavy. i will tell you how it feels to hold your own heart in your hands, to feel it break and skip like an old, worn cd. i will tell you how i am nineteen and fishing through musty boxes of clothes from my childhood, only to find that not a single pair of sh
on growing lonelyi'm not about to mention the way your lips curl around your cigarette, because i know you no longer have a lover.
because i'm sure you would swallow them whole if it would help, if they could ignite your heart the way her hands used to. instead, i know you'll reach for any alcohol in the house, in hopes the way it burns can erase the ways ghosts glide between your ribcage each night, tumbling out your mouth as soon as you rise. you swear you haven't dreamed a single night in the three years since she died, so you stay awake for hours past midnight, praying for delirium to cast her on the side of the bed you can hardly bring yourself to touch, since the last thirteen years you have of her in pictures are hollow compared to the woman you first kissed.
so you go to the doctor she used to see in hopes he can tell you what fraction of the pain she felt you feel in your spine, walk on beaches once the sun goes down so maybe the bits of her in the sea will make
Simple PleasuresSomeone told me that that life was boring.
I couldn't agree.
Sweet memories of passing seasons. The sweet smell of grass and dancing sunlight. The ripples on the seafloor. Then the vibrant leaves, lighting the world aflame. The crisp air making my nose run. Sunlight that would turn her hair golden, as if trapped in the very strands. Like a golden halo around her head. Of windy days that sent unrestrainable shivers through my body, a strange trembling feeling, like that off deep bass. The crunch of leaves beneath my feet and of the first snowfall. Gentle white flurries swept easily from side to side with every small breath of wind. The silent snowfalls are my favorite. The white clumps somehow muting the world, muffling every sound except the pleasant crunch of snow compressing beneath clumsy winter boots. Of watching the snow fall, each flake on its own journey, together blanketing the fall-hardened ground in restful white. Dreading stepping into it, not wanting to mar to fl
His words were a shout, practically a scream. I could see the strain of his muscles as he shook. It wasn’t just his muscles; it was every fiber of his being quivering as he recoiled trying to stuff everything inside.
It was barely over a whisper and I felt a bitter laugh escape my lips before squeezing them into a tight line. He froze for a moment, pupils dilated in a rage that matched my own, and began a hailstorm of flying objects and profanities. But I wouldn’t leave, not again, not that same goddamn cycle just so he could rip himself apart from the inside and leave me with an empty shell. I lunged at him trying to pin him down and he writhed and screamed trying to get away as if I burned his skin. I knew better than that because I could help and that was what terrified him. Digging my nails into his wrist I forced him to stay still and spoke with the softest voice I could manage.
And then I felt him shrin
Just A Little Kindness"C'mon, finish him off!"
"Yeah, take him down! Show him what we're made of!"
"Let's go, man! Give the devil a taste of his own medicine!"
I frowned, trying to drown out all of the heckling and yelling. It was so hard to focus with the noise. I closed my eyes, clenching my fist.
This was it. It was finally my moment to shine, to take down the guy who'd been harassing me for years. All I had to do was give him one more hard punch. That was it. We'd win, and his gang would finally leave.
I let out a slow breath, locking my eyes on the pathetic man cowering beneath me. All of his buddies had taken off after seeing the backup we had, leaving him on his own.
"Please " Came the whispered begging, "Please No more "
I no longer felt fear strike through me when I looked at him. None of the loathing and hate either. Just pity.
Pity for the coward under my mercy.
Why was I so afraid of him in the first place? He had nothing but intimidation and look where that g
Poem #19you know
as well as i do
that life isn't worth it.
and you know,
trust me, you know
that we were never
meant to be.
but do you know
that every little star
in the evening sky
and only you?
and do you know
that every time it rains
i see your face
in the clouds?
...and it's smiling back at me.
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^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