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.it's an animal.
this anger that burns right up my spine
devouring its tender path until ash remains
just dust from my bones and
used up memories.
i fold it up inside the creases
of my body but it has claws
that stretch through my skin
threaten my mouth with mutiny
and i bite down on blood.
AlmostWhen they lowered that box with electric gears
there was no one around to weep and
struggle to breathe,
there was just empty air cutting between stones.
The snow came and I held my breath to fight the impulses
kick at the boxes and make figure drawings out of pixels;
I have to be careful not to list my dreams because
someone likes to go down with black marker and strike them off
one by one.
This time next year I’ll be different.
Were you lonely? With the trees still naked and
the grass stained yellow,
a pile of dirt and a back hoe,
a line of cars driving off.
There are things moving in my heart
and I shove most of them to the side
because I can’t love and
I can’t pick up these pieces-
I’ll make a promise for you.
tastes like ash
because all that snow-globe-glitter
loses its shine with
the extinguish of hope
maybe the scratch of fake glass
will be enough to rekindle
this falling out
or just smudge away
all the forgotten little pieces.
with cold hands you tie the laces
of the old shoes that squeeze your fat feet
and you pretend not to notice that
your toes are folded up and your ankles
are in danger of snapping
instead you watch the way the
faded fabric regards your blotchy skin
and memorize the feeling of
sticky dust between your fingers.
you used to watch yourself do acrobatic tricks in the mirror
but you don’t bend that way anymore.
thunderhe ran again
that slick july heat
burning at the back of his
hands gripped tight
on the steering wheel
((he’d hate the cliche and
i’d tell him his g-d is dead
because he believes in himself
too much and he’d laugh and
say we’re even))
when the gas runs out
he’ll pull his shoe laces
tight and run to the next
stop in his life
somewhere we can’t
ever find him or send the
text message envelopes full
of our blessings and love
((he’d say what is love and
i’d start crying and he’d grin))
FoolLet me go like
leaking out of
just a fuzzy
back our chiding
talks and wander
waiting for bright
things to dull
you're like a
So if the
I'll press away
cut for your
ask for that
Tree GirlIntrinsically I know
that the ache in
my bones will pass
so statue I stand
and become the
next tree girl.
But the birds
fall at heart beats
and broken nests
or scrambled eggs
there's too much
guilt to consume.
You cough and I
hold my breath
a scattered dance
to the wind
the rest and
pushed all the
dreams to the
You want me
to be the next
bloom but I'm
And rot sets in so fast.
All Their TalkingThey say that living is breathing but
I have evidence to the contrary
because this distilled air holds
none of the magic of falling towards
love or an abyss the depth of oceans.
If you catch the light in a bottle then
maybe you’ve found something of
living but there’s still the secret of
a beating heart and a whirring brain
to promise collapse and incline.
To say that living is breathing is
to discount all the late nights and
heady mornings that steal all
your breath away.
Don't Say ItMarch sprang to kill
and it managed death
April tried the same
but some people
aren't ready to cut
Already the snow's
gone and the taste
of fresh air leaves
to be desired.
And when it smells
like forgotten things
and ghosts are
filling the sink with
dishes you can't
do much but find
some way to
So run like there's
a fire licking your
And maybe there is.
But the blisters make
you think of childhood
swing sets and metal
slides and the slick
heat of sweaty knees.
Still there's room at the
Inn and they'll take the
cocain cash that tastes
like pixy dust so watch
their sticky fingers and
May likes to dress in
slips and slide guns
to temples like a
I. if i can make my fingers meet
my wrists then who’s to say
that my teeth won’t one
day touch the sky.
I swore on painted nails and sidewalk chalk that
the distance between your mouth and my ear was
too far to constitute a secret. So I let your guts spill
out my hands and wrapped our trust around your
neck content to watch this insipid frindship vaporize
with the condensation of your last breath.
Yet as a ghost you haunt the corners of my house
lingering between the pages of my book and where
the back of the stove meets the wall. I tried to feed you
peanuts, but you’re no circus animal.
If you were I’d peg a tranqualizer in your leg and
drag a knife across your pulse so that another
of my ghosts could go home.
You're worth so much moreShe was the type
to cut her wrists,
and then swallow the
because looking at what
was even harder
but I want to tell her
to let the emotions
p i l
out of her mouth,
instead of her
and that I'll gladly
let the words slice me,
if it means
I Tear My Skin AwayI Tear My Skin Away
I tear this skin from my body,
Even if the world screams,
That I am only an illusion.
I tear the bones from my legs,
Through pain, I will grow,
Through suffering, I will become.
I rip the muscles from my arms,
These teeth from my jaws...
And with nothing upon me,
I carry on...
Like a broken puppet, still shivering,
Still forcing its way through the darkness;
I tremble for I am nothing...
And yet, I am moving. My voice still screams...
I draw breath into these tired lungs,
As I rip the flesh away...
And I shatter these mirrors before me,
With a voice that will not break:
Because the world cannot label me as nothing,
And I will live for my own sake!
"So tell me, is that all the pain you've got for me?"
A note for people who need a kind wordJust a note,
For anyone who has felt,
Like they have been broken.
Just like an old toy.
Thrown and tossed around like a rag doll.
To anyone who feels,
They re tearing at their seams.
And they re losing all control.
A note to the little girl,
And waited for her mother.
Or her father.
To come back home,
To keep her safe,
While she cried.
Or to at least of said goodbye.
And wishes they d come back and tell her,
A note to the lonely boy.
So quiet and reserved.
Who sits and takes their cruel words.
Thinking it s what he deserved.
To be thrown into lockers,
And thinking he can find something better,
With the company of a razor,
Rather than a human.
Because humans have caused him more hurt,
Than the blades that pierce his skin.
A note to the beautiful girls.
Who walk for miles,
Until they have blisters on their feet.
Because they will not accept the defeat,
Of having to see numbers,
That tell them they are not worthy.
They are not pretty.
And they should not be living.
If they c
You're beautifulPlease eat.
Are you listening to me?
If you are,
I want to tell you.
You re beautiful.
It doesn't matter what you weigh,
you shouldn't feel guilty about what you ate.
It doesn't matter,
I promise you things will get better.
Listen to my words,
Hold my hand.
Don't worry about the rest of the world,
It's okay if they don't understand,
How it feels like,
To feel fat,
To feel ugly,
To feel worthless.
You are none of those things.
It s okay to be chubby,
It s okay to be skinny.
Because you have a big heart.
And your smile,
Is like a priceless work of art.
And I don't want to see you destroy,
Because you're more than just a broken toy.
And to everyone else,
So for once let yourself be,
Accept your reflection.
Because you are the definition of perfection.
So don't worry,
Don't be sorry,
To be who you are.
Because you re,
notes on a matchbook love.if I were the type
to say how I really felt,
I'd tell you that
I hope you choke on your apologies
like they're arsenic
and your nails are already
with the poison.
I'd let you know
that I'll never be a body
for you to touch
just because I know that's all you want.
I'll never be a fairy in a bottle
at your waist.
this is no storybook, and
I am no myth.
hear my silence,
feel the cold absence
respond to your weak "I'm sorry"s.
I beg you,
stop digging the hole,
stop, just stop.
Hush and watch the flames
engulf the image you sold me.
you can tell me
I'm beautiful as much
as you want,
but I know that it's not enough,
that you'll always want more,
that you've been a wolf
between my legs all this time
and my fingers are bruised
from holding the leash.
now every time you whisper
"please be okay",
I will always tell you that
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
I will forever pretend
that I've grown up from you,
that I've become a mystery
What is Hope?Hope is something we have as children,
It helps us thrive and try our hardest.
Hope is what we express in the worst of times
When all hope seems lost.
Hope is what people possess in life
To work toward our dreams.
Hope is a lie
That's not worth our time.
AnxietyAnxiety tapping on my door,
"Can I come inside your head?"
I shiver, not ready for its visit.
It charges in, smelling of worry.
Spends a morning, afternoon and night,
playing with my emotions.
A marionette dancing its old tune on rough strings.
Leaves me winded and praying to beat it the next time.
I Know You're Strong, Let's Be Stronger TogetherI Know You're Strong, Let's Be Stronger Together
if i’m being completely honest,
i can’t say i know what you’re goin’ through.
and if i’m being frank,
i’m sort of afraid to write this
because i’ve always been unsure
if i love too much but it’s my nature
and i’d rather lose by trying too hard
than to do so without doing enough.
i hope you’re asleep now
and i hope you don’t read this
till the morning and i hope by then
things will be a little lighter
but i’m hoping against hope
because if you don’t know,
i feel when things are off.
call it intuition, call it a feelin’,
say i just know it.
my friend, my door is always open
even when you’re feeling closed
off to the world and right there,
i can understand that feeling well,
because i still feel we relate to one another
better than most brothers understand their sisters.
know i look at you as a sibling
and i believe we know when the other
I miss youYou are a ghost in my head
Living, yet you haunt my thoughts today
To speak your name
Would be to desecrate this space
Where you are, I should not care to know
But you are a never-healing wound
An unfulfilled promise
A chance to do no wrong
My memories burn with your taste, your touch, your smell
Who have I become?
Too long have the years been to me
To find myself wishing for the crossroads
For the chance to say no, one more time.
Something Coldthe buses pass by
like animals in the night time light
they look hungry and so i hurry
my steps and like skipping
records or rocks
they put me past my pace.
running is like falling is like
grazing past an old ghost
what i really mean is
a burnt out flame.
it’s getting used up
by the little birds
and the flying swallows all laugh
as i tuck my hair beneath
the belt that works so hard
to hold me together.
the smell of glue is addictive
an adhesive that catches
at every synaptic nerve
ending in your brain
where the fear likes to live.
lay low and wait
for ankles and the itch
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More