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a warmer climatei tried to write to you today
on the back of vocabulary lists of a language i will never learn
held against the sunlight,
'i miss all i used to know' was penned next to bahin (sister)
but the words flowed all the same
alien words stole from my thoughts when i wouldn't say
'on saturday i walked twelve kilometres along the shoreline akela' (alone)
it spared my ink but caught my liar's tongue redhanded
tanned skin makes scars glow brighter and i am conscious of my mistakes
i am who mothers point after and tell their children 'she is the girl
who leaves silver sequins in her wake'
'one day i added namkeen (salty) water to the ocean but i couldn't find it back
even when taking gulps to regrasp
that bit of myself'
the air here is stifling, bahin, sister,
but in the evenings
it cools down
WingsA quiet whirring
A little stirring
The printer, a plan
A roaring engine
The saving grace on paper
Your soft cheek against the cool glass
The drape of a well-considered fold, pushed in and zipped up
Far underneath, the rumbling earth
The sea as black as the sky
Nothing left to reflect in your ocean eyes
Nothing but the click of a dying heater
Soft wheels rolling, rolling,
"Cabin crew, the doors may be opened."
I'd call it home
But I'm not sure on which airport I'd have to arrive for that
I Can't Sleep.Jealousy overtakes me
To the point where I can’t breathe
But I don’t want to breathe
I’m filled with hate
And I don’t want to be
But I am
And it helps me breathe.
My love is the fuel
To this fire
And for the sake of love
Get me to see the truth
I know the truth
But I can’t think
Emotions never cared about logic
I scream to myself
It has to be me
No one else can help me
I’m stuck in denial
Like a paradox
Now I think I’m okay
But I’m not.
Why can’t I see what you mean?
Why can’t I hear your words?
Why can’t I believe?
Open my eyes…
Make me breathe
In your words
And forget my own
I say to myself.
Stolen KissI wish I was a poem. I wish I could be summed in three stanzas and bring shimmering relief to literature students on dreary Monday mornings. I wish to be the sugar they sprinkle into tea they drink from carnival glass to make them relax. If only they could read and have me brush along their jawlines, tingle in their fingertips like the lit fuse on a firecracker. If they read me aloud I would taste of pureed flowers, frost thin and light with marigold their every spoken word.
(College tastes like burnt bagels and monsters. It’s wanting to run forever, but being unable to move. The lines are too long. Too slow. Sleep sticks like peanut butter to everyone’s brains and lashes. They’re zombies because they know the end is near, shuddering in panic from winter chills and confusion, so desperate for some meaning.)
I asked one of these people, a tattooed girl, if I could taste her breath. “Sorry, I’ve just run out,” she said, hot steam from her sweat misting
Screaming EmphasisI lost
Thirteen pounds of anxiety this week.
Body melted, melted
fingers slipping chartreuse
I am full of slipping
chain-link gums give me lead poisoning
body, gums melted, chartreuse
I, toxic, lick lips neon green
Arsenic tongue dart to nails --
Dirt, dirt, dirt, more dirt --
and thighs stuck hot against plastic
I cannot hold a pen
CANnot write eloquence or beauty
Hand skitters through page
TALKing I need silence I need
need, need, need, more needing
crushed under necessity-
The spaces of my ribs are where
my skin hides its bruises
feel like stealing-
taking hunger into my breast
full of slipping,
I do not breathe but static
Anxiety in Morse Code
we do not-
what SPEAKS makes sense
we do not-
Thighs stuck hot to the seat beneath me
Bones in my aching hand quiver,
wrapped around archaic ideals
why do they touch why do they --
The Dream GuardianA beauty- in her own world
Roaming… a blue jay between two skies
Freedom carved in the feathers of her wings
Her name was sung and played on strings
Country folks knit stories about her
The savior of dreamers upon clouds
Rainbow paths to get them laughing
Paints and brushes in her hands
Wonder is what her colors do
Creates new music in the air
Paints the sky a brilliant blue
Daisies seem a fresher white
Weaving dreams in brighter hues
Gaze around your vivid nights
Whispering her precious myths
Incandescent, intensely bright
One violet star –the nomad, through
The Birth of WaterThe clouds swelled and strolled across the sky like great grey whales making an annual trek across a placid black ocean. Wind, the force that was herding the clouds along, was also nipping and pinching frigidly at the bare skin of my back. The skies blinked once--twice in a row, a three second show of purple light. My head tilted back, my eyebrows lifted like kites on my face. I watched the sky with eager longing. Another flash of purple lightning. Mother Nature was teasing me. The clouds were pregnant with the ocean's child, and I was humbly waiting, shirtless in the parking lot, for them to give birth to the desert rain.
BreatheYou inhaled her
And exhaled me
Taking in deap slow breathes
But breathing out fast
When she holds you
You breathe her in
With each moan
Every time you say her name
You exhale me
In time back I filled your lungs
I was spreading
I was in your cells
I traveled into your muscles
I made your heart beat
With each beat you took more of me
You could feel me
I was in your being
I was part of you
I didn't mind
Right NowI remember how it all started
It was a quiet December day like today
That turn into something that I never would expected
But it feels bittersweet knowing it's gone
Or feels like how a child is lost in the big world out there
Just an empty feeling
People say love is a drug
From the start to finish
A high that everything is perfect or nothing can go wrong
But when it is gone, you feel the withdraw symptoms that won't go away
But no I'm just taking it in
Out the window of my apartment bedroom again
Tomorrow I'll be gone I don't know when I'll be back
But in this world everything can change just like that
Caught up in everyday life
Doesn't seem like nobody cares
Walking out seems like the only option
No one will miss me right?
Find myself somewhere else because home ain't what it used to be
Mom and Dad were fighting about everything
From dishes to who is looking after the child I had
I didn't know what to do
But no I'm taking it in
Out the window of my apartment bedroom again
The T.V is o
The Furnace And The CrownForged of molten metal,
Carved upon the stone,
Its bowels do barely settle,
And the klaxon sounds again.
The fiery bowels of hell,
Stare out through grille-like eyes,
Oh many-a-soul is felled,
My body lets out a sigh.
Then I grasp the hammer and tongs,
And gently shift the steel,
Forged upon my blackened anvil,
Its wounds do slowly heal.
Reserved for seats of power,
Before which we will cower,
Embedded in gold.
It rests upon,
Thy clammy head,
Behold thy pride,
In which we confide.
learning to hear the unspokeni hear your pencil
drag atop the paper
and subtle breaths drawn.
i wonder, as i
let my mind wander
down winding paths
and through lonely fields.
trees are barren.
the frost nips at your heels
when you walk too slow.
every release from my
looks like smoke.
i hesitate to speak,
afraid the words will waft away
never reaching the crook of your neck
where i want them to nest.
"i love you," is all i can muster -
never feeling it weighs enough.
i imagine a tongue
i pretend that my heart
is full of profound
unheard by angel,
my head is wrapped
in thick fog;
though, i fancy it with feathers
through a bright, moonlit summer's eve.
it's clear amongst cloudless skies.
here we travel freely, unafraid,
our souls speak.
no words will ever be enough.
Music is throughSoft keys give way to your feather light fingers
Paper-thin cuts rock and ivory like half-molten butter
(you and the barely-there tap of your nails, the eerie clicks that do not echo but nonetheless linger)
convince it to sound like
a voluntary death, a willing surrender,
instead of mere sweet murder
Perhaps you have put this same spell over me
You’d play; I’d listen,
Sitting enchanted and near enough to see how the light breaks on your hair the same way your fingers build and break,
Create and abandon
Cherish and spurn like overstrained lovers
Your favourite was the fresh twitter of staccato notes
Mine, the release of the pedal, the steady thump of a beating heart
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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