[x]

The truth behind every poemThis is no longer poetry,
it has long become the ramblings
of a self-centered teen
who likes to see her thoughts written aloud.
It has become anguished cries
over bullshit problems
and petty insecurities followed by
idiotic worries.

The girl just happens to have a knack
for transposing fears onto a page and
making them sound viable.
She just happens to find readers as
angst as her.
She just happens to enjoy the
misguided spotlight.
She just happened to find it in writing.

Tendrilis my favorite word.
My favorite way to describe the wind,
your limbs, speech, sun, hair, water –
All connected by a single idea of
movement,
a single sound,
a single belief in magic.

Untitled NightsRemember when I promised you forever?

Well I only meant tonight and
the little bit of air left in the high
of my lungs. So keep me alive with
the onslaught of your breath, the wet
corners of your lips pressed clumsily
against my own. Let us draw this out
like the waist of your pants lying
somewhere in the past, when you
still thought you were gay and
men looked good in nothing at all.

PoetryI created a wall of text
to save me from myself
and to shut you out of my life,
while dragging you further into my mind
than anyone has ever gone.

OffendShe was always trying on sunny side up eggs.
They were actually visors
but they reminded me of eggs, Asian
mothers, and rich do-gooders.
we were neither of those.

We were white women, hoping
our skin was white enough to blend
into the painted walls
because eyes burn
and our pockets aren't full enough to ease our seared skin
or prove their assumptions true.
We lacked the bravery needed to peel back our skin
and reveal our bones,
instead we tried on eggs
and pretended we weren't caucasian.

Body LanguageI read confessional poetry
while I held you yesterday.
I read confessions off your back
and in the curves of your strong and gentle frame.

You would make a wonderful poet through me.

RatsYou move faster than your feet allow,
your socks too bogged down
with city waste.
The chains around your neck
feel heavier than the
hood pulled over your face.
It’s dark.

Ghosts follow you as you
travel between lands.
They own your mother's face
and father's nose.
They hold mirrors in their hands to
shield their eyes.
It’s still dark.

You wear gloves on all fingers
except for your thumb.
You’re too busy mulling around
with it shoved up your ass
and your eyes stuck cross-eyed.
The city feels smaller than you
last remembered. The walls taller.
It’s always dark.

VoltageShe couldn’t find the light switch in the dark.
Her fumbling fingers caught drywall,
her stumbling feet tore carpet and
skinned knees and elbows repainted walls red
while fingers broke in light sockets.

She hasn’t had eyebrows since.

OfferingsGive it up for the long talks
three cheers for how you handled my bull shit.
I’d give you a bright and shiny medal
but I’m broke.

I’d give up myself.
but you already have it.
I’d give up my body,
but it’s damaged,
you wouldn’t want it.

Give it up for the long talks
which pushed back goodbyes.
These words will have to suffice
for all I still haven’t said,
this poem all I have to offer.

CalendarsWe spoke in clichés
because that’s what lovers do.
We thought we sounded profound
because we were teenagers too.

But we forgot.
We thought we were adults.
I’d strut around with pens tucked behind my ears.
You stained your palms with newspaper ink.
We made phone calls just to discuss the weather
and sex –
we practiced it,
later perfected our act.
You fulfilled roles we didn’t even know were yours and
I talked too much when
I forgot my lines.
I don’t think you understood why.

You were just as afraid as I was.

Skin Ihow long can you sit still?
would you wait forever if i asked? i'm
asking (begging) to trace your figure
with the fingers in my eyes.

wonderment.

i've never seen such a brilliant hue.
wonderment.

words fail me.
wonderment.

ReflectionsSometimes, when I open my eyes, I expect them to be black.

But they're always decidedly brown,
dirty mirrors or falsehood prone boys
who steal from Mr. Mason
because he's partially blind - all stupid - and loves clouds
the way I love black.

But his eyes do not lie.

NamedTickle my tongue with
the full vowels of your name.
No, not the worldly uttering of man,
but the luscious caress of female speech.

He's Not Heavy1.
Sometimes,
I don't want to be
a mother.
Sometimes, his big blue eyes
are just barely enough
to ground me.

There are nights,
I want to pack a suitcase,
walk out the door,
and never ever look back.

There are mornings,
I want to throw the baby
monitor against the wall,
watch it shatter,
and pull the covers back
up over my head.

2.
Sometimes,
I see him watching me,
silently, in the corner
of my eye,
and when I finally turn
to face him,
he smiles.

Sometimes, he climbs into
my lap, rests his head on
my breast and pats the arm
I've draped across his
legs-

without words, he teaches
me how to forgive.

DuskCome,
Let us
Burn new trails
With our teenage
Ambition as a guiding, white beacon.
There is beauty to be found in what's left
Of burnt incense,
Guitars, and
Echoed
Dreams.

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More from =dawn181

In a crown made of silver...Silver has always been my favorite color.  I remember when I was a little girl and I first saw the moon.
"Anne?" I had asked, tugging on my sister's sleeve.
"Yeah, Dawn?"
"What is that ball of silver in the sky?" I pointed to the glowing orb above the house.  I felt small and childish asking the question, but Anne's gentle smile reassured me.
"That's the moon."
"What is it for?"  I asked, suddenly afraid.  It looked metallic and cold, like the tools littering hospital counter tops which I had seen in excess the past week.
Anne took my hand and adopted a motherly voice for the

What we all don't seeI spent hours counting the colors in your eyes,
Making up new names for the flecks I couldn't place,
Delighting in the tingle your gaze gave me.

Green, gold, and brown layers constantly shift,
Creating an illusion I struggle to make sense of,
But the more I stare
The more you take my breath away,
And I'm fighting for each gasp.

You blink fast and panic surges,
I'm finally on to you
But now I must start over,
Losing my heart and mind
In your deep pupils
And twinkling stars
That play peek-a-boo on your irises.

"Do you like what you see?"

I do,
And wish you'd see me in the same mesmerizing way.

ChangeI pulled off your wings
and left you limp in the rain,
selfishly leaving you immobile in more ways than one
just so I could indulged in a few seconds of pleasure,
to busy myself and distract my thoughts.

I pulled off your wings,
leaving you helpless on the glass,
dripping water and bitter iron from your back onto the cluttered table
where the corpses of unfinished projects meet their end,
falling into a restless sleep in their mass grave.

Here, take my gun.
I dare you to save yourself from my evil ways
and complete your demise.
I dragged you down with me
pulling you from the innocent sky
into the lustful depths of hell
to join

BenYou know it's bad when I start writing poems about you.  You know it's bad when the only way to get you out of my mind is to write it down on paper.  I know it's bad when I long to be with you, even though my brain screams NO! I can't be in a relationship.

So leave! Get out!  And stay gone.

So leave! Stay away from my heart!  I don't want you to hang around.

So stop liking him.  If only I could.  So remember all the pain.  It might scare you out of it.  So recreate the pain.  Hide behind it.  Slash down all hope that seems to rise up. &

Drowning Six Feet UnderYou took my breath away
With just a single look.
As you bat an eye
My heart goes wild,
I swear you can hear its beat.
I regret to ask,
As I hide my scarlet face,
Will you please return me to my previous state
If you never wish to act.

A simple grin
Makes me melt,
Your easy laugh
Clears my mind of all logic and
Replaces it with feeling.
I fall further into
An inescapable hole,
Which you hold the only ladder.

My skin burns from where you touched me last,
And I long for that feeling again;
To stroke your face,
Feel your warmth
And send goose bumps up my skin.

Release on me the grip you hold,
And prevent further infatuation

All Because of YouShh, can you keep a secret?
Will you promise not to tell?
I think I like a girl,
I know I like a girl.

Shh, can you keep it down?
Please don't wake the whole town.
I refuse to utter her name
I won't make you go away.

Shh, I know you've discovered the truth,
But please don't say those words.
Don't apologize through teary eyes,
I understand and already know
That you'd never swing my way.

Shh, can you keep a secret?
This girl I like is you.

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Submitted: January 13
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Starvation

by =dawn181, Jan 13, 2013, 12:22:23 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

I can’t taste the electricity, you said through
swollen lips; they look like mine, puffed,
raw, and chapped from the wind my teeth gnashed at.
I followed the icy tendrils through parked
cars and power lines. That’s where I found you, gnawing on Styrofoam cups.
We dared each other to fill our vacant bodies with
the other’s fingers. But you were still hungry, our stomachs
still bubbling with anxious acids.

We both climbed poles.
I found light bulbs atop mine.
They lacked the essential flavors of pepper and salt,
they still smelled of factory grease.
You found black ropes, city vines, suspended from cables.
They tasted uncooked and oily, you told me.
I can’t even taste the electricity, you told me.

Starvationby =dawn181

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

This was inspired by a deivant's tagline and the latest collection of poems I've recently read.

Critique by !travelgirlxx Jan 17, 2013, 12:57:59 PM

Okay. So this poem is gorgeous in its absolute painfulness. I don't have a whole lot of suggestions, however I think coming back to the lip imagery in the 2nd stanza could be really interesting.

Also: I think adding some splashes of color in the grey-ness of this poem would be really lovely.

Some random minor edits to the poem:

I can’t taste the electricity, you say through
swollen lips; they look like mine: puffed,
raw, chapped from the wind and my gnashing teeth.
I follow icy tendrils through parked
cars and power lines - that’s where I find you,
gnawing on Styrofoam cups.
We dare each other to fill our vacant bodies with
the other’s fingers.
But you are still hungry,
our stomachs still bubbling with anxious acids.

We both climb poles.
I find light bulbs atop mine.
They lack the essential flavors of pepper and salt,
they still smell of factory grease.
You find black ropes, city vines, suspended from cables.

This ending: fabulous!

They tasted uncooked and oily, you told me.
I can’t even taste the electricity, you told me.

My favorite line:

"We dared each other to fill our vacant bodies with
the other’s fingers. But you were still hungry,"

I mean, dang. it's like you stuck your hand in my chest and squeezed my heart. Absolutely perfect

What do you think?

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~tiajones Jan 25, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

this is absolutely lovely. <3

i love that last line.

=dawn181 Jan 27, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much

~tiajones Jan 27, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

of course.

*edge-of-psychosis Jan 16, 2013 Student Writer

_{Damn. I was skimming through the deviations in the Glory Be project in my inbox, and the first lines of this just . . . grabbed me.
It's a teeny bit wordy in a few spots [by my estimation]. For some reason this stanza
That’s where I found you, gnawing on Styrofoam cups.
We dared each other to fill our vacant bodies with
the other’s fingers. But you were still hungry, our stomachs
still bubbling with anxious acids.
doesn't feel quite right. I don't know why. Haha.
But I absolutely adore the rest. A lot of poems use really nature-y imagery, whereas this has all modern and urban-like imagery, which is a refreshing difference. It's very stark and sad, but beautiful.
[My computer froze while I was commenting, I wouldn't normally take the time to retype an in-depth comment, but this work deserves attention.]
I'm just in love with this.}

=dawn181 Jan 17, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Awww

I'm so glad you liked it that much! Your words mean so much to me!

*edge-of-psychosis Jan 18, 2013 Student Writer

_{Anytime, dear. I'm glad}

`vespera Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Oh who's tagline and what collection?

This has some really cool lines - were you imitating style or?

=dawn181 Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

It was the tagline of ~TheForsakenGoddess. And yeah, I was kind of imitating style. More like a combination of the two poets in Feral Citizens [link] (this goes to Amazon fyi)

It's kind of more like the only writing I've read from any one all week has been them, so it's seeped into the poetry I've been writing.

`vespera Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

That happens to me a lot when I read Sexton or Hughes too much

=dawn181 Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I've never read them.

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Starvation

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