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Cinderella
Waiting for a coach
and four
that never came,
she realized
a ball gown
won't bloom
out of sackloth;
glass slippers
are not dependable
and mice
are best left
to their own devices.
Midnight was never a friend,
and under that suit
he is the same as any other
man.
IcarusSun girl,

the whispering stars
& feathered clouds dance
for you tonight.

Do not let anyone
clip your wings;

you were made for the skies.
Definition of a Writerwrit•er

noun     /rītər/

A writer is a person
Who sees the world differently
From a high perspective of understanding
To an easily balanced imagery

They stand at the edge of the cliff
And run that extra mile
To gain what a normal person cannot see
And to obtain the hope that they wish to cherish

A writer is a person
Who buries their ego and places boulders upon it
They learn the rules, follow the rules, and will break the rules
And make writing their own

They lay upon the dusty old ground of a graveyard
And do an annual ritual to free the inspiration that has been pinned down
They want to show their abnormality to everyone
Red DressDon’t put on your red dress
for he doesn’t know the meaning
he doesn’t want the commitment
he doesn’t care for the color.

The red dress you love to wear
that’s stained from wine and beer
but still carries so much meaning
for who could find a second red dress

Don’t go out on your red dress
for the man who wants nothing more
to screw around and doesn’t understand
the meaning behind a simple red dress.

A red dress for when you dance.
A red dress for when you cry.
A red dress for when you need it.
A red dress for when you care too much.

Don’t put on your red dress for him darling
he doesn&rsqu
i got flowers oncei am lonely.
i received flowers once
and i placed them
in a vase til
the petals all browned
desiccated
and turned to dust
on the glass of my bureau.

i have never gotten flowers since.

i spend my days
with a boy
a man
whom i love far beyond reason
and he holds me in his arms
and holds me together.

i bite my nails
and pull my hair
over the moment when he
inevitably
feels the disenchantment
fall over his body,
all clean lines
and smooth shapes,
and realises that leaving
the worst thing
would be
the best thing.

i am lonely
and even with a hand to hold,
and even with a cloak of security
bunching around my shoulders
and hiding my thighs,
i feel
moonshines in georgiaman on the moon:

giddy with lumps of north georgia seas
greased on the crease of my lips
gravity drips from couch-cavities
when tides belch from below --

burst on the water's edge,
earth's bourbon sailors retch in moonshined ripples
trickled blue murder on their crinkled crimes;
raking water wrinkles like a wayward drunk
stuck on sunken bootleggin' dreams.

it's been a long, long time
since I've drowned your hemisphere
for fishing like a moonraker,
swishing my bait-lines like tobacco's
squished in your shallow gums
before you dare to down my air
breathing in this sincere georgia night.
L.E.S.B.I.A.N.Living on the
Edge of life
Saving myself
Being who
I truly am
As it is all i can be
Never forget that
Blame The ParentsI won't be able to keep a relationship in the future because I'm scared
I'm scared it'll turn out like theirs

I'm a pacifist because I hate watching it
I hate watching them fight

I have PTSD because of their fights
Their fights almost broke up this family

I self harm because they are pushing me over the edge
I was already close to jumping, but they gave me an extra push

I'm always in my room because that's how I run away
I guess that's called "Like father, like daughter"

I only eat one meal a day because he constantly puts me down
Even though he's joking, I can tell he means every bit of what he says

I can't trust anyone because they do
Missing piecesMissing pieces

There are wounds
that never heal; silences
so loud they  thunder - I stopped
breathing years ago, that night
the ice took my chest. Since then
I walk  in pieces, howling
around my heart.

-SophieCT, 2012, 2013
Broken Birds and Stark PhrasesWe slip and slide and fall
down curves and carrow places.
We cursive at the wall
in our undefinéd spaces.

Disjointed limbs extend
to strumpet our arrival,
to warn who are not friends
we will kill to survive all.

Hung upside-down haunters
hug branches in the Forrest.
Merry nightmare monsters,
Cheery snarling chorus,

Arachnic children know;
you can run but you can't hide
from this disparic truth,
darkness waits for you inside.

Although you seek the sun,
as all creaky spinsters might,
the night can't be out done
and it has you in its sight.
field notesi read some poetry
just for the sound--for the words lilting up and down
and the thick, honeysepia
polaroids unmisting in my head.
those are the poems i never understand
and the only conclusion i can draw is:
there is apparently
some supernova poetic awakening that comes
with the loss of virginity
and basically i need to get laid.
MorningA black cat sleeps in a ray of sun
My coffee is lousy
Another cardboard morning
The day isn't a blank canvas
Waiting to be painted
Its already scrawled with
Yesterday's mad crayon drawings

Smoke drifts up and out of the window
I drink the coffee
blood-red wine and skeleton jazz i.
the day you left,
your cobweb dress clung to you in ways
that i would dream about for years,
in hot, fevered nights
when the moon thought it might burst
in the sky,
and even the wind wailed your name.

ii.
i remember how you called make-up war paint,
and you drew it across your face like a message
i could never decipher;
i remember how i got goosebumps when i heard
your heels clicking across the floor at 3am
when you finally got home and slipped into bed;
i remember longing for you with every fiber of my being,
feeling separate from you even when our clothes lay on the floor
and your fingernails dug into my shoulders
and your toes curled
van houten must be godi. you know how in embroidered cloth,
from the bottom under the design,
all you see are knots? her honey-like,
crying
voice lulls me to sleep,
that's what we see of God's plan.
just the knots. when in reality,
it's the design on top;
beautiful and flawless that He
has in store for us.
bullshit.
i learnt that word
when i was three
but every time i said it,
my face hurt and mom's hand fell.
God will put you
in hell.
do you want that?
i knew better than to say it again.
ii. you're an estimated
fallacy, the perfect
misconception.
you don't need to exist
for people to believe.
they make you real with
dancing tongues behind
a crowd
of murmuring lips of
god's will.
iii. of the rain,
i sang songs, whispering
prayers only you
could hear.
if you truly are
what they say for you to be,
then there are no secrets
between you and me.
mother still sings
the same songs
in the rain, hoping
you'll hear her the way
i thought you would.
but she doesn't know you died long ago
with chiv
The PoetFor the work of a Poet to be truly appreciated
he must write it with his own blood and tears for ink
his soul the sharpened quill to nail the words
like so many specimen of unwilling insects upon the paper.

And once he has bled out
becoming the cause of his own demise
the reader is left behind to digest his soul
so plainly trapped within a cage of words
his requiem written as a love song to his Muse.
Browse More Like This
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More from =dawn181

Half Breed: Chapter 5Please read description first

Alec followed his father and Hadona, grateful for an excuse to get out of the crowded room. He refused to think of Hadona as his half sister, much less his sister as she had claimed. Even if any of it was true, it didn't matter. All the family he had ever had was his mom and that's all the family he would ever have. As they passed his mothers coffin, Alec stopped his following and knelt before it. Hadona looked back and saw him. She was about to say something to him but her father placed a hand on her shoulder and simply shook his head. That wasn't her place.
Alec placed the ruined picture next to his mothers a
Broken InsideTower over me.
Wrap me in your love
because I am broken.
Give me strength to be
all they need in me
because they are the reason I fight.
Show me words to speak
to heal the sick and build up the weak
because my wisdom is all I have to my name.
Open up my eyes,
give me the will to survive
because I'm lacking a reason.
Breathe your life in me,
wake me to live another day
because deep down I yearn to feel whole.
Half Breed: Chapter 3Read description first

Before Alec knew it five minutes had passed. He was soaked with rain but didn't mind. He discarded his cloak, it wasn't needed any more. He glanced at his hands and saw black ink run through his fingers. His heart fell, his drawing had been ruined. That snapped him back to reality. He was late to the funeral. He picked up the pace and soon he was running at a full sprint. The funeral home was coming up ahead and he ran even harder. Alec burst through the front doors but then froze in his place. The funeral was packed. Alec knew his mother was well liked he hadn't expected more than a handful of people to show up. Every
Half Breed: Chapter 1"Mommy, what's a dragon?" he asked with innocent, wide brown eyes. His black hair refused to stay short and it fell into his eyes.
"Alec, where did you hear about those?" she asked him. She tried to push the hair out of his eyes but it stubbornly feel back into place. She bit her lip; his hair was a reflection of himself. Stubborn, shy, and dark. Being the young, single mom that she was she often worried if she had made a mistake. He was only five and already the carefree toddler he was had disappeared.
"Old man winter told me." Amber, his mother, pursed her lips.
"Alec, there is no such person. Now come on, tell me the truth."
He hung
PhilosopherPhilosopher, demon, spin me a tale.
It's late tonight, I cannot sleep, I cannot dream.
Tell me a tale about how my death will come,
Creeping silently through the night.
Make me cry and scream with fright.

Tell me, Philosopher, do you know the truth?
Let me see the book you keep,
The book that dubbed you Keeper of Tales.
Will I die alone, frail and old?
Will I take a bullet to my temple,
Or a noose around my neck?
Will the demonic monster I dream about come for me?
The one dressed in black straight from Halloween.
Or will instead you come for me – Philosopher of Life and Death?

As a dark shadow creeps over me,
I realize wi
LonelyIn a wasteland of charred rock I examine the ruins of my life.
I never knew it would come to this,
Begging for a smile from a passerby.
Behind this wall I built around myself
I realize now my mistake.
Priding myself on being the lone wolf,
One not needing friendship or a companion,
I've pushed everyone away
And now I'm struggling to get the all back.
I'm drowning under my emotions,
I'm suffocating all alone.

A lonesome soul they call me,
My heart has hallowed out,
It's an empty shell.
I run down these barren halls,
Crying out to anyone who may be near.
I've forgotten how to treat another,
I'm paying for my mistakes.
I fe

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Tendril

:icondawn181:

is 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.
:icondawn181:
Do you think it ends too suddenly?

You may not use this, under any circumstances, without my permission. Tendril (c) dawn181, a.k.a Taylor (me)
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:icondogmatickerr:
*DogmaticKerr Jan 23, 2013
Not at all - I think the better question is do you think it ends too suddenly? Did it feel like more was there? I adore short poems, particularly when they feel complete, as this does. It was, of course, beautiful by the way :)
Reply
:icondawn181:
=dawn181 Jan 27, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you :)

I still have yet to decide if it feels complete or not. I know I cannot end anything more, but it still doesn't feel rounded if that makes any sense to any one other than myself.
Reply
:icondogmatickerr:
*DogmaticKerr Jan 30, 2013
You're welcome Taylor :heart:

I know the feeling. There are a number of things that I have written - recently and in the past - in which I am quite undecided. I am particularly bad at picking something back up, though, and carrying it on as though I never stopped. Rounded? Yes, I can see that... a sense of balance and finality, a bit more than what there is. Sometimes, I all in love with words or ideas or a way-of-saying something but I can never quite integrate it properly into something else and for the sake of roundness... I must cut it, leave it, edit it. It can be a difficult thing to pursue when one considers the enormity of thought behind a relatively small wall of words.
Reply
:iconxonthecalender:
~XOnTheCalender Jan 16, 2013
Perfect in its simplicity. I love the last line :)
Reply
:icondawn181:
=dawn181 Jan 17, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you :)
Reply
:iconxonthecalender:
~XOnTheCalender Jan 18, 2013
You're welcome :)
Reply
:iconihdx3:
~ihdx3 Jan 15, 2013
It could use a bit more.. Imagery. But otherwise I love it. Good job.
Reply
:icondawn181:
=dawn181 Jan 15, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you.

And yeah I get what you mean. But all the imagery I kept adding just didn't feel right, so I left it as is.
Reply
:iconihdx3:
~ihdx3 Jan 15, 2013
Ah. Yeah I suppose the more minimalistic approach you took worked out for the better. It also had brightened my day just a bit more. Keep up the good work and you'll have made a fan out of me.
Reply
:icondawn181:
=dawn181 Jan 15, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Awe thank you :) I'm glad it brightened your day a little bit, that's what I usually aim to do.
Reply
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