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Untitledwe are always chasing.
I'm not sure what I'd do if I caught you.
If I could "get on" like you do at 10 when
all I want is to be in bed with
a book in my hands
your head between my legs).
and while I'm being honest with myself
I know you cannot help
it. You are too sharp to be put in a display case,
(the gutter is more your place than middle-class
suburban life ever could be).
you need to dull your senses
and you do so with lines of cocaine and
various other criminal offences that
no matter what
hold a three month jail sentence.
You never thought there'd be real consequences
for that equipment you acquired and
scrapped for cash. What a crippling addiction,
you will have literally smoked yourself into a cell.
You put myself and your parents through
utter hell, just so you can
forget what it feels like to be
alive. You need to lose yourself just so you can survive,
and I know
this is all you'll ever be, and I
can't help but hope you'll change yourself so we can stop being
Losing ControlI've burned my bones
one, now I have nothing to hold me
up, I'm so finite it hurts to breathe
sometimes; but my
feelings ache with interminability
but my love is not endless, unconditional.
I cracked you open, scooped out your
sensability. I buried you beneath my fingernails,
I never take you flowers, but
I've given you ten moons.
I made myself my own deity, learned to love the
hook of my hip, and the way my mouth
clicks like an empty ammunition chamber
whenever I start to speak and then
Paper PlanesI've smoked rings around myself,
your hands tremble, and your
heart beats a tyre-screech rhythm.
struggle to breathe through my
acridity, but I can't feel
anything through your forcefield of
(open-mouth, eyes closed,
hair wrapped around
attached in all the places
your joints bend)
I don't want anything to
spark from this realisation
I know you're empty
and, I know it's not me
you're interested in.
Page breakI still love the ocean.
I am salty and gasping,
every wave is the curve of
every swell is the beat of my heart;
the giddy lungful of air after being suffocated
I cannot let go of the ocean,
I still feel it (you), there's
water in my lungs,
sand in my hair,
my skin is still stinging.
I'm still parched from the salt.
I've found myself
in shop windows, car doors
I have straight legs, straight teeth, straight-
My hair is still dripping.
skip a few years:
I will drown in my sleep
my lungs still carry water, my stomach
still carries water, and my heart
still carries you.
Quick releaseI am
slow-burn, long wick
release, soft vanilla
I am burning, numb
living on oxygen and light from the sun.
My fingers reach for heaven,
licking clouds and wings on stallions, whole
I love, I love.
Your hands feel like oceans
holding me like the arms of a gutter, again.
I am awash in
your palms, every line chokes
my glorious throat. I am
grasping, drowning, gasping for anything
left to keep me-
Empty Glassesevery one of my bones pulls outward.
away, trying to escape.
the places where they join ache,
arthritis has set into my soul, quietly.
it seeped in between the time I spent saying
every word backwards
and the time you whispered
eerB, I evol uoy
Okay, I murmured. Okay.
You used me the way light uses prisms to make rainbows.
I am beautiful,
all straight edges and
not enough curves, just corners and points.
You're all curves and elbows
and promises that I'll stay awake
(I always fall asleep eventually).
I love you higher than the Empire State.
I can feel you in my kneecaps.
You're shaking the life out of me
blinking lights, soft thighs
You swore you'd still love me in the morning.
Life Sans Hand-holdsI can feel it
against me, shattering
beneath my finger tips
I've learned to approach it gingerly.
No more hunger, determination
just foot falls
I cannot believe; follow blindly
Nothing holds any weight
I'm tearing at the seams, every
part of me is splitting; grand scale
cell division. Hold
me upright, I'm slipping
into the dark.
Choking on every grimace I make
in an attempt to feign interest in
the chinky display case of existence.
How to: loveIt's the spacious nature of my ribcage
that sends my stuttering heart beating
to this bass line.
You fill my lung cavities, your
leafy fingers choking me
every sigh is a wisp
You hang heavy on my shadow, your
paper-thin iris, the colour of Redhead shallows.
I unpeel as your pluming breath condenses
in the Winter that shivers around us
I can't help but be astounded by the
feeling of the way your lips curve
into me, the impossibility of
everything you embody.
I love it when you just hold me.
Cinder-block WallsI've felt the weight of oceans bury me
in my sleep;
I'm on my knees for you.
you raised empires between my ribs,
shine (solemnly) at night; blind me
while I try to find my dreams in this
mess of blonde hair and bedsheets.
My lungs trembled as I traced your clavicle.
You were small enough to
make me half-full (optimistic).
I know you can feel my heartbeat.
I only wish that your hips
would wear my palms again
I locked my heart in a mahogany box and threw away the key.
There was no one to care for - there was nothing left for me.
My heart had ceased beating long ago
after years of misery and pain.
Through countless highs and lecherous lows
I became immune to pounding rain.
I walked without even my shadow as a friend.
Numb to all emotions that surfaced to my skin.
Knowing I would be alone to the bitter end
suffering the consequences of sin.
I was shunned and shamed -
bruised and maimed.
No one cared - no one knew.
No one bothered to change my view.
My life was a silent movie
of a language no one spoke.
With plenty of plot holes for all to see
and an ending of mirrors and smoke.
It was getting hard to catch my breath.
Surely death would be oh so sweet.
Addicted to the thought like Crystal Meth,
it skipped through my head like an erratic beat.
She stumbled upon a key that washed up on the shore.
Wondering what it could unlock.
Determined to solve the riddle and explor
RoseThe greatest romance
Lies in your deep crimson color
Your many petals
Softer than skin
Your sharp thorns
Cause me to bleed
My love for you is infinite
The pain you cause me
Is a pleasure
You may be just a flower
But your beauty
Knows no rival
You AreI am the moon,
And you are the sun,
I pale in comparison to you.
I am a student,
And you are a professor.
I cant keep up with you.
I am a snowflake,
And you are a blizzard,
I will never be like you.
I am a tree,
And you are a fire,
You can destroy me easily.
I am a star,
And you are the universe.
You are simply my everything.
I shrug into Harry's shirt
underneath my autumn scarf--
cologne on the cuffs bringing
color as I close my eyes,
the brown of his hair,
laughter, pine green.
Fingers on marbled buttons
smooth as the cream
he puts in his chai.
I think of him like rain on a Sunday,
a slow breath uttered in calm,
eyes shut to listen,
he is peace,
stability in grayer moments.
He is the space in my empty bed
I ache for him the way
I crave prayer and
the feel of a rosary.
Locks of LoveI haven't cut my hair
Since just before
I walked across the stage
Sixteen months ago.
I grew it out
Because, last summer, you loved
To run your fingers
Through its coppery threads.
That always made me feel
When you left for school again in August,
I couldn't bring myself
To get a haircut.
What if you came back,
And this time, my heart was ready for you?
Mid-semester, you told me that,
While you and your friends
Built your school's bonfire,
It was customary
That no one cut his hair
Or even shaved
Until the structure was finished.
I don't think I told you
That I let mine continue to grow
In your honor, except
I didn't cut it on Burn Day.
When we kissed on Christmas Eve,
You weaved your fingers
Through my silken locks
And made me feel beautiful once more.
I still didn't cut my hair,
Even after you left in March,
Save for the split ends
I trimmed in May,
Hoping to eradicate negative energy
But not wanting to let go of you.
Now it's September.
If I Were A Love PoetFor my Laban. For my love.
Sometimes, often enough
when my thoughts are consumed
with you- I find myself wishing
that I was a love poet.
Wouldn’t it be beautiful
to piece words together so artistically
that I could make people understand
what it’s like to miss hands
that have never held me?
Wouldn’t it be the damnedest thing,
if I could make a stranger
know how it feels to kiss you?
Sweetly, passionately, softly
Hesitantly- and yet all at once?
Even though their lips have never met yours,
Even though our lips have never met.
How lovely would it be
to sanely, yet romantically
explain to my parents what it’s like
to fall asleep with you?
We could tell them how you giggle when I beg you
to be the big spoon- because I feel like it’s to much responsibility.
We could tell them about the sleepy kisses you give me
at 3 a.m when you find me searching for
thuggish loverno more on love. tell me
instead of the hearts you've
beaten, and the way
they kept on
lukedon't leave me again;
the seasons flutter by with
the blink of spider web eyelashes
twirled around the pieces of
my decaying heart, molded
and renewed with the dawn
of your spring palms.
my senses spark in a
drunken flood of desire;
i refuse to wash away
our finger-painted memories
into the grasping swallow of
an atlantic undertow, but
the stale taste of vodka
sleeps under my palette.
you don't arc your silver
tongue to sip my salted
gums or latch your fists
into bird's nest tangled curls
--anymore, and the shivers
of shadows spin down my
splintered spine, the snap
of a twig between your
i'm alone; your cosmic dreams
and galactic eroticism treads
underneath another damsel's
breast, an arrow to her heart.
I wallow, naked and discarded,
drinking and drowning in the
alcoholic buzz of your sweat
on my tongue, all along knowing
you and i will never love again.
Thoughts on: being fuckedThe reality of love is hard. It's heavy, it hits you; and then it picks you up and shakes you. That's the part the stories don't tell. The movies never show the way love grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you awake before you even know you've been sleeping. Love doesn't treat you like you're fragile. I've never felt love in trembles,
you're off the Richter. I feel dizzy when I try to be her, to emulate her unremarkable face, but we both know I can't
stop being extreme.
I'm not made the same, stop bending me into her, I'm sorry I can't
open my legs like she did.
I'm sorry you can't hold my waist in one hand, I'm sorry my hips carry weight,
My body has become an apology.
I had never apologised and meant it.
I wish my mother never taught me that boys hurt you to get your attention.
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