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day 17she dreams of the pink swing set under a canopy
of leaves, shoes brushing colours of autumn
of mud slicked steps, rusted spoons and clear
plastic forks turned opaque from grimy hands
of lard-filled jars and broken glass,
glittering teeth hidden beneath tree shadows
of scratchy hay poking ankles and, below, sharp
metal just peeking through faded itchy yellow:
day 3you said: there is just
something about myths.
i thought there's just
something about your lips.
tell me the myths of
your sleepy hometown
and the truths of hands
held proud in public.
i'd like to learn the
stories of your skin,
the loud silence of
heartbeats and bed sheets.
you don't sit beside me in class anymoreyou look like oversized sweaters waiting for
mr darcy vapid vanilla shows up late to
class with coffee cheeks flushed from cold
(but there's more than meets the eye. i like
the flush of your cheeks and last week i
wondered if you bite lips or lick them; if
you'd change my mind on holding hands)
gone is your floral perfume soft breathing
arm brushing mine proximity pulsing legs
crossing blurry profile in peripheral
(but now i almost like it better this way. it's
easier to follow concentration as it moves
along your features and i have always been
more comfortable with distance anyway)
lost in space1
there were words once, listen:
quiet, soft, like fingers brushing over the fabric of a sweater, tickling your ear, warming, small gusts of heat that spread to your toes, a glinting eye, a curved mouth, a promise.
there were words once, listen:
hard, rough, like metal scraping over concrete, bruising, marking your arms, legs, ribs, even your spine, purple and black blossoming on dark skin, yellowing until silence, an apology.
there were words once, listen:
now there are no words, only the deafening roar of silence.
there are words now, listen:
the old stars whisper to each other. they have discovered the secret of patience, a conversation lasting the ages. a single word may take years upon years to travel and you have to know which way to send it. careful, precise, or you may tell a stranger you miss them.
you can hear the sound of these words, like fast cars on a track, restless and enduring. the faster they travel, the slower time moves, slowing rapidly until it sto
sharp nailsthere is a pattern of
veins on my right thigh
that looks like the long,
blue bones of a hand
sometimes these thin,
spindly fingers crawl
up my veins and
arteries to clasp around
my heart, tug on the
back of my eyes,
dotting and blacking
they scrape the nervous
system and i think i
used to pray to settle
from 3429 ft.two years ago from paris, saskatoon looked like a small solar system, hazy with rain and cold. three days ago from toronto, it is midday and foggy, a thick blanket of grey masking tiny grey buildings cut by a tiny grey river. but the feeling is the same and i want to reach across the aisle to hold my sister's hand much the same as two years ago, russell reaching for my hand, any hand, two changed souls unprepared to face the sameness of home.
but the feeling is not the same. we are not two changed souls: we are just happy ones, 'satisfied with the trip' ones, and i do not hold hands when i am happy.
may 3i press tissue paper to the skin
above my ankle, apply pressure,
try not to think about the red and
searing and the itch in my hand.
i decide i want to cover my body in
ink, beautiful and expensive.
my grandmother asks me why i
want a tattoo.
i tell her, "i think they're
five years of thinking pass.
birds fly across my wrist and i trap
beautiful and expensive.
reverberationshey skinny boy, you walk like you know where you're going
and when you kiss me, i don't know what to say
( and it sort of
reverberates between us, doesn't it? )
parenting 101when our children wake up screaming in the middle of the night
or crawl into our beds, we have a list of reassurances:
"it was just a nightmare" and
"it was just the shadows" and
"it was just your imagination"
until they, too, are desensitized and locked in a cage,
condition themselves to be blind and sane like the rest of us
Simple Girl Complicated ProblemsI know I am not the daughter you wanted
But at least you got it right the second time
My little sister found her place in your hearts
But I feel I have never really found mine
Why would you care to listen to your first born?
When you have a fresh blank canvas to create
All of those things that you wish I could have been
Had I not developed such negative traits
But those negative traits make me who I am
And shouldn't you love me without condition?
See my stubbornness as being strong minded
And when I talk, don’t interrupt just listen
I know I am not the daughter you wanted
I scowl but I still need your loving embrace
Though you barely acknowledge my existence
Apart from to tell me what I've done wrong today
But why would you ever want to talk to me
When an argument is never far away?
It’s the tone of your voice that hurts me the most
Rather than the words that you choose to say
To think I was once a baby in your arms
With such innocent eyes I could do no wrong
In many ways I
Young JanuaryI saw her at the local supermarket
She could have been no older than ten
She was buying some refreshing beverages
To quench the thirst of herself and her friends
On this summers day they had waited outside
Lacking patience they were shouting her name
‘January, hurry up we have to go home!’
From the shop young January soon came
Rushing past me at the speed of her childhood
My lonely heart skipped a beat or two
Either from her soft brown hair that touched my arm
Or the smile she gave as she passed through
Did I hurry through my shopping on purpose
In order to catch young January up?
Fumbling my loose change as I left the store
The cashier complained I’d given her too much
I feel everyone’s eyes boring in to me
So away from the store I swiftly fled
Knowing fine well that I should just return home
But something made me follow the girl instead
Pretending to read the receipt in my hand
I watched closely in the corner of my eye
Which way would young January be walking
LegacyIt is always the damn same song.
Always are the wrong people strong.
Why do they think that your way is wrong?
You’re asking yourself what is left when you’re gone.
Your whole world starts to spin.
Their skin and nerves are very thin.
Want to use you like a soldier made of tin.
When you know the only thing you can do is win.
Want to sort out because you differ.
If you don’t do as they say, they’ll get stricter.
They don’t want to see you as the victor.
The only thing left will be a picture.
When everything you see and hear is a conspiracy.
And everyone thinks that you are crazy.
You are unique, only once in this galaxy.
The words you say and things you do are your legacy.
The Cold, Hard TruthThere are no happy endings,
the fairy tales all lied.
Cinderella is still a slave,
Snow White, the Beast, and the Mermaid died.
Sleeping Beauty never woke,
Because Philip never kissed her,
Alice didn't find Wonderland,
the Rabbit must have missed her.
Peter's still in Neverland
with the Lost Boys, growing older.
The Snow Queen's heart didn't thaw,
the world keeps getting colder.
Rapunzel is still in her tower,
her long blonde hair gone gray.
The captive princess has lost hope,
there was no prince to save the day.
Falling StarsTwinkle, twinkle, the stars fall down
Down into the ocean, where we shall drown
Over and over until we awake
In a place, where we will break.
Your tears are the stars and your smile the sun
There is no happiness, for sorrow has begun.
Run, run, child! Run away now!
Please do not do this! Please do not allow —
Bang! Bang! The gun goes off.
So, child, let those stars takeoff.
Wind GrownQuiet grown
With green and ground
The ash and sound
Until the green has 'nother play
A wat'ry stream
Down with a tide
Across the beam
The first to know the last of one
Breath of space
Carved by your arm
A heady place
Awaits no harm
Because no eyes will watch or plea
Wind is wrapt
Around you braced
By time that kept
You wings misplaced
One cannot fly where wearies went
Height and breadth
Come with the stars
While nourished wealth
From flanks and far
The form is kept but not the brain
Stones will crack
Under your weight
Streams run black
The light you take
Unknown on high there's but your will
The path you made
Will flood and break
No more remained
Your flanks are slaked
Come back when you are broke and burned
Now hole refilled
Where life was held
The ash was forged
Until the wind the self will stay
OldOne learns in life that there's nothing to be learned.
That once you won everything there is nothing to be earned.
That all your lessons in life were unconcerned.
Memories and pictures in the attic must now be burned.
One thinks that there is nothing to think about.
Because the things they think are now allowed.
Because they are stuck when they want to be unbound.
When they want to lift themselves off the ground.
You'd never thought your young heart could grow old
And when the unspoken truth is being told,
You're labeling them as bold, heartless or cold.
You're scared of death. After all it's foretold.
HappinessHey you! (What huh?)
Yes you! (Oh no)
Yay you! (Uhh..)
Bless you! (Just go..)
Turn that silly frown around
And think of the things that you love.
You're walking the line with your eyes cast down.
So I got a little something for you, kind of..
Dream the dream which makes you sweet and strong.
Free your mind from worries and hate.
You'll have that feeling you wanted all along,
Even without a soul mate.
You don't need someone to love you,
As long as you love yourself.
Most of the people have no clue,
That happiness works that way as well.
Don't hold on to all your emptiness.
Everyone wants joy no one wants pain.
Smile for a while and let in the happiness,
For you can't have a rainbow without a little rain.
A smile can shine the darkest of days.
It can bring a little spark of light.
You can be thankful In so many ways,
That all turned out to be alright.
As you sprint down the hill that is filled with flowers,
And enjoy life at your hearts content,
Queen of NeverthenAtop the ashen bones, arrayed like thrones of Men
Sits none so dreary as the Queen of Neverthen
Great cobwebs, dust, and stolid, stale decay
Dead memories forgotten where they lay
A world, still and ever gray
That suffocates the ones who trespass in her den
Within a rotten skull, a fetid rat emerged
As swift as plague it bore and chittered as it surged
Low creaks and clatters sound akin to life
Its rodent teeth soon grinding like a knife
The Queen was happy with this strife
But nothing ever lasts save those who would be purged
Oppressive silence soon returns to her domain
Admiring her flock that she will never deign
A dull light shines behind their pallid masks
The company of corpses; all she asks
the hallway closet door sonnetThe time I forgot to close the closet
door after I grabbed a towel and it
haunted me the rest of the weekend
while I waited for someone to come home
and close it for me because I'm a wimp.
Something hides past the open hallway door.
Twisting air. A live shadow, bloodshot eyes,
sharp fingernails curled behind wallpaper.
Green stench; plaque below gums, too many teeth
that click. A white face, dark gaping holes where
fear sits in the curve of eye sockets. Mist,
aura, presence, space, a rotting eyeball
hanging by the nerve caught in a hinge. It
could be anything, it could be real. Man
in a mask, guts on his shirt, meal in hand.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More