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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
This Day Is...
A day to love,
Someone up above.
A day to commemorate;
A day to appreciate.
A day to reminisce;
A day when someone special is missed.
A day that’s too good to be true,
A day filled with many memories of you.
A day just to say,
I wish you a happy birthday.
What s in a name.What´s in a name?
It´s just a word that we call,
Everything and everyone
has a name,
does it make us a better person?
No... what a shame
Does it define our characters?
No... it´s not to blame
Does it have any financial status?
No .... but maybe fame
So if you´re a rockafella, a Gates,
a Trump or even the Queen
It doesn´t matter
shout your name
I am who I am
and I have a name
cos deep down inside
we´re all just the same.
by Suzanne Karbach August 2014
ParthenopeTurn your head from distant island,
from sandy shore and crystal sea.
Resist the call of the lonely siren
singing death on the horizon.
Beware her song; listen to me;
turn your head from distant island,
where dwells a daughter of Poseidon
yearning, singing a magical decree;
resist the call of the lonely siren.
Rest your eyes up Orion,
the stars will guard your constancy.
Turn your head from distant island
as our ship sets sail to widen
ourselves from that mermaid key;
resist the call of the lonely siren,
her seaweed hair fraught with diamond
treasures stolen from that deadly reef.
Turn your head from distant island;
resist the call of the lonely siren.
Keys of the PassengerImposing figure
Why do you linger with me here?
A gestured feature
As soft as flowers by
While on my way to reach her
The tarnished silver
Green like the finger I lost
That let my colours
Grow like the flutters in my heart
But take to flight
Out of a viewing standpoint
Breeze by to keep her in sight
A whirring wheel
Below the heel I have down
Does not derail
Wherever hail your address
Ignore and follow
Until my feet fall under
The tears that match my sorrow
With quiet clatter that drowns me
The lanes are melting
My path respecting none a plea
I hear her calling
But over that your silence
A weight's abjection falling
Why do you torture this road?
I travel worried
Because you stay at my right
...I will fight
A desperate race to pry free
The glass is speckled
From threats and heckled terms met
No word is spoken
An air unbroken but intense
A rider chauffeured
The holder of the key ring
So deals I
Darkening SkiesCrystal blue skies was once visible
In a world without anything formidable.
Opponents were partners and villains weren’t wicked;
No crimes had been committed.
But through the years the blue skies began dimming;
The end was now the beginning.
The skies had darkened by malevolence
As the crystal pieces broke away the benevolence.
Shards of glass rained from these falling skies.
Lives were easily taken and it was sounded by cries.
Battles were fought; blood was shed.
What was once peaceful had become dead —
Innocence was no longer carried;
They had a shovel and it was buried.
Tyranny exiled happiness.
War left people defenseless,
Stranded to fight alone without anything.
Cruelty had killed them before the ending.
Their worst fears had crippled them.
Breathless, lying still, eyes toward the sky: they’re condemned.
Forced to watch the ashes of loved one fill the clouds
With embers cascading down as the sirens grew loud;
Souls flickering within the dust.
From the pressure o
ShorelineBetrothed to flaw
To the choice before choice
Where there is only emotion
And a half-remembered voice
Telling what one saw
First line of foamy wake
Loud and churned from behind
There sent upon a seething land
What comes before the blind
As action without mistake
Parts of the watch
A spring or gear or hand
Drowning in responsive steps
Their time is harried by swirling sand
Its face imperfect lie staunch
As islands shape the water
It sends providence unchecked
The first passage of philosophy
Contained of following specks
That grow until all is overturned
Conjoined by the timepiece
Fixed into a broken state
They suffer in each other
First blows harsh to take
Fueled from accosted belief
Let Me OutHeart and mind racing,
still pacing my cage.
each step just to gauge
the odds that I might
get through this in one piece.
Too tired to fight,
yet unable to cease.
I stared at her, as she stared at me,
She wasn't quite what I expected her to be.
I imagined she would be pretty,
I dreamt that she was smart,
I thought she would be popular
And have a golden heart.
I thought she would be tall
And that she would be cool,
I hoped that she would be talkative
And that she'd fit in at school.
Instead she is clumsy
And really quite plain,
She's a little on the short side
And much prefers the rain.
She only has a few close friends
And is otherwise quite shy.
Her golden heart is more like brass
And it's easy to make her cry.
But despite my expectations, I really have to say
That I really wouldn't have myself be any other way.
TnM - Un BrindisThomas Pov
Era el día más feliz de mi vida, me había casado con el amor de mi vida, aun con las dificultades, con los miedos, por la sociedad y demás cosas que nos podía separarnos, con mí ahora esposa Marie estaba en el punto del brindis, su padre entre lágrimas y sollozos de felicidad nos dijo lo que nos deseaba a mí y a Marie, siguieron Jazz, Xavier, Fred, Amanda e incluso Dezz quien es muy tímida, la hora del brindis se acababa
- ¿Puedo hacer un brindis? – comento de pronto la pelinegra caminando a la mesa en donde se encontraban todos
- Claro que si Am, puedes hacerlo – respondí feliz ante mi amiga
La que había aparecido en un sueño aún antes de conocerla, se veía bien con un vestido azul con brillos largo con escote muy sensual propio de ella
- Bueno – empezó cogiendo una copa de vino tinto – Estamos aquí celebrando la boda de unos de mis mejores amigos, quienes lucharon m
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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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