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confessionalthey say sad girls change their hair color
and forgive their monsters.
i change my morals
and become one.
tally marksi wish i knew numbers
as well as i knew words.
that way, it would be easier
for me to tally-mark the
number of times i felt
like giving up.
wastelandthe difference between alone & lonely
was one of them needed me.
i recluded back into the embrace
of someone who didn't deserve to
trace the wings in my lungs into
butterflies, all because of my
selfish desire for solace.
see, i am not practiced
in the art of loneliness.
or maybe i've wrecked enough
solitary canvases to stretch
me all the way back to the
fallen leaves of last october
when his arms constricted my mid-
section; a noose for my stomach.
i wanted to forget
how it felt
to be left.
so i let him stroke my shoulders
in an attempt to rebirth necessity.
september's winds brought
whiplash & slick hands.
he snaked in between my
2 good legs and robbed me
his eyes half-smiled with
permission & lust rolled
into 1 smolder.
i am still heavy with sin.
even though i want to,
i will never forget him.
the similarity between alone & lonely
was i wanted both of them.
there are 2 things that not even the most
forceful of rains can cleanse me of:
sometimes, i feel like a caged lion.
only with a lot more impatience
and a lot less resilience.
i have yet to discover what it means to be content.
i am either too stagnant or too fluid.
no middle ground.
i have mastered the art of leaving.
it's the idea of moving on that still haunts me.
i fear that the light in my eyes is so dim that it will burn out
before even i have a chance to see the world with it.
i am not as clever as i pretend to be.
someone needs to teach me that
i don't need reassurance; i need self-assurance.
that someone should be me.
my greatest fears are loneliness and cancer.
the second because all my beauty is in my hair.
the first doesn't need an explanation.
i am still discovering what it means to be a woman.
everything is confusing me.
i am secretly afraid of massages.
feels like i'm being stabbed.
we all know how that is.
2nd priority maili remembered you lion-hearted,
but just insecure enough to let
me wrap my good intentions around
your neck to warm you with the
heat of all their purity.
people aren't games,
but we played each other as if
our backbones were life savings
begging to be gambled away.
you melted inside me until i could
no longer tell the difference between
each of my individual bones.
you started screaming the promises
that were whispering through my blood stream
straight into the gaps between my eyelashes,
telling me that i should've looked for you
at that goddamn bus stop under the rain that night.
you cracked into shrapnel,
told me you were stuck in the arms
of someone you didn't deserve to call lover -
said you felt like shit wasting her.
at that bus stop, there was rain.
there was rain, and at the bus stop
you told me you were safe in my arms.
that nothing bad ever happens to those who wait.
i collected you like a pile of postcards
mailed from woman to woman, each kissing
your frayed edges wi
03. tidal wavesaccording to scientist and doctors around the world,
my body is 55% water and yours is 60%.
that means if someone meshed our insides together
and swirled our veins into a cat's cradle of passion,
we would equate to 115% water.
enough to drown ourselves in,
to float our minds away from
all the good intentions of spring
and just swim through each other's
bloodstreams for a little while.
maybe if we breaststroke our way to forever,
we will be able to taste the purity of clarity
in each other's sockets.
i will engulf you like a tidal wave lingering at
the shores of courage
and your tsunami-heart will spin wonders
out of my sunken-sailboat dreams.
look to the place on the horizon where the sea meets the sky.
you will find us there, stretching for miles,
blending together like paint on a canvas
until we can't be identified individually:
completing each other,
never drowning in our endlessness.
glass figurinesshards of glass figurines we used to be
will fester under our fingernails
until they cut us loose from all this madness.
blood typethere is something haunting about the way blood flows.
just think - all that crimson coursing through you,
scribing calligraphy inside your gut.
through your arms, through your heart.
it paints promises across the canvas of your innards, saying:
i promise to take time, to give you as much as you need.
i promise to stay warm even when chills tickle your spinal cord.
when blades threaten to sharpen themselves like buffers across your skin,
i will flow slowly, giving them a chance to see the light in your bones.
i promise to stay powerful.
i promise to stay abundant.
i promise to stay holy.
i will weave through your veins,
craft myself into a villanelle to savor your breath,
so that if you ever decide to drain me by your own 2 hands,
you can read my words and know that you are not worthless.
starsi pray that someday soon, in a lonesome winter, your bones will cease to ache.
regrets will no longer break your morals like glass figurines,
you will not ask God to pardon your sins.
you will forgive yourself.
i hope, for your sake, that your butterfly-flutter eyes
will only be dampened with tears worthy of shedding.
your glory will shine out of those 2 crystal windows
and you will finally know what freedom feels like.
one day, in the midst of a dreary december, i wish for your wings to open wide
and carry you to heights far past any you have ever experienced.
your lungs will become blooming forests
with snippets of poetry carved into the tree trunks.
you will no longer be broken, but instead, crack into miniscule pieces
of yourself until all of the grace & goodness
buried deep within the crevices of your flesh
is soaked up by the atmosphere.
i am awaiting the day that i can finally lay next to someone i call lover
and point up at the stars to show him
fragments of you scatte
word to my former self and my former friendsit got old. seein'
you all sad because other
people are happy.
I (Honestly) Feel Your PainIt was one of those nights, where nothing went as it was supposed to and everything managed to cut him to the quick. Where every passing emotion burned his skin and even the rain sliding down his collar didn’t help take away the sorrow, the pain, the desperation or the heartache. It was one of the rare nights when Joseph Beckerman felt emotions, and he didn’t like it at all.
In the beginning, he had tried to hide. He thought that, if he got away from people and their roiling feelings, he could keep his sanity. He was wrong. Even tucked away in the middle of a Canadian forest, he still felt the intrusive auras invade his body and mind. So he stopped trying to hide and just tried to make it all go away.
Alcohol helped, to some extent. It numbed his mind to the depression and my-God-my-God-why-have-you-abandoned-me thoughts that liked to run marathons around his synapses. The alcohol didn’t help his body though, and for a long time he still felt the tears. He lear
August Lover,I want to wrap myself in your air,
hold your secrets between my
ribcage-embrace & just
i don't believe in jesusno one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth.
i don't get a dollar under my pillow for having sex with my boyfriend.
there are no doctors smiling at me when i tell them my cherry has been popped.
i am a whore for having premarital sex.
i am a tramp for loving someone enough to open my body to them.
no one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth -
but i slip mine under my pillow anyway, and in the morning when i wake,
there is a quarter and a tiny folded note:
"you are not a slut."
FearLove wrenches double on a street corner,
chest full of dripping tar,
a cough that will not go away.
A letter I'll never send.The letter I keep writing
to my children.
I have never told you
that I once lost you to my
that your tiny flailing
fists once made me feel as if
the world was striking out
at me through you.
I used to feed you in
the bath tub, wondering if
perhaps I could let your
weight drag us under.
I still believe that it was
you who kept me afloat.
I keep writing this letter
to keep me calm, to keep me from
hating myself for ever thinking
of you as burdens.
And someday I want to tell you
that I once lost myself to
my own sadness, and that
it was you that kept
---You think about suicide
and you smoke cigarettes, hoping
that they'll get the job done
so you don't have to.
patternsinhale forgiveness, exhale hypocrisy.
life is meaningless;
existence is a series of patterns.
and then spread
wings or legs.
cage yourself in - tousle your mane a bit,
then stand all too glorified
like you deserve.
give me one true word.
i silenced your whimpers and missed your roars.
hey newton, gravity's flawedi.
starting anew from the flutter
and the sputter of lungs.
a vacant sea filled with feathers
and tumultuous clatter,
ribs in a treacherous pattern
resembling exiting rungs.
i want to wrestle the angels,
your tendency is the ladder.
involved with full indiscretion,
trading lazy for lace.
unspool the curse of the long-
limbs in a languorous flexion
i like the stab of the ankles,
you need the curves intersected.
opting to cull my extents
with trans-dimensional vigor.
spent my dysphoric corrections
on reconnecting lax ends.
lips in a spurious accent
feign a passionate rigor.
i tie myself to the anchor,
you extricate and ascend.
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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