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i want to erase your fingerprintsArielle
lived in an aphrodisiac, her soul a
constellation strung together with glittering
cobwebs. she prayed without believing in God, she died
without going to Underworld; (nor Upperworld) only the
is a thief. he steals not for money, not for himself, and not for pride--
for the women he unswervingly vows need his unlovely love. he builds his heart of plastic; cynical and sarcastic, and
ends up in the corner alone.
did not love herself. the mirror proved she was a broken thing;
dirty blonde hair and soulless eyes. eyes that have seen boys tear her heart apart and watched a knife curl up her wrist, her mind all cut up with the beautiful little lies
that flicker across her leonine mind.
has a heart as golden as his black hair, a soul intertwined with darkness, knotted with Fate
like the floating sea ships' ropes, wavewalkers and delicate strength that overpowers her soft desires.
forever cursed, named after
we met within a yearSPRING
the beginning of it all.
spring tastes like
honey, like children's
delight at finding chocolate
eggs under bushes and
you can't see the joy,
but deep inside, you can
we spend hours underwater,
come inside plastered red
like a sea-crab,
our soft skin is only the outer
of what's inside us.
the roof is littered with leaves,
you slip on a crack and curl your arm
around my waist for the first time--
just drag me down with you.
the well has frozen over.
we sneak out when the
and break our hearts as
the river breaks, each time
another crack races through its
scars[ starting from the bottom up ,
my heart was a mug--
you could drain
my soul in five seconds
flat . ]
on my right leg , a mark on my big toe
from dropping a shampoo bottle on my foot .
let your eyes wander higher and i have a
long tear just above my ankle from attempting to
climb the tree to freedom.
on my knee , falling in basketball ;
tripping down the stairs ,
scratching at the callouses on your heart
left me impossibly wrecked .
on my stomach , tiny criss-cross scars
from older times , when i could not understand
the future of the present .
on my arms , lightening bolts ;
butterfly kisses ;
and clustered roses dig their
thorns into my wrists .
we are so eternally similar you never
would comprehend .
that may have hurt the most .
on my heart , generations of pain :
rings around a tree like children
giggling in a sphere ,
i try to mimic their laughter
but my chest is too hollow .
on my mind ,
death traps ,
cold ice tickles my senses before
it swallows me whole .
i believe (day two)i. in love
in star-crossed strangers,
desperate calls for sacrifice,
nothing is ever certain.
boys and girls, listen up:
your ancestors don't
predetermine your destiny,
your soul is not inscribed
in stardust; you are human.
joyfully, rawly human.
you have reason to be proud.
ii. in faith
seeing is not believing,
trust is a foundation for
our porcelain souls, it's okay
to be fragile, science does
not know everything.
iii. it's okay not to be okay
the world's standard is not
one you want to live by, coordinated
definitions implanted by our Maker
are not to be simply ignored for
hopes of a "better life,"
we're already walking tragedies,
how can we know right from
iv. broken is beautiful
we all are cracked,
we all have lost precious parts
to thieves and masquerading princes,
we can't hide scars of the heartache
kind. ignoring pain will make it worse
when we finally feel it.
v. the last enemy to be destroyed is death
star-crossed lovers is too general a term (day 3)i. don't try to solve all my problems, dear lover
don't hide the truth, don't protect my
fragile heart in the name of chivalry:
i won't forgive you. i am no meek lady
to be wooed and courted, but a fierce
tigress, a warrior, with a heart full of fire
and galaxies weaved into my soul.
ii. trust me
trust is more powerful than love,
chrysanthemum whirls lust and tragic
fate, set your indifference aside tonight--
i cannot always trust the ones i love, but
i'll always love the ones i trust.
iii. don't expect me to obey you
your whims and exaggerated fantasies
all cage me, i cannot follow your rabbit
trails, (i'd rather leap down
the rabbit hole.)
my wings portray innocence, i admire
your mystery but you show a side of
me i do not understand.
run wild with me, we'll dream
magic, thunderstorms spiraling
calm, a hurricane in my heart and the
eye of the storm in yours.
iv. love me
these one night-stands
never seem to go to planned;
i still need love 'cause i'm
dear almost lover ,i. sonnets are spun of silver ,
allegories arise out of angelical actions ,
but i cannot promise you the stars .
i can promise you explorations of the unknown ,
many questions and not enough answers ,
but pain is not something that you can escape .
our love was not made for movie screens ,
a wild tangle of erupted cowards ,
we willed ourselves damnation and
earned every uncorruption .
( heaven's glory is eclipsed by pain ,
gentleness is an unearned affliction . )
my best mistake was meeting you (day 5)prologue
thousands of flitting memories,
trapped between cosmic horrors--
you don't remember my name,
i. fall in love with you
we met with flourishes and
cow bells clanging behind the summer porch.
the sky reflected your clear eyes, endless and
moonlit hours talking about anything and everything because
one more touch
one more laugh
one more word
and i'd be satisfied.
but it was never enough.
ii. pretend to be happy because you touched my hand
at first, your kisses weren't fleeting, but lovely:
a gentle panacea.
and my lungs could never
get enough of your scent:
soap and spring herbs
from hours spent baking.
my heart yearned for you, with both cracked we could
swap and you'd never be the wiser.
our souls are eternities different,
i the moon and you the sun,
and i am only alive with your light.
without you, the darkness overcomes and
iii. trick myself into thinking you loved me back
'all are fool
mind over matter (day four) i. death
[generously, Death does
not snatch away breaths;
the air we breath curses Death.]
he tuts at life for
a fragile string, especially
one that can so easily be
i sleep at funerals,
[meaning no disrespect
to you, Mr. Ghoul.]
wondering what it's
like to never wake up,
put a bouquet of
tulips because i
know she hated them,
and when i die know that
she'll dance on my grave.
[don't hate her for
it, i'm guilty of
wishing thrice the
curse she can fathom
i bled for you and
he bled for me,
so who do i belong
watch me carefully,
dilated pupils discover
[there was never a contest
love, the memories i tried
so hard to remember will now
haunt me forever. i cried for you,
you taught me the hardest lesson
i've ever learned.
and i don't recall signing up for this class,
nor that you'd be the teacher.
scabbed-up fingers,you always hated how
the teacher spelt your name wrong,
you preferred felicite Nikki to the
"over dramatic" Nichole.
you want a tattoo of infinity
on your right hip,
so your body will
never forget how
inexhaustible your soul is.
your wrists are painted over,
all cut up with the beautiful
that flicker across your
you don't like prostitution,
selling yourself for love
is not love at all.
ruddy cheeks and starburst
when the moon kissed the sea
the skiamachy began.
but your heart is bruised;
those boys never learned to treat
like a princess.
and you like the feeling
of being drunk,
you say it helps you to forget,
but maybe I'm being naïve when
I don't understand
what you'd want to
(butterflies and urban slums,
everything is a trick.)
you're afraid of the dark,
once we dreamed all day
and a moth flew into y
Piano, piano (a break from the universe)keys of candlelight
on the ornament machine.
a code of fingers
pressed like kisses
in love's secret handshake:
stroke the black flattered pyramids
until smoothed into sound.
touch sensation into the china sea.
chords realise themselves and
to sing dusted angel heights.
toes bob the gold slipper
and down and
and down and
into the drift
where the stars make themselves
from pink needles
on oceans of porcelain.
a break from the universe.
only soft time.
you can't measure love in milesi wonder what the west coast
would look like if i saw it
from the span of your arms.
would the heat stop beating
on the roof with savage hands?
would the cicadas no longer scream
from the throat of pain as they
rose from the dirt like lazarus?
would i still pluck the state
lines like harp strings, hoping
i find the vibrating harmony
beneath my homesick fingers?
would the glassy sky expand
to hold my sadness until its
stomach tore and burst rolling
rains that last for hours -
or worse - days?
each slumbering town is one
more body i've yet to touch -
will they sink their thumbs
to leave deep, oceanic bruises
on the insides of my thighs,
my wrists, my heart?
i wonder when the compass wound
'round my love will not point
me to where my home is, but who
would hold me like i belong.
Graffiti Dreams in Black and White The strokes are dreamt permanent,
the only lasting demarcations of claiming existence,
and the collective artists who painted them majored in Biology,
or Accounting, or English and Professional Writing, or dropped out
as so many do when they wake up.
The poet paints them into existence with his words:
“ideas are illusions, and all words are untrue.”
And we nod our heads and sip our coffees, indeed,
put a price to labors and words and even to thoughts
because we no longer want freedom if it costs us the freedom
of saving face and keeping pace with the ebb and flow
perspectivei have often been warned
that reading in the dark
would damage my vision.
i don't know if they were
right, but i do wear
glasses now. and the world
is only getting blurrier.
i learned to love you
like a storybook. and we
traced each other's veins
under our skin daring
to call it calligraphy.
i used to think that
dog-earing pages would
ruin them. but i wanted
permanent bookmarks of us
on all the places we needed
to pause and catch our
breath. we had imprints
on our spines from
opening up too much too
fast in the excitement
that comes with finding
something to discover.
my eyes have strained
themselves on nights
i refused to sleep
without knowing what
happens next - you were
a worthwhile substitute
for dreaming. they say
eyes are the window to
the soul; and after
reaching so far into
our stories, i don't
think we can ever close
the same ways we used to-
not without weighing us down.
i should not have insisted
on reading you over and over
in the darkness of after-hours.
maybe then the way
how you can manage to know so muchshe's barely an inch taller - but still taller -
squinting at the horizon line and heaving tobacco smoke
through resin coated lungs that should belong to a
fourty three year old smoker, not an eighteen year old
she laughs the loudest when others cast glances
and hushed whispers
and never misses the chance to tell you
she couldn't possibly give less
of a shit
she likes convenience store mints;
the round white ones you'd find
at the bottom of grandma's purse that tasted like
dust and chemically sweetened perfume,
she went to a school where "dyke"
was spat like poison at her feet
but knew exactly what to say when three girls
cornered her, knew exactly how to throw her
words like fists
she gets hives from cats and grass and
practically anything outside her door
so she spends most of her time inside,
only leaving to have another
she listens to tool and radiohead
and smokes half a joint before bed to help her sleep
but she still doesn't; not for long
and she twitc
if my heart is an album, every song features youyou are the guest star
in my heart
stealing my breath
& the spotlight
you in my dreams
so it seems
you live in my head
can i come visit you
inside of your dreams too?
i need lessons in love––come be my teacher
in each of my daydreams, you make a guest feature
each of your features is my favourite feature
no, i’m not stalking; i’m just doing research
on my computer––come be my tutor
it’s not my birthday, but i’ll be your suitor
we’re cut from a different cloth but the same cotton mill
my rags: poor, inelegant––my pumpkin heart: rotten still
coach me or reproach me
as long as you approach me
(my heart or my bed–both are vacant)
if i were a girl
i bet that you would love me
if i were a sport
i bet that you would touch me
if i were a worm
i bet you’d attach me
if i were a fish
i’d let you come catch me
(& cook me & eat me
then i’d be inside you)
if i were a lizard, i bet
vigil.i’m a boy who kisses crosses, and the pages of the bible
whisper to me in my sleep, stories of labor and towers
built to be destroyed by an angry god up above; some
call them martyrs, and in the halfway place between
manhood and my psychiatrist’s mouth, i call them
people with nothing better to do—i find god in a box
of tissues on her table and eat the body of christ as
a lithim tablet (saltier than i remember) and pray
that the girl i first kissed found a man who loves her—
brothers and sisters, we are gathered here today to
worship at the white altar, but look at us: we’ll put
our umbrellas above a stranger’s head and risk catching
a cold, we’ll give a man a dollar and come home to a
painfully empty apartment—we’re all just suicidal
and convincing each other not to do it; when will we
look in the mirror, at our raccoon eyes, at our wildfire
hair, at our crooked teeth, and decide that, even if it’s
overcast, the day is bright
what could we write aboutpart i.
maybe the way translucent leaves shine with sunlight
filtering through verdant branches.
[it's your soul, hiding beneath breaths of
life and shining with pale sin.]
or the way you fall in love
for the very first time.
[the kiss was backlit with
her eyes held cosmic terrors]
and the metamorphosis of birth in a
microcosm of life, a precious utopia torn apart,
but we will return one day and our hearts will be
healed in uncorruption once more.
[growing pains start early,
as a Phoenix falls, another must take its burden.]
but do you remember how
your morning tea
would swirl with cream,
steam crawling out of her cup of coffee.
[possibilities and problems,
slipping from your grip like
down your grandmother's window:
it wants to drown us all.]
and the way God shook out
His hand to feed the fireflies:
they fell like stardust, a
waterfall of silver nebulae
complete in shimmering radiances
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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