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By a LadyYou sang of sensibilty
But your curls were crossed fingers
You orchestrated fits of tears
and wrote plans to fall in love
Each thought was well-laced,
A corset tracing your back
making you fit
and pushing me out.
I called myself sense
and hid in contentions and subpoints.
But my eyes were lined with questions
(the kind that don't have answers)
A glimpse of you
sent my cheeks burning,
my reasons crumbling
as I ran with rain-soaked skirts.
is pressing breasts into your back
giving you the secrets my braille features
could never hide
that I am always always here
for that one small pressure
the faintest sign
that when I turn my head
you will follow.
AncestorsThe cloth had not been weaved by Ariadne
but the old man wore his robes proudly,
announcing himself to the camera's shutters
so different from the curtains
hung in bedrooms
by the light of the candles
the only shadows his son knew
Until he found the shadows
of ships' masts
that chased him back
A man of the world
with a gold pocket-watch
a little bit of dream pavement
for the arms of an olive-eyed girl
You shook the branches
to send down those eyes of your mother
but this time the ground wasn't covered in expectant bed-sheets
and your fruits fell
to enemy soldiers.
As they starved, the people of the village learned
The center of the fruit is hard
not so it can die
but so it can endure the life.
You at 16 hid in doorways of white stone
teaching invaders the hard lessons
of olive pits
the exploding wrath of a people.
Until you earned your ticket in human suffering
third class to the promised land
where you learned to commune
SightI can feel you in the room
a warm breeze
curling my toes
as I swing them off this wooden porch-swing.
is everything I can remember
Dancing in your arms
is all I've ever learned about flying
below me is endless air.
My hands have eyes
like th petals of a thorned rose
and in this moment
I can see the future.
Eternity will not erase your name from my palms.
ArchitectureYou smiled over me as I worked
reading a birds-eye view of hieroglyphics
odes of love
mapped out in charcoal cities.
I let your hand guide the ceilings higher, higher
and we sliced diamonds in the sky
so that we could lay back and gaze up into our future
We planted our feet in marble columns
and carved quotes up our spines
Wind and rain beat at our sides
But we laughed and watched our nails turn green.
We loved bouquets, you and I
but I took a secret solace in permanence
in the wing I'd built in your name
until you used it to fly away.
DecisionsSign your name in flames
leave a pale blue reminder
that there's no going back.
Chase away the doubts
flickering birthday candles
Remember your wish.
Revel in beauty
whether it be forest fires
or just lightning bugs.
BaptismI am wandering here
ten feet over my head
reach their lace fingertips toward each other
and humbly bow to consecrate their love
and I lay back
and watch the sun through layers of silence
light up my canopy
like stained glass.
I know there are cathedrals in my eyes too.
Weave your fingers through mine
and help me understand
take me in your arms
and show me what its like
to be more than just me.
RootsBetween your heart and your hand
shapes take form
and faces blur.
Between your lips and your voice
lives a silence
where something died.
Between your iris
and its fringed curtains
a darkness grew
a blue sky crumbled into dirt.
It is here
where I lay my roots.
You are nothing
because I love you.
LowSwing your boughs
down over me
let the wind whisper lullabies through your branches
and rock the clouds to sleep.
I want my hair
bathed in sunlight
and the truth written in shadows
across my face
so I can slip through the cracks.
Carry me in your chariot
I want to see this world
from underneath my feet.
kids cut through the middlewhen you spend a summer somewhere
where people squirrel away their
ugly children, it's hard not to notice
the subtle strain of the truth
on certain smarter faces,
or the absolute oblivion
in certain spinning eyes
and stumbling legs.
i met a girl named K,
with ankles like a deer and a voice
loud like noise and swampy like a swamp.
she liked orange foods and big words and
her hands shook like the girls in jazz class.
K clicked her tongue between words sometimes
but nobody ever mentioned it. her socks
were alphabetized. she carried a comb in her back pocket
but only 'cause she needed it, she said.
her hair was turning to snow and falling out,
she said. 'cause she pulled at it too much, she said.
she said other things, too, but i promised
never to write them. i promised not to tell
the bad things she'd done, the boy who kept her in, in, in.
she made bracelets of awful words at night and kept them
under her bed. she did it maybe so that even worse things wouldn't go bad.
the beauty's in the leavingRead aloud here.
sweetheart, let's head out. let's
drink up the desert asphalt and that last bottle
of johnny walker blue--
one last toast to the copper sunsets,
to the good earth. a pair of
tailgate stargazers, you and i:
roaming curves across the glove compartment map, until
every foldline is worn flannel-soft
and it'd rather stay open
let's forget route sixty-six. let's forget
and pick up terra cotta dust--
breathe in the mojave. let's pretend
that the world's already ended
and it's just us.
let's leave the door unlocked
Firefly CrimesThere was too much power in the air when we met.
It tasted like salt and stuff little boys are made of;
plastic yellow and blue cars, candy wrappers and lined paper.
You wrapped a hand around the back of my neck,
made me feel the warmth of sex and freedom;
hard kisses under a streetlamp,
in front of a church just for
the sake of showing how bad-ass we were.
Boy, what did I get myself into?
Another evening of misdemeanors with you,
burning scrapes on my spine,
pink t-shirts and car doors slamming as
we ran into the birthday glitter shadows
of a homophobic tidal wave city.
You drew me close, asked if I was okay,
and rubbed a hand slowly
over my injured flesh.
I fell into your chest because
you were the closest thing to safety
that I knew at the time.
But lover, your heart was pounding
like a wicked midsummer night's drum
and I was too out of breath and upset
to notice the green glistening in
your eyes like dead hummingbird wings.
I just wanted someone to look at me
and understand my rage
little white liestissue paper skin and barbed wire spines
"i haven't been sleeping well."
butterfly wing smiles and porcelain bones
"the medicine will help."
sparrow hearts and rose petal hair
undersea eyes and sailboat stomachs
"these things pass in time."
on watching the night close its eyes on you1. I will not tell you
you are pretty.
How can the halls and angles of such honest humanity
be so pinched between sounds as elementary as these?
2. You need not be two stringent boughs of syllables
nor weave your viney bones abreast these five petty letters,
whirling in the fire of the river
Do not attempt to peel yourself layer for layer,
leaving all the disgust behind.
Do not tally your body six lines
too short, hemming the holes into
puckers red as those volcanoes of strength
bursting at the base of your hips.
3. Blood is not satisfaction.
Blood is not patience, waiting for the rooms to empty
Road Trips Through Canyons"Can I tell you a story?"
The words slithered
from her tongue
wrapping around me
like a boa's perilous coils;
to a point
where I could only
From then on
I took road trips
on the deep grooves
of her voice.
unknown back routes
where sweet grandmothers
sold flavored honey
and desperate criminals
hoping no one would find
the bodies they hid.
But all the bodies she hid
deep in her skin
marked and covered
so that no one
would ever find
the burial grounds.
of her gravelly voice
filling my head with
of yet un-pursued knowledge
neither of us
the canyons created
of further developments;
those hidden burial grounds
letting the corpses
into the black hole
by the great
canopy of our lungs.
The Old God, Savitrॐ भूर्भुव: स्व: तत्सवितुर्वरेण्यं ।
भर्गो देवस्य धीमहि, धीयो यो न: प्रचोदयात् ।।
The wind blew sand into your nonchalant soul,
and your heart coughed. I entered the circle
at night, and I was consumed by fire. I did not
know of you then. I have fractured myself into
a thousand souls: but they are all whole, for I did
see you in my absence. Yet you? - you
were sailing, and your head was
full of water light.
I was significant when your mother poured out water
in a copper pot from a balcony; water, which
caught and held the moon, and then spilled over
with a quiet radiance. You wondered whether
the moon l
another fix, pleasethat feeling of relief
in darkened days
with hollow eyes and broken gazes,
floods my skin like taut stares,
the key snapping blurry worlds
I dissolve, scars upon scars,
building tales of months
pain bleeding outside borders
only blissful addiction.
[ breathing monitored,
as watched as I am ]
confusion, hazy like counting
for that feeling in freedom,
perfection comes in blood
and agony, for searching
out hungry addiction.
out searching for agony
in comes perfection,
waiting for freedom in
for backwards counting like hazy
[ am I
as watched as
monitored breathing? ]
only borders outside bleeding
pain and forgotten
months of tales building
scars upon scars. dissolve.
I focus into worlds
key the uncomfortable stares,
taut like skin.
my floods &
enamorHer body like that of
hesitant. He lays her
fecund bones on
the bed, plants them with woolen
fabric under the
drapes her with skin,
and falls into her,
folds her like cloth
until she is but
a thin line
blanketing the astral
phenomena that is
Angles of SeparationI was born at right angles to the earth
your houses are inscrutable
I stand on the shores of my heart
perched like aliens in a spaceship
who think mirrors are photographs of someone else.
My lips are bitter-tainted
from eating discarded fruits
I need someone to see my hands
waiting like constellations
and grab them through the clouds
to see that this universe is made of stories
so I can finally stand up
and live parallel.
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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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