Submissions by Cayleigh
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I write my love between old bookstore classics, and a bare ribcage.
LOVE POEM
Published
16th Feb 2012 3:36pm
16th Feb 2012 3:36pm
Stone Angels
He had tigers blood.
Poetic fingertips
that called to me
like a siren's song,
while his demonic tongue
hissed 'S h i p w r e c k e d'.
We covered ourselves in ink,
danced along jailhouse walls,
under street lights, the edges
of skylines, darkened alleyways
and the parking lots of churches.
No fear,
We spoke in riddles— gestures;
the quiet sweep of eyelashes;
cigarette smoke that lingered
long enough to shape heavens
within our iris's—while crows
rested on our shoulders—perched ...
Poetic fingertips
that called to me
like a siren's song,
while his demonic tongue
hissed 'S h i p w r e c k e d'.
We covered ourselves in ink,
danced along jailhouse walls,
under street lights, the edges
of skylines, darkened alleyways
and the parking lots of churches.
No fear,
We spoke in riddles— gestures;
the quiet sweep of eyelashes;
cigarette smoke that lingered
long enough to shape heavens
within our iris's—while crows
rested on our shoulders—perched ...
610 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
14th Jan 2012 3:07pm
14th Jan 2012 3:07pm
Scorpions and Love Letters
I never longed to hear him call me
'Dear Heart' as if he wrote love letters
to his own, bloody mass of an organ
that beat up a rhythm between my
bruised yet sturdy, castle ribs.
Anonymous scribbles,
itching between the stitching
of a patchwork Frankenstein.
As I will never give it up to the poet
with the sloppy tongue-
ugly verses dripping from his lips
like a love sick plague
leaving me hollow;
a soulless shell seeking escape.
I'll never love him.
This Scorpion heart is mine.
Covered in barbed wire,...
'Dear Heart' as if he wrote love letters
to his own, bloody mass of an organ
that beat up a rhythm between my
bruised yet sturdy, castle ribs.
Anonymous scribbles,
itching between the stitching
of a patchwork Frankenstein.
As I will never give it up to the poet
with the sloppy tongue-
ugly verses dripping from his lips
like a love sick plague
leaving me hollow;
a soulless shell seeking escape.
I'll never love him.
This Scorpion heart is mine.
Covered in barbed wire,...
613 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th Nov 2011 1:45pm
24th Nov 2011 1:45pm
Cemetery Cats
The wolves were out that night—
and all of the hook laden quips
that we concocted
fell upon lips
like a hummingbird's whisper.
Then, they ignited into flames
like burning stars.
That should have been us:
beautiful ash, supernova romance
with tongue and fingers soaked in ink.
We always did find the taste of Heaven
stale, like coffee three days old.
And with that taste still lingering,
you were a walking oxymoron.
A sinner come to save
these easily swayed, glass bones
from smashing into oblivion.
I...
and all of the hook laden quips
that we concocted
fell upon lips
like a hummingbird's whisper.
Then, they ignited into flames
like burning stars.
That should have been us:
beautiful ash, supernova romance
with tongue and fingers soaked in ink.
We always did find the taste of Heaven
stale, like coffee three days old.
And with that taste still lingering,
you were a walking oxymoron.
A sinner come to save
these easily swayed, glass bones
from smashing into oblivion.
I...
779 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
23rd Oct 2011 9:29pm
23rd Oct 2011 9:29pm
He isn't you.
He isn't wishful paper cranes,
or Paris dreams during cold
Autumn nights. He isn't You.
But, he's trying so hard to
make me forget [ you you you… ]
like pressed flowers hidden
between the bindings of
unfinished books, placed
at the top of dusty shelves.
His eyes are supernovas,
dead and lonely.
They don't sparkle like
your blue ocean iris's.
But…He loves me.
I can feel it through
shy smiles and the way
he touches me with
gentle artist fingers.
[ He makes
me want to write
p o e t r y. ...
or Paris dreams during cold
Autumn nights. He isn't You.
But, he's trying so hard to
make me forget [ you you you… ]
like pressed flowers hidden
between the bindings of
unfinished books, placed
at the top of dusty shelves.
His eyes are supernovas,
dead and lonely.
They don't sparkle like
your blue ocean iris's.
But…He loves me.
I can feel it through
shy smiles and the way
he touches me with
gentle artist fingers.
[ He makes
me want to write
p o e t r y. ...
874 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
23rd Oct 2011 9:26pm
23rd Oct 2011 9:26pm
You found love at the top of the stairs.
Sly shoulders with
tiny bruises not
meant for lovers eyes,
Teeth and wicked collarbones:
You argued in the stairwell,
Fingers flirting with
that pretty dress of green
as you felt yourself asphyxiate.
Her lips, the antidote—
to your wildest dreams.
tiny bruises not
meant for lovers eyes,
Teeth and wicked collarbones:
You argued in the stairwell,
Fingers flirting with
that pretty dress of green
as you felt yourself asphyxiate.
Her lips, the antidote—
to your wildest dreams.
704 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Oct 2011 3:48am
19th Oct 2011 3:48am
Stitched Lips
Her lips, soft like old paper
tastes of stardust and ink.
I'd kiss her a thousand times over,
just to savour the poetry resting
on her wasp tongue—
but, I'm kissing ghosts
with empty eyes, void, naked
and vulnerable like sleeping
gargoyles in the mid-day sun.
[ I'll love her quietly, close-mouthed
and tongueless,
in the arms of stone angels. ]
tastes of stardust and ink.
I'd kiss her a thousand times over,
just to savour the poetry resting
on her wasp tongue—
but, I'm kissing ghosts
with empty eyes, void, naked
and vulnerable like sleeping
gargoyles in the mid-day sun.
[ I'll love her quietly, close-mouthed
and tongueless,
in the arms of stone angels. ]
857 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
18th Oct 2011 1:41pm
18th Oct 2011 1:41pm
What is love, until you have loved a writer?
She has these long, storm fingers.
The kind that leave me wide-eyed and angry.
This gargoyle heart that beats 6 times slower than it should—
As she loves to leave me with half finished sentences
and a p o e t i c tongue covered in ink.
She spreads jealous heat along my cheeks,
as my nights are filled with stardust dreams.
Her words fight off hurricane nightmares.
She is a ribcage embrace,
warming these thin origami bones and
tattooing monochromatic love stories along my curves.
AN: Written for a class assignment.
I had to list...
The kind that leave me wide-eyed and angry.
This gargoyle heart that beats 6 times slower than it should—
As she loves to leave me with half finished sentences
and a p o e t i c tongue covered in ink.
She spreads jealous heat along my cheeks,
as my nights are filled with stardust dreams.
Her words fight off hurricane nightmares.
She is a ribcage embrace,
warming these thin origami bones and
tattooing monochromatic love stories along my curves.
AN: Written for a class assignment.
I had to list...
862 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
18th Oct 2011 4:05am
18th Oct 2011 4:05am
Tiger Eyes
Hidden between a ribcage
not fit for company, or
mid-winter loving,
I grasped your heart, tightly.
We were a mess of ugly
metaphors, and tongues
gone limp-from far to many
late night, gunpowder kisses.
The kind that left nostalgic
paper cut hearts that burned
and ached, lonesome for you
after months of itching.
Tired, but deadly, I once found
you resting at my feet, peering
up with hungry tiger eyes and
claws unsheathed.
[ I never wanted you more. ]
not fit for company, or
mid-winter loving,
I grasped your heart, tightly.
We were a mess of ugly
metaphors, and tongues
gone limp-from far to many
late night, gunpowder kisses.
The kind that left nostalgic
paper cut hearts that burned
and ached, lonesome for you
after months of itching.
Tired, but deadly, I once found
you resting at my feet, peering
up with hungry tiger eyes and
claws unsheathed.
[ I never wanted you more. ]
885 reads
5 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
4th Jul 2011 4:41pm
4th Jul 2011 4:41pm
3am Poetry
I bit my lip,
keeping myself locked away
as your curved fingers
taptaptaped away at my
abdomen.
[ permanently engraving
love stories on my skin
as if my body were your
personal typewriter.]
Only the clench and slight
q u i v e rgave me away.
[ Your mouth was wild
tasting of dark secrets
and 3am poetry.]
"It's your eyes
that give you away."
keeping myself locked away
as your curved fingers
taptaptaped away at my
abdomen.
[ permanently engraving
love stories on my skin
as if my body were your
personal typewriter.]
Only the clench and slight
q u i v e rgave me away.
[ Your mouth was wild
tasting of dark secrets
and 3am poetry.]
"It's your eyes
that give you away."
1088 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
4th Jul 2011 4:28pm
4th Jul 2011 4:28pm
Cigarette Burns
I dream in static romances,
where time stands [ still, ]
and clocks no longer
ticticitc
to the sound ofh e a r t b e a t s
and old school radio tunes.
The incense of my soul
smell like cherry blossoms,
and what should be
sweet kisses,
big city summers:
A place where I can wear these
[ hieroglyphics ]
On my flesh like a fashion statement
[And not be just
another angel
covered in ash.]
where time stands [ still, ]
and clocks no longer
ticticitc
to the sound ofh e a r t b e a t s
and old school radio tunes.
The incense of my soul
smell like cherry blossoms,
and what should be
sweet kisses,
big city summers:
A place where I can wear these
[ hieroglyphics ]
On my flesh like a fashion statement
[And not be just
another angel
covered in ash.]
742 reads
0 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
22nd May 2011 5:12am
22nd May 2011 5:12am
Like Roses.
Force -feeding lies
down the narrow
pathway of my throat,
I gag and choke
on the hard, shell like
kisses pressed
against my chin.
Whispered warnings
of skin, bone,
muscles against a sea
of stained bedsheets—
and thighs made of thorns.
down the narrow
pathway of my throat,
I gag and choke
on the hard, shell like
kisses pressed
against my chin.
Whispered warnings
of skin, bone,
muscles against a sea
of stained bedsheets—
and thighs made of thorns.
807 reads
0 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
22nd May 2011 5:09am
22nd May 2011 5:09am
Warning signs, or battle scars?
Note: Wrote this when intoxicated. Unedited, not counting spelling mistakes.
He burrows himself so far into the layers of her skin she will never be
able to dig him out.It's not like she hasn't tried—wearing her battle
scars like trophies.Sliding into herself every evening; partly
enthralled and partly sickened; she enjoys the delicious ways his kisses
burn the bruises. He loves making her hate him.Thestubborn anger in
her voice gets him every time.Whispering lust filled greed against
her skin, he takes her, and twisted pleasure in the hateful...
He burrows himself so far into the layers of her skin she will never be
able to dig him out.It's not like she hasn't tried—wearing her battle
scars like trophies.Sliding into herself every evening; partly
enthralled and partly sickened; she enjoys the delicious ways his kisses
burn the bruises. He loves making her hate him.Thestubborn anger in
her voice gets him every time.Whispering lust filled greed against
her skin, he takes her, and twisted pleasure in the hateful...
1047 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Cayleigh
