Submissions by Cayleigh
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I write my love between old bookstore classics, and a bare ribcage.
LOVE POEM
Published
28th Feb 2011 11:41pm
28th Feb 2011 11:41pm
Love Poem Number 137
I no longer feel the need to write catchy titles.
What is the point when you wont read
what's written underneath, anyway?
I once believed in the importance of a poems title.
That one day you would rip open one of my
many, desperate letters.
Read the frantic scrawl upon the tattered pages,
of unnecessary, or cliche verses scratched out.
Because, I could never think of the right words.
I never did and never will
think of the right words!
Those that could in all honesty,
describe my love for you.
Well, honey I've given up.
You've won this...
What is the point when you wont read
what's written underneath, anyway?
I once believed in the importance of a poems title.
That one day you would rip open one of my
many, desperate letters.
Read the frantic scrawl upon the tattered pages,
of unnecessary, or cliche verses scratched out.
Because, I could never think of the right words.
I never did and never will
think of the right words!
Those that could in all honesty,
describe my love for you.
Well, honey I've given up.
You've won this...
759 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
24th Feb 2011 2:46am
24th Feb 2011 2:46am
They wear what under their kilts? Lipstick on a good day!
Make me sway,” she says,
“like a pendulum on a rainy day.”
Her hips do the motions her words portray.
That look in her eyes gets you every time.
And it kills you from the inside.
Press your thumbs into the flesh of her arms,
Stop her world from spinning.
Then you realize,
You’re the one who’s lost your footing,
She’s the one who’s crazy.
“Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Let me feel you.”
Paper cuts—like they’re the new in thing.
“Trust me baby, baby, baby,
they burn so good.”
“like a pendulum on a rainy day.”
Her hips do the motions her words portray.
That look in her eyes gets you every time.
And it kills you from the inside.
Press your thumbs into the flesh of her arms,
Stop her world from spinning.
Then you realize,
You’re the one who’s lost your footing,
She’s the one who’s crazy.
“Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Let me feel you.”
Paper cuts—like they’re the new in thing.
“Trust me baby, baby, baby,
they burn so good.”
753 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
22nd Feb 2011 11:13pm
22nd Feb 2011 11:13pm
Oh, so you want me to be honest now?
Well, Honey—that’s a little hard for me.
Not to say I chew lies between my teeth
Or spit them out like sunflower seeds.
Read between my lines baby--
You're a psychology major.
Words are unnecessary links in speech.
What's my body language telling you?
But I know what you really want from me.
A line of poetry, a verse of total honesty.
Like I said, that's a little hard for me
when someone's in my shower singing off key.
My bodies the most honest thing about me.
Standing here in flesh and bone baby.
...
Not to say I chew lies between my teeth
Or spit them out like sunflower seeds.
Read between my lines baby--
You're a psychology major.
Words are unnecessary links in speech.
What's my body language telling you?
But I know what you really want from me.
A line of poetry, a verse of total honesty.
Like I said, that's a little hard for me
when someone's in my shower singing off key.
My bodies the most honest thing about me.
Standing here in flesh and bone baby.
...
643 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
22nd Feb 2011 4:04am
22nd Feb 2011 4:04am
Serenade me with your words, don't just write them down!
You're nothing more than just another lonely poet
lingering in the coffee shop every evening—
I know your kind well.
These teasing looks we share
Are really getting to me.
I itch to read incantations scrawled
across the pages of your bent,
and tattered notebook.
I know—
That you know
That I know—
You can see right through me.
You have bewitched me with your stare
and the swooping way you hold your pen.
There is no other explanation—
For why I keep coming back.
Don't you give me that look!;)
lingering in the coffee shop every evening—
I know your kind well.
These teasing looks we share
Are really getting to me.
I itch to read incantations scrawled
across the pages of your bent,
and tattered notebook.
I know—
That you know
That I know—
You can see right through me.
You have bewitched me with your stare
and the swooping way you hold your pen.
There is no other explanation—
For why I keep coming back.
Don't you give me that look!;)
608 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
16th Feb 2011 5:02am
16th Feb 2011 5:02am
Feels like Heaven, hurts like Hell
You are crying in this moment.
Longing, Devotion—Love,
Their meanings mean nothing to you now.
Once knowing more than their Websters Dictionary definition,
Your heart swelling between your rib cage,
Seeping out to dangle off your sleeve—
Just as you dangled off his crooked smiles.
Naive.
You shook with vulnerability—
It hurt so good.
Sometimes you wish you weren't a poet,
and your way with words meant nothing.
Longing, Devotion—Love,
Their meanings mean nothing to you now.
Once knowing more than their Websters Dictionary definition,
Your heart swelling between your rib cage,
Seeping out to dangle off your sleeve—
Just as you dangled off his crooked smiles.
Naive.
You shook with vulnerability—
It hurt so good.
Sometimes you wish you weren't a poet,
and your way with words meant nothing.
883 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
27th Jan 2011 5:09am
27th Jan 2011 5:09am
Lies and Love Letters
(15 minute writing challenge.)
I’m sitting in the middle of an empty coffee shop doodling lies and love letters on every napkin I can find.
I only have 15 minutes to write all of this down. How can I when all my thoughts are bouncing around in my head, and the loner poet guy in the corner keeps staring at me as if he knows exactly what I’m doing? I could take hours, weeks--years even telling you what’s really on my mind. How much I care about you. I yearn to curl up next to your warmth at night, as you hum sweet nothing in my ear and grip me tight.
...
I’m sitting in the middle of an empty coffee shop doodling lies and love letters on every napkin I can find.
I only have 15 minutes to write all of this down. How can I when all my thoughts are bouncing around in my head, and the loner poet guy in the corner keeps staring at me as if he knows exactly what I’m doing? I could take hours, weeks--years even telling you what’s really on my mind. How much I care about you. I yearn to curl up next to your warmth at night, as you hum sweet nothing in my ear and grip me tight.
...
878 reads
8 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
25th Jan 2011 5:18am
25th Jan 2011 5:18am
Wind--Do blow my way again!
I was momentarily distracted by the sudden smell of cherry blossoms on the air,
And just as suddenly your car horn woke me from my stupor—
As I had been contemplating shampoo’s and the fact that she was to pretty to be real.
How I wanted to run my fingers through her hair, just to test it’s softness,
Bathe in a bath of pink flowers with her until our skin began to prune.
Eh-hem—
Oh yes! The car!
And just as suddenly your car horn woke me from my stupor—
As I had been contemplating shampoo’s and the fact that she was to pretty to be real.
How I wanted to run my fingers through her hair, just to test it’s softness,
Bathe in a bath of pink flowers with her until our skin began to prune.
Eh-hem—
Oh yes! The car!
649 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
25th Jan 2011 2:44am
25th Jan 2011 2:44am
3:34 AM - On Poets;
We merely think a lot about nothing,
and then, we think some more.
Until our veins crack from consuming to much ink,
and our eyes bleed black—
Then do we write them down,
having forgotten where we started in the first place.
and then, we think some more.
Until our veins crack from consuming to much ink,
and our eyes bleed black—
Then do we write them down,
having forgotten where we started in the first place.
616 reads
1 Comment
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
24th Jan 2011 4:45am
24th Jan 2011 4:45am
Cults and Peppermint
I tried desperately to hide myself between two other children.
A heavy set woman in a frilly pink dress ran up and down the room.Her
skin was flushed the same color as her dress with sweat and heavy makeup
dripping down her face.Suddenly she fell to the floor as if an
invisible force has tripped her off her feet.
The room shook.
My young eyes grew wide with fright as her body convulsed on the floor
like an angry snake.I was convinced she was the type of woman who
ownedmany cats.
Her pink feathered hat laid lonely on the floor....
A heavy set woman in a frilly pink dress ran up and down the room.Her
skin was flushed the same color as her dress with sweat and heavy makeup
dripping down her face.Suddenly she fell to the floor as if an
invisible force has tripped her off her feet.
The room shook.
My young eyes grew wide with fright as her body convulsed on the floor
like an angry snake.I was convinced she was the type of woman who
ownedmany cats.
Her pink feathered hat laid lonely on the floor....
735 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Jan 2011 4:47pm
9th Jan 2011 4:47pm
Advice.
Scratch and claw his name from out your heart,
And forget every pretty word he whispered.
Your self-inflicted scars are worth it in the end.
And forget every pretty word he whispered.
Your self-inflicted scars are worth it in the end.
786 reads
3 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
12th Dec 2010 6:21am
12th Dec 2010 6:21am
Defence Mechanism
You pressed yourself against me, as far as our clothed bodies would allow. Even underneath all those layers, I couldn’t keep you far enough away from me. Every time you came down for more I was molded into the couch cushions, and every time I wished they would swallow me whole. This had happened times before. I was consumed with the memories as in your mind I gasped for more.
“Baby, your heartbeats racing.” You whispered against my neck. Still, the layers weren’t enough as you could hear my heart thumping rapidly against my chest just as easily as I could hear it throbbing in my...
“Baby, your heartbeats racing.” You whispered against my neck. Still, the layers weren’t enough as you could hear my heart thumping rapidly against my chest just as easily as I could hear it throbbing in my...
1201 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Nov 2010 4:45am
18th Nov 2010 4:45am
Leap of Faith
Poetry. verb
: The art of painting a picture with the most vivid of words.Exhibitionism, exaggeration--who knows which dirt roads we tread?It is a form of suicide and we are slowly killing ourselves from the inside out. It is when we can't think of enough words to express a single act of longing, or of lust and love--but are managed to be vomited up from the emptiness of our cores.It's the stench and sting of rotting eggshells under the souls of our feet as we plant our toes into the earth.An artist's vulnerability, their final act of desperation.Poet, turned poetry written in brain...
: The art of painting a picture with the most vivid of words.Exhibitionism, exaggeration--who knows which dirt roads we tread?It is a form of suicide and we are slowly killing ourselves from the inside out. It is when we can't think of enough words to express a single act of longing, or of lust and love--but are managed to be vomited up from the emptiness of our cores.It's the stench and sting of rotting eggshells under the souls of our feet as we plant our toes into the earth.An artist's vulnerability, their final act of desperation.Poet, turned poetry written in brain...
836 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by Cayleigh
