Submissions by DearPoetry
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
My veins drip poetry and my brain is racked with havoc from words I have yet to say.
LOVE POEM
Published
4th Dec 2012 10:11pm
4th Dec 2012 10:11pm
Please, forgive me.
Like lies, you said
I make breathing the cosmos
through rose colored lungs
look easy- vertebrae stretched
toward the moon.
& I'm hanging my bones
out to dry, carving Saturn's
rings into my wrists- my
star burst ankles.
I swore then I'd keep my
black tongued poetry
& uprooted limbs far,
far away from you.
But, like lies, galaxies,
& night fevers, you
are the destination
on my star map skin.
I make breathing the cosmos
through rose colored lungs
look easy- vertebrae stretched
toward the moon.
& I'm hanging my bones
out to dry, carving Saturn's
rings into my wrists- my
star burst ankles.
I swore then I'd keep my
black tongued poetry
& uprooted limbs far,
far away from you.
But, like lies, galaxies,
& night fevers, you
are the destination
on my star map skin.
772 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
4th Dec 2012 10:10pm
4th Dec 2012 10:10pm
Necromancy
She replaces her wrists
with the sharp thorns
of roses and slurred
don't-touch-me's
-
as she speaks
in an old tongued
language that whispers
de
cipher
me.
-
She collects stars
on her knuckles,
& her dust eyes
are sad moon nebula's
starved for love.
-
But, the kisses
she sinks into the curve
of her lover's ribcage
by night, warm that
supernova heart.
with the sharp thorns
of roses and slurred
don't-touch-me's
-
as she speaks
in an old tongued
language that whispers
de
cipher
me.
-
She collects stars
on her knuckles,
& her dust eyes
are sad moon nebula's
starved for love.
-
But, the kisses
she sinks into the curve
of her lover's ribcage
by night, warm that
supernova heart.
776 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Nov 2012 6:42pm
30th Nov 2012 6:42pm
Constellation
She is dream dust,
too bitter or wise
for her own good.
A timeless dragon's soul
somewhere inside a
scaled shell, burning
the silence in her bones
alive, honeysuckle sweet.
She collects fireflies only to
set them free at 3am,
crying to an uncaring moon.
& she's begging for the stars
to take her away,
make this house a home
rigged in the sky.
To me,
She is already naked fever
swimming through the cosmos
& I orbit her.
too bitter or wise
for her own good.
A timeless dragon's soul
somewhere inside a
scaled shell, burning
the silence in her bones
alive, honeysuckle sweet.
She collects fireflies only to
set them free at 3am,
crying to an uncaring moon.
& she's begging for the stars
to take her away,
make this house a home
rigged in the sky.
To me,
She is already naked fever
swimming through the cosmos
& I orbit her.
796 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Nov 2012 6:41pm
30th Nov 2012 6:41pm
Frost
I am devouring chaos,
chasing it down with winters chill.
Spare me your fingerprints,
summers lovechild. Those knowing owl eyes
have me second guessing the wild churning
in my bones. You are the sleep that sweeps
my eyelashes, drowning me in my own daydreams.
When was it that you plastered yourself
to my ribcage?
chasing it down with winters chill.
Spare me your fingerprints,
summers lovechild. Those knowing owl eyes
have me second guessing the wild churning
in my bones. You are the sleep that sweeps
my eyelashes, drowning me in my own daydreams.
When was it that you plastered yourself
to my ribcage?
715 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
29th Nov 2012 8:43pm
29th Nov 2012 8:43pm
Blood
I've got a filthy mouth,
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.
21 years
silent
& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth.
I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away
& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere.
But, my veins bleed sweet ichor,
& words are only words, Mother.
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.
21 years
silent
& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth.
I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away
& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere.
But, my veins bleed sweet ichor,
& words are only words, Mother.
885 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Nov 2012 8:42pm
29th Nov 2012 8:42pm
Her eyes scream fill in the ______ .
They said
she has starving
little poet fingers,
& lungs-
filled with
the heroic hearts
of nameless protagonists.
But, she cries
tears of Saturn
on too-little-sleep nights,
& coffee ringed mornings.
They call her vanilla.
Innocence,
much too ripe to fall
with freckles on her
wander(lust)
shoulder-blades
singing connect-the-dot
blues.
she has starving
little poet fingers,
& lungs-
filled with
the heroic hearts
of nameless protagonists.
But, she cries
tears of Saturn
on too-little-sleep nights,
& coffee ringed mornings.
They call her vanilla.
Innocence,
much too ripe to fall
with freckles on her
wander(lust)
shoulder-blades
singing connect-the-dot
blues.
839 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Nov 2012 8:01pm
28th Nov 2012 8:01pm
Gravity
Autumn wanted to learn
how to
fall.
So, the galaxy of dead trees
coiling in your lungs
devoured her spine.
Your gifts,
a lifeline wrapped around
her neck like a noose;
an orange and red
assisted suicide.
& you said "God bless your
heart." like some divine
higher power could forgive
her for loving you.
how to
fall.
So, the galaxy of dead trees
coiling in your lungs
devoured her spine.
Your gifts,
a lifeline wrapped around
her neck like a noose;
an orange and red
assisted suicide.
& you said "God bless your
heart." like some divine
higher power could forgive
her for loving you.
910 reads
8 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Nov 2012 8:01pm
28th Nov 2012 8:01pm
Mabon
there are dead leaves
sprouting from her amber spine,
reaching with child-fingers
to devour the sun.
her skin is freezing,
seeping winter through
november pores.
seeking warmth,
the whiskey tongues
of godless boys
wish to decipher
the atlas of her thighs.
counting the sleepy fireflies
alight in her lungs- there is
wanderlust churning & warming
her frostbitten heartstrings.
swinging pendulum hips,
"I am the tease of autumn flames.
I breathe in mint sunsets,
& gasoline dreams."
sprouting from her amber spine,
reaching with child-fingers
to devour the sun.
her skin is freezing,
seeping winter through
november pores.
seeking warmth,
the whiskey tongues
of godless boys
wish to decipher
the atlas of her thighs.
counting the sleepy fireflies
alight in her lungs- there is
wanderlust churning & warming
her frostbitten heartstrings.
swinging pendulum hips,
"I am the tease of autumn flames.
I breathe in mint sunsets,
& gasoline dreams."
759 reads
6 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
18th Nov 2012 12:52pm
18th Nov 2012 12:52pm
Post Mortem
I am a walking, talking universe of dead poets
who tattoo their stanzas into my flesh
with ghostly, typewriter fingers.
I live and breathe their worldly disasters
like a nicotine addiction I've never had.
Drowning in their scribbles
I kiss their shoreline romances,
envy their Annabel Lee's,
& carry their hearts in my heart.
I am 7am coffee on Sunday mornings:
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen.
I am jealousy:
nothing more than weak words,
& a tongue-tied cliche-
but death becomes me.
who tattoo their stanzas into my flesh
with ghostly, typewriter fingers.
I live and breathe their worldly disasters
like a nicotine addiction I've never had.
Drowning in their scribbles
I kiss their shoreline romances,
envy their Annabel Lee's,
& carry their hearts in my heart.
I am 7am coffee on Sunday mornings:
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen.
I am jealousy:
nothing more than weak words,
& a tongue-tied cliche-
but death becomes me.
800 reads
5 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
18th Nov 2012 12:50pm
18th Nov 2012 12:50pm
Fever
I like pretending I mean something to the ghosts
who wreak havoc on my bones-
impaling these masochistic butterfly wings
on railroad spikes
between heartbeats and bedsheets,
immortalized.
I got a heart in New Orleans,
palms engraving names like
Juliet, Alexandria, & Christine
on the seats of greyhound buses.
& I'm offering up 102 degrees of skin
[font=Courier New]to a godless moon
as I breathe in her night scent. [/font]
who wreak havoc on my bones-
impaling these masochistic butterfly wings
on railroad spikes
between heartbeats and bedsheets,
immortalized.
I got a heart in New Orleans,
palms engraving names like
Juliet, Alexandria, & Christine
on the seats of greyhound buses.
& I'm offering up 102 degrees of skin
[font=Courier New]to a godless moon
as I breathe in her night scent. [/font]
591 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
4th Oct 2012 5:49pm
4th Oct 2012 5:49pm
Repossession
Your words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding on
the raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.
My ribs cracked from the blow.
But, I think sometimes
of how these were the ribs
that should have chased you away from me,
quietly wondering how you managed to
slither past this cage of bone and flesh
to engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.
You were sweat & spice & scars-
Your eyes,
a thunderstorm of black and blue sex
jarring and devouring my insides,
shaped a faithless religion
through...
the raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.
My ribs cracked from the blow.
But, I think sometimes
of how these were the ribs
that should have chased you away from me,
quietly wondering how you managed to
slither past this cage of bone and flesh
to engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.
You were sweat & spice & scars-
Your eyes,
a thunderstorm of black and blue sex
jarring and devouring my insides,
shaped a faithless religion
through...
639 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
4th Oct 2012 5:48pm
4th Oct 2012 5:48pm
Androphobia
i was stitched lips and a flightless raven heart-
all sex and a contorting spine;
his own lips engraving 'kiss me's' on empty stars.
& between you and me: i feared his teeth,
& tongue, & honest organs-
with skin that begged, 'please, don't touch me.'
don't touch me.
don't fucking touch me.
i am not soft.
there is a war raging in my lungs,
screaming through the uncharted galaxies
of my wanderlust heartstrings.
i am not soft.
i am lust, & war, & envy—
i am sin,
...
all sex and a contorting spine;
his own lips engraving 'kiss me's' on empty stars.
& between you and me: i feared his teeth,
& tongue, & honest organs-
with skin that begged, 'please, don't touch me.'
don't touch me.
don't fucking touch me.
i am not soft.
there is a war raging in my lungs,
screaming through the uncharted galaxies
of my wanderlust heartstrings.
i am not soft.
i am lust, & war, & envy—
i am sin,
...
784 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by DearPoetry
