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.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Sep 2012 4:37am
11th Sep 2012 4:37am
Stephanie
(I wrote us in free verse over every inch
of your tattered surface ).
you were the beatific grin
of a kindergartener high off oxygen,
mouth stretched wide as the entrance to hell,
black tongue bleeding virtuous sin like ichor.
(You taught me praying was for the weak
as I fell for your gypsum nails,
white teeth scrabbling over my chalkboard frame).
scribbled flesh tells no love story
but three layers of skin
worn thin along the length...
of your tattered surface ).
you were the beatific grin
of a kindergartener high off oxygen,
mouth stretched wide as the entrance to hell,
black tongue bleeding virtuous sin like ichor.
(You taught me praying was for the weak
as I fell for your gypsum nails,
white teeth scrabbling over my chalkboard frame).
scribbled flesh tells no love story
but three layers of skin
worn thin along the length...
719 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
7th Sep 2012 4:27am
7th Sep 2012 4:27am
Her Muse
these words are not poetry
swimming liquid fire through ashes
of dead phoenix veins.
no, they are rough and callused
with over use, their own faithless artists
spewing black tar from their lungs
in the hopes to one day breathe again.
nothing moves her.
she would rather scribble her heart out
on physical manifestations of her own reality-
on skin and bones she worships like a temple.
“Write of me,” he says, “right here.”-
planting sun-stricken...
swimming liquid fire through ashes
of dead phoenix veins.
no, they are rough and callused
with over use, their own faithless artists
spewing black tar from their lungs
in the hopes to one day breathe again.
nothing moves her.
she would rather scribble her heart out
on physical manifestations of her own reality-
on skin and bones she worships like a temple.
“Write of me,” he says, “right here.”-
planting sun-stricken...
631 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Aug 2012 4:12am
28th Aug 2012 4:12am
She has the moon in her eyes
But, this body is a black hole,
a hollowed out womb-
and these palms are sandpaper
thin and bleeding a silent stigmata.
"Not yet ripe to fall from her bed,
too young to understand her own limbs-"
She folds back July's origami skin,
wishing for the warmth of winters kiss.
She is a raven heart, thumping wildly
against the whispers of vintage lips.
Her bed is empty,
but the sheets are red.
a hollowed out womb-
and these palms are sandpaper
thin and bleeding a silent stigmata.
"Not yet ripe to fall from her bed,
too young to understand her own limbs-"
She folds back July's origami skin,
wishing for the warmth of winters kiss.
She is a raven heart, thumping wildly
against the whispers of vintage lips.
Her bed is empty,
but the sheets are red.
666 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
26th Aug 2012 3:13am
26th Aug 2012 3:13am
Conduit
"I wish my body to be a staircase
to heaven." She said, "A conduit
of lonely Gods."—Swaying
pendulum hips, she, she
was made of stardust.- Scars sleeping
above a city of sweet bones, stirring
like sun-stricken scorpions during
hollow painkiller nights,
mistaking her redred burns
for Apollos kisses.
"Sadly, this body has whispered away
the last of my secrets."
to heaven." She said, "A conduit
of lonely Gods."—Swaying
pendulum hips, she, she
was made of stardust.- Scars sleeping
above a city of sweet bones, stirring
like sun-stricken scorpions during
hollow painkiller nights,
mistaking her redred burns
for Apollos kisses.
"Sadly, this body has whispered away
the last of my secrets."
642 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
22nd Aug 2012 2:59am
22nd Aug 2012 2:59am
It tastes like love.
I could speak of her in riddles,
in aged, anatomy textbook terminology-
but, I wont.
You see, I cuffed this angel to my bedpost.
I sank my teeth into feathers she wore like a cage
and asked if I was dreaming, because Love,
you're not holding me. If you only knew the you in my head,
every night--tearing with these heavenly fingers
at the cracks in my sanity- you would allow me this!
Her tongue tastes my tears; nails clawing, clawing, clawing-
she takes away my pain,
but she doesn't belong to me either.
"We are but wolves....
in aged, anatomy textbook terminology-
but, I wont.
You see, I cuffed this angel to my bedpost.
I sank my teeth into feathers she wore like a cage
and asked if I was dreaming, because Love,
you're not holding me. If you only knew the you in my head,
every night--tearing with these heavenly fingers
at the cracks in my sanity- you would allow me this!
Her tongue tastes my tears; nails clawing, clawing, clawing-
she takes away my pain,
but she doesn't belong to me either.
"We are but wolves....
909 reads
6 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
29th Jul 2012 2:53am
29th Jul 2012 2:53am
Omega
There is a wolf lurking in my doorway;
our eyes holding breathless conversations
as secrets whisper through the stroke of my pen
into the awaiting lungs of strangers.
…Soon young pup, you'll have nothing left to say.
My heart is woven together with tight-knit words,
blood red Poe, and thumping Hemingway-
Yet, no headstrong Omega sleeps
within this slightly cracked, ribcage embrace.
"I am unafraid of forests with teeth."
our eyes holding breathless conversations
as secrets whisper through the stroke of my pen
into the awaiting lungs of strangers.
…Soon young pup, you'll have nothing left to say.
My heart is woven together with tight-knit words,
blood red Poe, and thumping Hemingway-
Yet, no headstrong Omega sleeps
within this slightly cracked, ribcage embrace.
"I am unafraid of forests with teeth."
710 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
21st Jul 2012 4:09pm
21st Jul 2012 4:09pm
Troy
You have too much time on your hands, Love,
folding paper cranes with broken fingers,
wishing to see northern lights in the eyes of strangers.
There are no lions between your bed sheets
who understand your hunger better then I-
You are licking my wounds; one with the wild.
I swear it's you behind these eyelids- untamed
and desired by this lonely poetic canvas
stained with blood, ink, and words I can't fucking say.
You look like a Goddess standing there reading my skin
quiet and shameless, proud of the...
folding paper cranes with broken fingers,
wishing to see northern lights in the eyes of strangers.
There are no lions between your bed sheets
who understand your hunger better then I-
You are licking my wounds; one with the wild.
I swear it's you behind these eyelids- untamed
and desired by this lonely poetic canvas
stained with blood, ink, and words I can't fucking say.
You look like a Goddess standing there reading my skin
quiet and shameless, proud of the...
741 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Jul 2012 2:38am
19th Jul 2012 2:38am
Dragons Blood
You are an art journal,
all scraps of paper and profound quotes
of those you say “I’ll fucking know one day”,
because you love to shock me
with even more profound profanities
and those watercolor fingers
you use to shut me up.
Gently, always gently.
You leave me moon-eyed;
Dragons Blood still lingering
in the wake of your
heartbeats against mine.
all scraps of paper and profound quotes
of those you say “I’ll fucking know one day”,
because you love to shock me
with even more profound profanities
and those watercolor fingers
you use to shut me up.
Gently, always gently.
You leave me moon-eyed;
Dragons Blood still lingering
in the wake of your
heartbeats against mine.
736 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
17th Jul 2012 4:27am
17th Jul 2012 4:27am
I miss you
and i can't say i'm sorry
because these slender, spider fingers
ache to trace the curved letters of your name tag,
emily. i notice you write everything in caps.
( have i ever told you
how much i enjoy saying your name, -EMILY. )
you are screaming to the world, quietly.
but we, we are mid-morning whispers
over stale, back room coffee,
silent eyes, and window pane love.
but, these hearts were runaways once;
hitch-hikers on a trail to nowhere.
you shared pieces of yourself with me then,
emily, between beats and bathroom stalls....
because these slender, spider fingers
ache to trace the curved letters of your name tag,
emily. i notice you write everything in caps.
( have i ever told you
how much i enjoy saying your name, -EMILY. )
you are screaming to the world, quietly.
but we, we are mid-morning whispers
over stale, back room coffee,
silent eyes, and window pane love.
but, these hearts were runaways once;
hitch-hikers on a trail to nowhere.
you shared pieces of yourself with me then,
emily, between beats and bathroom stalls....
640 reads
0 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
7th Jul 2012 1:31am
7th Jul 2012 1:31am
Dear Poetry,
I am trying to cover my sadness with words.
Tape them against my scars and wear them
like worthy paper cuts. My tears are
alcohol swabs, burning and cleansing
wounds of my own making. Sometimes,
I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code, and this body does not deserve
a worriers death. And poetry, you’re a monster—
a creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots and force feed you
down the throats of others....
Tape them against my scars and wear them
like worthy paper cuts. My tears are
alcohol swabs, burning and cleansing
wounds of my own making. Sometimes,
I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code, and this body does not deserve
a worriers death. And poetry, you’re a monster—
a creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots and force feed you
down the throats of others....
1000 reads
3 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
4th Jul 2012 3:21am
4th Jul 2012 3:21am
She Talks With Monsters
This girl never had a fear of monsters.
She allowed them to rest on the insides of her eyelids,
the crook of her neck, and the empty spaces of her chest cavity.
She had no fear, there were much scarier things in this world
then darkness clawing at her back. Living for the night
she etched her dreams upon the bars of her cage
whispering of centuries past because she truly missed the sun,
grass on her back, frosty Decembers have her forgetting
what it feels like to love, but she knows who she is—
she doesn't need...
She allowed them to rest on the insides of her eyelids,
the crook of her neck, and the empty spaces of her chest cavity.
She had no fear, there were much scarier things in this world
then darkness clawing at her back. Living for the night
she etched her dreams upon the bars of her cage
whispering of centuries past because she truly missed the sun,
grass on her back, frosty Decembers have her forgetting
what it feels like to love, but she knows who she is—
she doesn't need...
681 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Jul 2012 3:27am
3rd Jul 2012 3:27am
Tigeress
She is the kind of girl who smothers herself in Astronomy,
New Age philosophies and coffee shop poetry.
All fire and dragon scaled-
She hides her tiger stripes behind bruises and ink stains,
living her life by way of verse-
throwing Hemingway around like insults.
Writing her letters to the moon,
she hides her heart underneath her own floorboards,
folding blank paper birds just to set them free at 3AM.
But, it’s the lipstick stained collars,
the rose thorned fingers,
and the dead stars in her chest cavity
that tell her- even a tigress can...
New Age philosophies and coffee shop poetry.
All fire and dragon scaled-
She hides her tiger stripes behind bruises and ink stains,
living her life by way of verse-
throwing Hemingway around like insults.
Writing her letters to the moon,
she hides her heart underneath her own floorboards,
folding blank paper birds just to set them free at 3AM.
But, it’s the lipstick stained collars,
the rose thorned fingers,
and the dead stars in her chest cavity
that tell her- even a tigress can...
#narrative
#emotional
#sadness
675 reads
0 Comments
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