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
1st Jul 2012 9:56pm
1st Jul 2012 9:56pm
'X' Marks the Spot
I am a pirate,
a ghost among the sunken ship
of your treasure trove heart.
Like the last bit of rum in the jug,
I enjoy the way 'fuck' rolls off your tongue,
as if you invented its meaning.
I try to articulate that one syllable,
match your way of speech-
You've never needed to dress your words-
dip them in ink or paint them in poetry
upon the exotic map of my sun-kissed curves.
I have drowned so many times
in the green sea of your eyes
that I am coughing up seaweed
& weak bones.
You tell me not to speak-...
a ghost among the sunken ship
of your treasure trove heart.
Like the last bit of rum in the jug,
I enjoy the way 'fuck' rolls off your tongue,
as if you invented its meaning.
I try to articulate that one syllable,
match your way of speech-
You've never needed to dress your words-
dip them in ink or paint them in poetry
upon the exotic map of my sun-kissed curves.
I have drowned so many times
in the green sea of your eyes
that I am coughing up seaweed
& weak bones.
You tell me not to speak-...
620 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
24th Jun 2012 6:50pm
24th Jun 2012 6:50pm
Missing Bones
We spent our nights star gazing
on the top of that local bar on 5th street.
You said you loved me by night,
that no star or moon in any given universe
could compare to me; that we were lost warriors
searching for a home within the roots of one another.
I believed myself a wandering ghost among the living,
searching for missing bones and the warmth of an others grave.
You shook me then,
kissing me where it hurt most-
just to test a theory.
You whispered,
“Like dead birds,
you are not faceless
Your rib cage has...
on the top of that local bar on 5th street.
You said you loved me by night,
that no star or moon in any given universe
could compare to me; that we were lost warriors
searching for a home within the roots of one another.
I believed myself a wandering ghost among the living,
searching for missing bones and the warmth of an others grave.
You shook me then,
kissing me where it hurt most-
just to test a theory.
You whispered,
“Like dead birds,
you are not faceless
Your rib cage has...
730 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
19th Jun 2012 6:51am
19th Jun 2012 6:51am
Ask Me To Write a Poem
Ask me to write a poem
about kissing witches in my sleep.
Ask me to write a poem
about the bump on my middle finger
from forcing pen to paper.
Ask me to write a poem
about the discolored bruises on my knees
the poetry written in ink upon my flesh—
the love in a foreign tongue on my wrist.
Ask me to write a poem
about Boyfriend,
my possessive Siamese,
about my rose thorn teeth,
and the battle scars I wear like trophies.
Ask me to write a poem
about how my own words make me sick,
about how I swear I'll die by...
about kissing witches in my sleep.
Ask me to write a poem
about the bump on my middle finger
from forcing pen to paper.
Ask me to write a poem
about the discolored bruises on my knees
the poetry written in ink upon my flesh—
the love in a foreign tongue on my wrist.
Ask me to write a poem
about Boyfriend,
my possessive Siamese,
about my rose thorn teeth,
and the battle scars I wear like trophies.
Ask me to write a poem
about how my own words make me sick,
about how I swear I'll die by...
751 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
17th Jun 2012 5:10am
17th Jun 2012 5:10am
Close mouthed,
I tried to devour myself in my sleep,
all tight lipped and tongueless—
hours after you left me
with only an unbeating heart
keeping me company.
Callused fingers made me shiver,
but never managed to make me burn.
Instead, they left me feeling cold—
a frostbitten liar with a snake for a tongue.
An unnamed poetic.
I'm dreaming of red skies
and dragons of old—
I'm begging, and I'm begging,
and I'm begging—Please—warm me up.
Set fire to these bones—
Give me a real reason to scream.
Because, there rests an...
all tight lipped and tongueless—
hours after you left me
with only an unbeating heart
keeping me company.
Callused fingers made me shiver,
but never managed to make me burn.
Instead, they left me feeling cold—
a frostbitten liar with a snake for a tongue.
An unnamed poetic.
I'm dreaming of red skies
and dragons of old—
I'm begging, and I'm begging,
and I'm begging—Please—warm me up.
Set fire to these bones—
Give me a real reason to scream.
Because, there rests an...
655 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
12th Jun 2012 2:55am
12th Jun 2012 2:55am
How did you get those scars?
And I asked her,
"Do you remember
why I counted tiles-
sat in silence for hours,
wishing on the black holes
in my pockets?"
Stuttering against quiet delusions,
She bit a vintage tongue.
"Because,
I tried to bury myself alive that night,
just to engrave the taste of rose thorn monsters
between the cracks of my glass skin."
Licking dry lips,
She asked to taste them.
"Do you remember
why I counted tiles-
sat in silence for hours,
wishing on the black holes
in my pockets?"
Stuttering against quiet delusions,
She bit a vintage tongue.
"Because,
I tried to bury myself alive that night,
just to engrave the taste of rose thorn monsters
between the cracks of my glass skin."
Licking dry lips,
She asked to taste them.
683 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
4th Jun 2012 2:32am
4th Jun 2012 2:32am
Your poetry sucks.
Poetic verse does not sleep contently within your bones.
You are not made of Shakespearean sonnets.
Metaphors do not cling to your teeth like snowdrops,
and similes do not lurk like assassins behind those false psychic eyes.
Your veins bleed nothing but red.
And your whispers,
they will never leave galaxies
along the length of spines.
So, Dear Heart,
you can take your stars,
your full moon romances,
the many, desperate love letters,
the gag worthy cliches-
and eat them.
You are not made of Shakespearean sonnets.
Metaphors do not cling to your teeth like snowdrops,
and similes do not lurk like assassins behind those false psychic eyes.
Your veins bleed nothing but red.
And your whispers,
they will never leave galaxies
along the length of spines.
So, Dear Heart,
you can take your stars,
your full moon romances,
the many, desperate love letters,
the gag worthy cliches-
and eat them.
699 reads
0 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
29th May 2012 6:24am
29th May 2012 6:24am
Bookstore Religion
Lurking in the shadows of roses,
I formed my own Gods-
my own constellations,
between the thorns in my teeth.
Naming them after characters
in a Novembers love story,
Porphyria, Dorian, and Gatsby-
I tasted earth and copper pennies.
Choking on peppermint and religious oils-
out of my mouth
In rambles of
hideous beauty,
I recited poetic prayers to the classics.
I formed my own Gods-
my own constellations,
between the thorns in my teeth.
Naming them after characters
in a Novembers love story,
Porphyria, Dorian, and Gatsby-
I tasted earth and copper pennies.
Choking on peppermint and religious oils-
out of my mouth
In rambles of
hideous beauty,
I recited poetic prayers to the classics.
658 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
25th May 2012 6:40am
25th May 2012 6:40am
I long to set this world aflame.
I once dreamt of ashes and dragons
as dark ravens loomed over my sleeping form,
planting cadaver kisses along my neck.
Stepping into a river of colors, I contemplated
smoke halos and the unlit cigarette between my teeth.
I asked myself if all of this was worth it-
gasoline rainbows painting landscapes along my thighs.
I'd never smoked a day in my life, but I liked to play with fire.
[Light a match and watch me burn. ]
as dark ravens loomed over my sleeping form,
planting cadaver kisses along my neck.
Stepping into a river of colors, I contemplated
smoke halos and the unlit cigarette between my teeth.
I asked myself if all of this was worth it-
gasoline rainbows painting landscapes along my thighs.
I'd never smoked a day in my life, but I liked to play with fire.
[Light a match and watch me burn. ]
653 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
16th May 2012 7:39pm
16th May 2012 7:39pm
Night Cattle
She owns her flesh.
Old goddess, beautiful decay-
draping along the length of her bones
like a Shakespearean sonnet.
When the graveyard lurkers
come to pray upon a carcass,
they will howl their mournful sorrow
to the earth below their claws.
Devouring her, respectfully.
She, with an aged bird spirit:
unable to be caged.
Old goddess, beautiful decay-
draping along the length of her bones
like a Shakespearean sonnet.
When the graveyard lurkers
come to pray upon a carcass,
they will howl their mournful sorrow
to the earth below their claws.
Devouring her, respectfully.
She, with an aged bird spirit:
unable to be caged.
567 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
16th May 2012 7:38pm
16th May 2012 7:38pm
Pythia
Worshiping Apollo,
She painted galaxies upon her skin.
Telling stores of years old kisses
resting deep within her marrow.
Her body, shaped with dirt and fireflies
was sutured together by birds with teeth-
A dark eyed oracle, whispering dead
blood languages in her sleep.
Dancing in fields of silk sheets
and disfigured fingerprints,
as she tried to forget
the perverse needs
of nothing more than
mortal men.
She painted galaxies upon her skin.
Telling stores of years old kisses
resting deep within her marrow.
Her body, shaped with dirt and fireflies
was sutured together by birds with teeth-
A dark eyed oracle, whispering dead
blood languages in her sleep.
Dancing in fields of silk sheets
and disfigured fingerprints,
as she tried to forget
the perverse needs
of nothing more than
mortal men.
682 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
16th May 2012 6:05am
16th May 2012 6:05am
Are you gay?
My heart threatens to gag me.
Needing to exorcise a demon,
these speechless fingers tremble
against silent computer keys.
Voice hiding, far off
in one of those dusty shelve books
with the yellowed pages, smelling of
age and wisdom's of years past
one finds in a 25 cent bookstore.
I think I'm dying, gagging and choking
on words that lock themselves willingly away
behind a worthless, self loathing poets tongue.
"I don't know."
I. don't. fucking. know.
I must hate myself, or this demon that breathes ...
Needing to exorcise a demon,
these speechless fingers tremble
against silent computer keys.
Voice hiding, far off
in one of those dusty shelve books
with the yellowed pages, smelling of
age and wisdom's of years past
one finds in a 25 cent bookstore.
I think I'm dying, gagging and choking
on words that lock themselves willingly away
behind a worthless, self loathing poets tongue.
"I don't know."
I. don't. fucking. know.
I must hate myself, or this demon that breathes ...
639 reads
6 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
15th May 2012 4:30pm
15th May 2012 4:30pm
P i e c e s
It's 3 AM—
Clumsy kisses have me contemplating
forest nymphs and the ages old
coffee cup resting on my night stand.
( why was it exactly
that I let you touch me? )
It's 3:14 AM—
Sex and Sexuality is a funny thing,
like these poetic new age philosophies
that I sprout from tongue and teeth.
I loved a Pieces once.
We were graveyard lust,
screaming to any god
or goddess who might be listening.
It's 3:32 AM—
You spilled coffee
all over these overheated bedsheets.
And I laughed:
stale...
Clumsy kisses have me contemplating
forest nymphs and the ages old
coffee cup resting on my night stand.
( why was it exactly
that I let you touch me? )
It's 3:14 AM—
Sex and Sexuality is a funny thing,
like these poetic new age philosophies
that I sprout from tongue and teeth.
I loved a Pieces once.
We were graveyard lust,
screaming to any god
or goddess who might be listening.
It's 3:32 AM—
You spilled coffee
all over these overheated bedsheets.
And I laughed:
stale...
687 reads
4 Comments
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