Submissions by Schizo_whino99
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Honest in my writing. I like to show feelings in a chaotic, chopped sort of manner. Deep.
DARK POEM
Published
4th Aug 2016 5:24am
4th Aug 2016 5:24am
The Beginner's Guide to Hitting Rock Bottom
Talk to boys online; fall in love easily.
Go to parties that start at nine, but show up fashionably late, of course. Wear
Crop tops and daisy dukes. Halfway through the night get wasted
On cheap beer and tequila and take off your shorts.
Don't leave until eleven the next morning.
Perfect the walk of shame. Love the way your feet hurt from being in stilettos
For hours upon hours, learn how to do the finger comb. Turn up to work an hour late in your party dress
With makeup smeared over your cheeks
And kiss marks on your chest. There's a hickey on your shoulder....
Go to parties that start at nine, but show up fashionably late, of course. Wear
Crop tops and daisy dukes. Halfway through the night get wasted
On cheap beer and tequila and take off your shorts.
Don't leave until eleven the next morning.
Perfect the walk of shame. Love the way your feet hurt from being in stilettos
For hours upon hours, learn how to do the finger comb. Turn up to work an hour late in your party dress
With makeup smeared over your cheeks
And kiss marks on your chest. There's a hickey on your shoulder....
620 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
3rd Mar 2016 3:48am
3rd Mar 2016 3:48am
Grandma's Pond
Today I sat in my grandmother's old rocker chair.
It belonged to her mother before her, a passed down gift, handcrafted by her mom's dad who was a carpenter.
My grandma loved this chair with it's tiger lily coloured cushion and lace embroidery. She loved the way it creaked, the way it swayed even when she didn't push it.
She loved how easily the rocking seduced her babies into sleep and then later, her babies' babies.
She loved the old hardwood with its chipped eggshell white coloring, the sides stained yellow from age; loved how the chair wore two parralel lines right into...
It belonged to her mother before her, a passed down gift, handcrafted by her mom's dad who was a carpenter.
My grandma loved this chair with it's tiger lily coloured cushion and lace embroidery. She loved the way it creaked, the way it swayed even when she didn't push it.
She loved how easily the rocking seduced her babies into sleep and then later, her babies' babies.
She loved the old hardwood with its chipped eggshell white coloring, the sides stained yellow from age; loved how the chair wore two parralel lines right into...
672 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
1st Mar 2016 2:20am
1st Mar 2016 2:20am
Pour
My eyes wander down the curve of your spine.
You lay next to me, nestled into the crook of my elbow, belly down, just the way I always adored, I adore everything you do.
I watch the way you breathe shallow and even, keeping an exact rhythm with your heart, sighing every few seconds like you're exasperated because I forgot to take out the trash again.
I want so bad to let my fingertips linger on the dip of your neck where my eyes have flirted to for the past half hour but you never sleep. Insomnia is a bitch.
So waking you up would mean hurting you and damn if I could ever do...
You lay next to me, nestled into the crook of my elbow, belly down, just the way I always adored, I adore everything you do.
I watch the way you breathe shallow and even, keeping an exact rhythm with your heart, sighing every few seconds like you're exasperated because I forgot to take out the trash again.
I want so bad to let my fingertips linger on the dip of your neck where my eyes have flirted to for the past half hour but you never sleep. Insomnia is a bitch.
So waking you up would mean hurting you and damn if I could ever do...
1097 reads
7 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
29th Feb 2016 3:10am
29th Feb 2016 3:10am
Text Me
The first thing I woke up to this morning was a text from you that said, "Please kill me."
It made me laugh because you usually text me this when someone gripes about your big stretched ears or your band t-shirts, or the way you laugh when someone is yelling at you.
I didn't think that you'd finally taken that one way ticket to eternal sleep and were packing for the quick flight.
I sent back a quick "lmao who is it this time".
I didn't freak out when you didn't respond immediately, you never did have the tendency to hit me back up in seconds. I think it was...
It made me laugh because you usually text me this when someone gripes about your big stretched ears or your band t-shirts, or the way you laugh when someone is yelling at you.
I didn't think that you'd finally taken that one way ticket to eternal sleep and were packing for the quick flight.
I sent back a quick "lmao who is it this time".
I didn't freak out when you didn't respond immediately, you never did have the tendency to hit me back up in seconds. I think it was...
655 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
26th Feb 2016 1:58am
26th Feb 2016 1:58am
Two O'clock Ranting
It's two o'clock right now
But I can't sleep.
I can't fucking sleep,
Because I can't forget the way you tasted when you kissed me.
Your fingers still linger
On my nipples...
Between my legs.
The days that you've been gone haven't tampered with my memory of you kissing down my neck, your hands smacking against the wall behind me as you pushed my back against the cracked wood.
I can still feel you moving against me, under me, over me, behind me.
I'm helpless to the surges of passion that rise and rise in your absence.
It's two o'clock but I can't fucking...
But I can't sleep.
I can't fucking sleep,
Because I can't forget the way you tasted when you kissed me.
Your fingers still linger
On my nipples...
Between my legs.
The days that you've been gone haven't tampered with my memory of you kissing down my neck, your hands smacking against the wall behind me as you pushed my back against the cracked wood.
I can still feel you moving against me, under me, over me, behind me.
I'm helpless to the surges of passion that rise and rise in your absence.
It's two o'clock but I can't fucking...
1021 reads
3 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
25th Feb 2016 9:08pm
25th Feb 2016 9:08pm
Twenty Minutes Behind the Bleachers
We had twenty minutes to do our dirty behind the bleachers before someone would come looking for us.
One hand between my legs,
One thigh draped over your hip
As you gave me my first taste of girl on girl heaven.
It was nothing like seven minutes of shit,
Stuffed in the closet with
Sweaty Tommy
Whose fingers were too thick
and there wasn't enough room for me to be anything but cramped into
The corner with my old dollhouse.
Your tongue was in my mouth
Your fingers under my shirt; scratching my back,
Under my bra,
Up my skirt.
Twenty...
One hand between my legs,
One thigh draped over your hip
As you gave me my first taste of girl on girl heaven.
It was nothing like seven minutes of shit,
Stuffed in the closet with
Sweaty Tommy
Whose fingers were too thick
and there wasn't enough room for me to be anything but cramped into
The corner with my old dollhouse.
Your tongue was in my mouth
Your fingers under my shirt; scratching my back,
Under my bra,
Up my skirt.
Twenty...
778 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Schizo_whino99
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