Submissions by WhatIUsedToBe
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
angst and awe. abstract. It may not always make sense. It may not "flow" like you think it should. But how did it make you feel?
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
5th Nov 2013 2:57am
5th Nov 2013 2:57am
avila and the cross
The night you pass through
these terrors with wings
also dwell in the castle
with the free and fatherless
many rooms I search
reds, violets, blues
rotting fleshy corners
perverse haughty secrets
interior citadel
opens the promise
I can see forever
to you, shut in your high tower
where the creatures cling
gnashing and taunting
your palm greets my palm, grasping
we step into the dawn
slow moan rising to rolled eyes
seeing the pinpoint spectrum
He is Love! He is Love!
ablaze in my...
these terrors with wings
also dwell in the castle
with the free and fatherless
many rooms I search
reds, violets, blues
rotting fleshy corners
perverse haughty secrets
interior citadel
opens the promise
I can see forever
to you, shut in your high tower
where the creatures cling
gnashing and taunting
your palm greets my palm, grasping
we step into the dawn
slow moan rising to rolled eyes
seeing the pinpoint spectrum
He is Love! He is Love!
ablaze in my...
640 reads
8 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
5th Nov 2013 2:52am
5th Nov 2013 2:52am
complete
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?~Kahlil Gibran
lilies are a mask
the light fractures off objects
brighter than scars and empty crystal.
gritty visions, skipping frames
finally, everything seems real
your hair of a thousand browns
tangled and splayed across the sterile white sofa
I find that place on your chest
where my head fits just right
and I can smell death on your neck
your cold hands slide into mine
thin pink venom sneaking through your veins
a kiss for your last breath
a...
lilies are a mask
the light fractures off objects
brighter than scars and empty crystal.
gritty visions, skipping frames
finally, everything seems real
your hair of a thousand browns
tangled and splayed across the sterile white sofa
I find that place on your chest
where my head fits just right
and I can smell death on your neck
your cold hands slide into mine
thin pink venom sneaking through your veins
a kiss for your last breath
a...
#love
#KahlilGibran
#death
817 reads
10 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
2nd Nov 2013 1:45am
2nd Nov 2013 1:45am
The sun and moon are no longer visible (low level clouds)
A closet in the fifth cloud
of my periphery
is housing the breath that was held
in a kiss that doesn't exist.
When the lite brite turns
black and white
I'll remember the lack of touch
was most intimate.
I thought I saw you
duck out a door
too blond and the rain was
pouring us another drink
It washed away all my color
I tugged at the knife
as the blood drained from your stare.
of my periphery
is housing the breath that was held
in a kiss that doesn't exist.
When the lite brite turns
black and white
I'll remember the lack of touch
was most intimate.
I thought I saw you
duck out a door
too blond and the rain was
pouring us another drink
It washed away all my color
I tugged at the knife
as the blood drained from your stare.
805 reads
11 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
21st Oct 2013 8:32pm
21st Oct 2013 8:32pm
a painted mirror (lake of a lie)
salty wave of fingernail glides along reflective glass
a squeak and stutter
before hitting the cracked white desert.
shard of memory pierces skin
never touched
this is no effigy.
innocence once petrified
the depth and degradation
suffering has stripped the center
bated tears curl corners
and her hair is
gray swirling emancipation.
red is dead.
they still carry her around by a different name.
a squeak and stutter
before hitting the cracked white desert.
shard of memory pierces skin
never touched
this is no effigy.
innocence once petrified
the depth and degradation
suffering has stripped the center
bated tears curl corners
and her hair is
gray swirling emancipation.
red is dead.
they still carry her around by a different name.
665 reads
6 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
21st Oct 2013 8:29pm
21st Oct 2013 8:29pm
liars
but my most precious memory of us -
we were sober and clear.
sleep deprivation, the only fog on a cool almost
spring, never ending, end of winter.
I am the driver. I am always the driver.
and inside there is room to breathe. you are talking to me about it all and I am driving.
I pull over - moved by what you are telling me. Your house, or where you lived, barely in view, four houses away, I can't remember if there was snow.
You are so sad and we kiss and there has never been anything like kissing you.
I never want to forget the shape...
we were sober and clear.
sleep deprivation, the only fog on a cool almost
spring, never ending, end of winter.
I am the driver. I am always the driver.
and inside there is room to breathe. you are talking to me about it all and I am driving.
I pull over - moved by what you are telling me. Your house, or where you lived, barely in view, four houses away, I can't remember if there was snow.
You are so sad and we kiss and there has never been anything like kissing you.
I never want to forget the shape...
732 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
15th Oct 2013 2:20pm
15th Oct 2013 2:20pm
hemophiliac
there's a crease in my vein.
pensive platelets catching a voice
release
hemorrhagic memories
in a predetermined drip pattern
heard every time we divide
antigen shenanigans
you use what hurts
letting and leeching me
eleven times
your misted hand is at my neck
arterial back spatter on
transubstantial Aphrodite
your haunted foot pushing down
naked, white and needy
you stop just in time
pensive platelets catching a voice
release
hemorrhagic memories
in a predetermined drip pattern
heard every time we divide
antigen shenanigans
you use what hurts
letting and leeching me
eleven times
your misted hand is at my neck
arterial back spatter on
transubstantial Aphrodite
your haunted foot pushing down
naked, white and needy
you stop just in time
790 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
15th Oct 2013 2:14pm
15th Oct 2013 2:14pm
vivisepulture
throw your handful of dust on my belly and turn away
add to this pile that grows too slow, that thickens hair and sticks to teeth
for I have to keep smiling in this ground without sound
and a view of wasted moonbeams
choices are vindictive and I've pissed off a few
but you may be the brightest I will lose
there is nothing left to decide only compromise and cellophane dares
I don't think I can stomach any more of my own hair.
the cookie stain on my wax paper palette
sweet and crumbling like the vision of the desert and emerald pools
rip it to...
add to this pile that grows too slow, that thickens hair and sticks to teeth
for I have to keep smiling in this ground without sound
and a view of wasted moonbeams
choices are vindictive and I've pissed off a few
but you may be the brightest I will lose
there is nothing left to decide only compromise and cellophane dares
I don't think I can stomach any more of my own hair.
the cookie stain on my wax paper palette
sweet and crumbling like the vision of the desert and emerald pools
rip it to...
905 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
14th Oct 2013 9:21pm
14th Oct 2013 9:21pm
obtuse time (my weeks pass recklessly)
it would have been better.
we should have never known
intimate chariot
how my body has always known you.
you were always first.
so in that place you stay
and all the other
biting flowers and branded promises
are just hanging in the conversations
we linger in and lace around our days.
I can't be next
I breathe for you
and would
give
this lung
or fill yours with amniotic fluid
for only a day
making our bed
of ether and acorns
our pyre is an afternoon.
we should have never known
intimate chariot
how my body has always known you.
you were always first.
so in that place you stay
and all the other
biting flowers and branded promises
are just hanging in the conversations
we linger in and lace around our days.
I can't be next
I breathe for you
and would
give
this lung
or fill yours with amniotic fluid
for only a day
making our bed
of ether and acorns
our pyre is an afternoon.
892 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
14th Oct 2013 9:20pm
14th Oct 2013 9:20pm
thinner
I'm losing because I can
no mirror, no beauty sought
it fades into the desert
I'm thirsting for control
I'm thinner like the statues
draping plaster bones
chipping of the sanctus
cold and smooth and dead.
I need strength to be a failure
in my hollow eyes of the world.
to cling to what's important
to eat the air alone.
I keep getting thinner
veins are bounding blue
I'm hungry for a god
a beggar for its starlight
The air keeps getting thinner
I'm straining to respire
vapors of the mirage
smoking sins...
no mirror, no beauty sought
it fades into the desert
I'm thirsting for control
I'm thinner like the statues
draping plaster bones
chipping of the sanctus
cold and smooth and dead.
I need strength to be a failure
in my hollow eyes of the world.
to cling to what's important
to eat the air alone.
I keep getting thinner
veins are bounding blue
I'm hungry for a god
a beggar for its starlight
The air keeps getting thinner
I'm straining to respire
vapors of the mirage
smoking sins...
952 reads
13 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
4th Oct 2013 00:25am
4th Oct 2013 00:25am
the knight who doesn't ride here
Winds and whimsy
skip on the riverbed
of our conversation,
swaying our beliefs
lulling an emotion.
The current is regretful
It is no longer avoidable
In our silence it is growing.
I can't look you in the eye anymore
without your turning away.
We move in lines defined
I want to cross one.
Do I mother you too much?
We avoid an embrace
fearing hearts magnetized
will deny separation
Do you suffer for touch?
Am I just a siren
with your name on my tongue?
calling from the water's edge -
"We could...
skip on the riverbed
of our conversation,
swaying our beliefs
lulling an emotion.
The current is regretful
It is no longer avoidable
In our silence it is growing.
I can't look you in the eye anymore
without your turning away.
We move in lines defined
I want to cross one.
Do I mother you too much?
We avoid an embrace
fearing hearts magnetized
will deny separation
Do you suffer for touch?
Am I just a siren
with your name on my tongue?
calling from the water's edge -
"We could...
775 reads
2 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
4th Oct 2013 00:13am
4th Oct 2013 00:13am
non-specific
If I had a choice between the man who will offer the nurse a chocolate an hour after I die and the jester who plays with my eyes like marbles...I'll take the jester every time.
They have seen you in all your numbness and they too have been anesthetized
with the pain of living. This threshold will only hold a dying child for so long before going blank.
If I could look in two different directions at once I would never be interrupted and maybe I could see an end to things. I could touch where I left all those pieces of me. Those glorious ragged pieces that don't even...
They have seen you in all your numbness and they too have been anesthetized
with the pain of living. This threshold will only hold a dying child for so long before going blank.
If I could look in two different directions at once I would never be interrupted and maybe I could see an end to things. I could touch where I left all those pieces of me. Those glorious ragged pieces that don't even...
878 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
1st Oct 2013 11:48pm
1st Oct 2013 11:48pm
The Lily and the Violets
She only blooms for me once or twice a decade now.
Her brilliant white petals reach out and just the tips brush my cheek
We were planted in the same garden
Weeds grew and were plucked,
Unsettling the earth between us
Amazingly allowing us both, at times,
To fly.
We flew together
Then she to Mars and myself lost to the questionable Neptune.
We always come back to the same ground
Whose weeds they were, no longer matter.
This year she bloomed as I was dying and
Her gentle presence reminded me of who I am
And who I...
Her brilliant white petals reach out and just the tips brush my cheek
We were planted in the same garden
Weeds grew and were plucked,
Unsettling the earth between us
Amazingly allowing us both, at times,
To fly.
We flew together
Then she to Mars and myself lost to the questionable Neptune.
We always come back to the same ground
Whose weeds they were, no longer matter.
This year she bloomed as I was dying and
Her gentle presence reminded me of who I am
And who I...
784 reads
7 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by WhatIUsedToBe
