Submissions by miss_masturbation (Ava Renei)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
i hurt, therefore i am
LOVE POEM
Published
16th Jan 2011 3:35pm
16th Jan 2011 3:35pm
stupid, broken
She was nothing more than a beautiful form
Like looking at a piece of art
And wishing do badly you could touch it
Without feeling guilty..
I wanted her on my walls
But I couldn't bare her in my hands..
She stayed perched at the edge
6 years and 50 feet out of my reach,
But I could swear I heard the bones crack
Into af e w
W o r d s at a
Ti m e
Like a stupid broken poem
Written by a stupid broken girl.
Like looking at a piece of art
And wishing do badly you could touch it
Without feeling guilty..
I wanted her on my walls
But I couldn't bare her in my hands..
She stayed perched at the edge
6 years and 50 feet out of my reach,
But I could swear I heard the bones crack
Into af e w
W o r d s at a
Ti m e
Like a stupid broken poem
Written by a stupid broken girl.
793 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
16th Jan 2011 3:22pm
16th Jan 2011 3:22pm
Love Me
Read my poetry like it is silk falling through your lips
And with those lips,
Kiss me at specific intervals.
Say that you like the way my clothes drown my shoulders and knees
And don't expect me to be happy all the time.
Understand the patterns of my tears
… Hold my hands when I cry,
But promise not to break my fingers.
And with those lips,
Kiss me at specific intervals.
Say that you like the way my clothes drown my shoulders and knees
And don't expect me to be happy all the time.
Understand the patterns of my tears
… Hold my hands when I cry,
But promise not to break my fingers.
906 reads
10 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
10th Jan 2011 00:55am
10th Jan 2011 00:55am
they call her the poet
she speaks in poetry
with her lips tucked safely behind her fingers,
a pen in one hand,
bruises in the other
they say home is where the heart is
she lives inside her lovers mouth.
her curly black locks shine red beneath the sun.
she is shy but still she smiles with parted lips
the eyes are a synonym for 'never'
yet she goes on saying 'always'
bones sit atop her wrist
and speak in a voice like sharpening pencils.
she loves with an intelligence
that the world would never notice
and screws line the bending spine...
with her lips tucked safely behind her fingers,
a pen in one hand,
bruises in the other
they say home is where the heart is
she lives inside her lovers mouth.
her curly black locks shine red beneath the sun.
she is shy but still she smiles with parted lips
the eyes are a synonym for 'never'
yet she goes on saying 'always'
bones sit atop her wrist
and speak in a voice like sharpening pencils.
she loves with an intelligence
that the world would never notice
and screws line the bending spine...
804 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Jan 2011 00:39am
10th Jan 2011 00:39am
Body Language
You're the kind of entity who i would allow to break my bones, just in exchange for a cold night beneath your blue-cotton sheets; your face burried in my chest so you can hear the way my heart stumbles over the thought of your hands. I would trust you to heal my bones with your tongue; sealing then shutand coaxing them back into a place 'beneath' my flesh.
And like words coming from a candybox you'd whisper something like burning dragonflies back and forth between my wrists,
"s h ei sa ne x p o s e dr i b c a g e"..We'd speak in poetry; eloquence falling from our lips and...
And like words coming from a candybox you'd whisper something like burning dragonflies back and forth between my wrists,
"s h ei sa ne x p o s e dr i b c a g e"..We'd speak in poetry; eloquence falling from our lips and...
907 reads
4 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
8th Jan 2011 6:44pm
8th Jan 2011 6:44pm
19 Letters to Poetry
i
Dear Poetry,
I have held you up to the light
And seen inside your birdcage lungs.
Did you know your skin is made of paper?
letters to poetry: 2 of 19by ~dreadful-star
ii
Oh Poetry,
At night I can swear I hear you choking on a broken metaphor, and I wonder if I should push it back down your throat or let nature take its course
By waiting until the phrase is stuck in just the right way so they can hear you whispering a true meaning,
Before you slip back
into a self-induced ink coma.
iii
Poetry! My...
Dear Poetry,
I have held you up to the light
And seen inside your birdcage lungs.
Did you know your skin is made of paper?
letters to poetry: 2 of 19by ~dreadful-star
ii
Oh Poetry,
At night I can swear I hear you choking on a broken metaphor, and I wonder if I should push it back down your throat or let nature take its course
By waiting until the phrase is stuck in just the right way so they can hear you whispering a true meaning,
Before you slip back
into a self-induced ink coma.
iii
Poetry! My...
1151 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
4th Jan 2011 8:01am
4th Jan 2011 8:01am
yours truly,
My letter to the world consists of a language that only the sky can fathom,
With words like blackbirds diving headfirst into the pavement right before your feet.
And never had you thought a dead bird so lovely..
make me weep, oh world-
The blood of the maggots eats at your streets and lies heavily in your mouth.
I say.. she is quite the character.
Explain how it is that you can read the words written by my hand
(without throwing yourself over a cliff that ends in the layer of speeding trains)
A letter is nothing but a stupid...
With words like blackbirds diving headfirst into the pavement right before your feet.
And never had you thought a dead bird so lovely..
make me weep, oh world-
The blood of the maggots eats at your streets and lies heavily in your mouth.
I say.. she is quite the character.
Explain how it is that you can read the words written by my hand
(without throwing yourself over a cliff that ends in the layer of speeding trains)
A letter is nothing but a stupid...
815 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
4th Jan 2011 7:58am
4th Jan 2011 7:58am
of bone cells and devestation
the feeling of fall the fall i feel the feeling
falling in fall i feel and fall the fall feeling
to feel the feeling of fall the fall i feel
like fall
i
in g
through the fingers of a chilled wind
brushing against an exposed sternum
you call it beauty
when really bones are masochistic.
give me the gift of an october pagan ritual
in a box of ashed ribbons and skeletal mishaps.
fals(oxyg)e(n)
pray: over under the table grasping over over under
again underneath
the folding lies you call hands
...
falling in fall i feel and fall the fall feeling
to feel the feeling of fall the fall i feel
like fall
i
in g
through the fingers of a chilled wind
brushing against an exposed sternum
you call it beauty
when really bones are masochistic.
give me the gift of an october pagan ritual
in a box of ashed ribbons and skeletal mishaps.
fals(oxyg)e(n)
pray: over under the table grasping over over under
again underneath
the folding lies you call hands
...
729 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
2nd Jan 2011 4:52am
2nd Jan 2011 4:52am
Genocide Graves
they twist in
and out of eachother's limbs as if
searching
for a salty bone to grasp and dry their flesh roots around
and stay twisted into one formless repose of the indented gut.
they whisper swollen tongues into the hardened pelvis of their neighbor,
wishing to be stuck between the thighs of the sun
and graced with unbound flesh.
if only a wrist could be above
the unopened ground of sodden dirt and black roots
of which strange, bruising fruit peers out and burns from lack of spine.
she knows she can shine again at the point of an...
and out of eachother's limbs as if
searching
for a salty bone to grasp and dry their flesh roots around
and stay twisted into one formless repose of the indented gut.
they whisper swollen tongues into the hardened pelvis of their neighbor,
wishing to be stuck between the thighs of the sun
and graced with unbound flesh.
if only a wrist could be above
the unopened ground of sodden dirt and black roots
of which strange, bruising fruit peers out and burns from lack of spine.
she knows she can shine again at the point of an...
1199 reads
15 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
2nd Jan 2011 4:50am
2nd Jan 2011 4:50am
Blasphemy
Hang me by the neck for blasphemy
I'll choke on my antithetic version of your bullshit gospel with pleasure
As you stand, spitting in the name of "god"
He is your favorite fictional character,
an idea
:man-made
many things and
nothing
at all.
a clever thought,
however incomplete.
Call me a deamon
And I'll call you by your name (slave)
For you tooare a being of flesh.
.The water turns to blood and the genocide begins.
12/2/10
I'll choke on my antithetic version of your bullshit gospel with pleasure
As you stand, spitting in the name of "god"
He is your favorite fictional character,
an idea
:man-made
many things and
nothing
at all.
a clever thought,
however incomplete.
Call me a deamon
And I'll call you by your name (slave)
For you tooare a being of flesh.
.The water turns to blood and the genocide begins.
12/2/10
900 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
1st Jan 2011 2:54am
1st Jan 2011 2:54am
expectations and flesh wounds
people look inside me like i am an empty glass
and they expect me to fill up suddenly
i guess, with something that smells like liquor
but tastes like thursday morning and a cup of black tea.
but my bones are stuck in pencil sharpeners
and dystrophy in the form of scoliosis
that can be fixed with a scalpal and a scar
of which i have become quite proud.
i know the smile you hold in your fist was meant for my face
it would be my favourite kind of swelling;
a bruise that would remind me of some coruscation of a flower that...
and they expect me to fill up suddenly
i guess, with something that smells like liquor
but tastes like thursday morning and a cup of black tea.
but my bones are stuck in pencil sharpeners
and dystrophy in the form of scoliosis
that can be fixed with a scalpal and a scar
of which i have become quite proud.
i know the smile you hold in your fist was meant for my face
it would be my favourite kind of swelling;
a bruise that would remind me of some coruscation of a flower that...
745 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
1st Jan 2011 2:48am
1st Jan 2011 2:48am
de(com)pression
she tells me oh how she loves me
as legs lay limp around my waist,
but she doesnt know my faults
hiding behind these eyes like a moth under the skin..
i am only a minor diety among (wo)men
there are thousa(no)n(e)ds like me,
but i have already become the itch
and usually im the one hooked on a substance .
i am a traitor trying to burry myself beneath poe(dir)try.
it was fall outside, but your humidity encased my fingers.
that expression was priceless
and the sound of everything wrong
was right for a moment.
i told you...
as legs lay limp around my waist,
but she doesnt know my faults
hiding behind these eyes like a moth under the skin..
i am only a minor diety among (wo)men
there are thousa(no)n(e)ds like me,
but i have already become the itch
and usually im the one hooked on a substance .
i am a traitor trying to burry myself beneath poe(dir)try.
it was fall outside, but your humidity encased my fingers.
that expression was priceless
and the sound of everything wrong
was right for a moment.
i told you...
860 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by miss_masturbation (Ava Renei)
