Submissions by toniscales (Lost Girl)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction I am very critical of my own work but I tend to love intensely, and writing is an emotional release I can't seem to resist.
SELF POEM
Published
2nd Sep 2019 1:59am
2nd Sep 2019 1:59am
On Feeling Alone
Please, I think. Something in me
Opening its hand, fingers grasping.
I hear laughter all around me, how I
Ache to be a part of it. A part of something.
Because... Because I feel nothing.
I must be made up of a thousand tiny holes.
Filled with black empty air. Please, I think.
I don't want to be alone anymore.
But I'm so alone. So alone.
The tears trickle down.
I curl up even quieter into myself.
Big wet crying baby. Mocking myself now.
Bitter hatred for myself now.
Make it stop. Please someone,
Something, make it stop. ...
Opening its hand, fingers grasping.
I hear laughter all around me, how I
Ache to be a part of it. A part of something.
Because... Because I feel nothing.
I must be made up of a thousand tiny holes.
Filled with black empty air. Please, I think.
I don't want to be alone anymore.
But I'm so alone. So alone.
The tears trickle down.
I curl up even quieter into myself.
Big wet crying baby. Mocking myself now.
Bitter hatred for myself now.
Make it stop. Please someone,
Something, make it stop. ...
#depression
#loneliness
77 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
29th Aug 2019 1:43am
29th Aug 2019 1:43am
Violins and Candles and Roses
I've been playing with Photoshop.
Violins and candles and roses,
Pictures of my beautiful daughter.
I love the way they interlay and blend,
If those would be the correct terms
To use. Fishing memories to cherish
And store them with others.
Five days off my meds.
I think about how I once wrote in my journal
That I don't think I'd ever experienced a
Moment of pure joy in this life,
That all I remember is this sadness.
It's not true. Five days off meds
And I can see colors again. I can feel.
The zombie is buried.
The...
Violins and candles and roses,
Pictures of my beautiful daughter.
I love the way they interlay and blend,
If those would be the correct terms
To use. Fishing memories to cherish
And store them with others.
Five days off my meds.
I think about how I once wrote in my journal
That I don't think I'd ever experienced a
Moment of pure joy in this life,
That all I remember is this sadness.
It's not true. Five days off meds
And I can see colors again. I can feel.
The zombie is buried.
The...
#happiness
#depression
#LifeStruggles
#bipolar
#MentalHealth
93 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
27th Aug 2019 10:24pm
27th Aug 2019 10:24pm
From Etiquette for Girls Volume 2
Pain is a blessing. The way sadness and hunger seem to go hand in hand. Avoid clichés and exaggerate the positive qualities about yourself. Put everything else away in a cedar chest beneath your bed. Dogwood, lavender, this tiny kitten heart. Suffering is beautiful, be grateful you can feel it. The burgundy nail polish on our toes gone ghoulish in this light. More monster than Mary Jane. When your mother cries, pretend you didn't hear her. Avoid heavy perfumes, anything too suggestible. The flash of a red heel in the street. All the headlights gone crimson, a thousand tiny heartbeats on the...
#sadness
#gothic
116 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Aug 2019 2:11pm
2nd Aug 2019 2:11pm
From Etiquette for Girls
By summer I’ve committed too many sins to count. My window half open to let in the sunlight, crickets, all the silver shining pails. The boys in the stars. Our feet so frail and pallid beneath the blue coverlets. Storms will bring debris, grasshoppers, blessings. A string to hang your Mary Jane’s upon. When thirsty it is acceptable to look for water in cold, dry places, the icy interiors of drowned swimmers. Alone in the cool darkness of your room, listen to the fan blades whip the swollen air. Count. 1, 2. 3. Swish.
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By August, the heat will swelter what’s left of your...
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By August, the heat will swelter what’s left of your...
#grief
#women
#LifeStruggles
62 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
19th Jul 2019 5:42am
19th Jul 2019 5:42am
Brianna
It’s here, you can find it if you look in all the right places. The dark under the floral bedspread. Beneath the canopy of tattered stars on the ceiling. Beneath the mattress. That sweet, softened menace, sticky as candy. There’s a story in every house. A ghost of a girl gone missing inside me. The way the trees line the street blackly, how it reminds you of boys, or choking. Tiny fissures in all the figurines. Everywhere, that dirty dirty lip of dust. Sometimes you can still hear the cries of jump ropers. The spirits echoing softly down the well. Your hands so cold and numb you can taste the...
#dark
#gothic
93 reads
1 Comment
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
19th Jul 2019 5:37am
19th Jul 2019 5:37am
Journal Entry
June 11, 2019
It's the little rituals that save me, that keep me from going crazy. I try to take comfort in small pleasures, actions. Toasted vanilla and amber perfume, bathing with lavender and rain-scented body soap, and my vape of course. Chocolate strawberries, heavy on the nicotine. The meaning may be small, but there is nonetheless meaning to be found in order, cleanliness, the mundane and daily rites of living. I am clean, I smell fresh, I put my make-up on today. I am trying, at least; I am alive. And even though I feel familiarly sad, empty, lonely and lost, I force myself...
It's the little rituals that save me, that keep me from going crazy. I try to take comfort in small pleasures, actions. Toasted vanilla and amber perfume, bathing with lavender and rain-scented body soap, and my vape of course. Chocolate strawberries, heavy on the nicotine. The meaning may be small, but there is nonetheless meaning to be found in order, cleanliness, the mundane and daily rites of living. I am clean, I smell fresh, I put my make-up on today. I am trying, at least; I am alive. And even though I feel familiarly sad, empty, lonely and lost, I force myself...
#depression
#LifeStruggles
67 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
5th Jan 2019 10:31pm
5th Jan 2019 10:31pm
silent girls
I am all burnt edges, the bottom of the cake, this half cigarette. A little too pale and greedy for money. The sad tilt of my father’s boots on the tile. This morning rain clings to the windows like scared, scarred children. I’ll swear I’m a virgin, my vape juice tasting of strawberry milk, all the lies my mother never told me. Winter is dying on my lips, in my stomach, my pretty glitter nails. Polished but useless. I lie still in my bed listening for killings in the woods. Spit unladylike down the well to gauge how deep it us, my mother's voice scolding me from miles away. My shoes still wet...
#women
198 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
19th Dec 2018 2:15pm
19th Dec 2018 2:15pm
in dreams
I'm in a beautiful red dress a lot like the one Mom made me and black shoes, velvet with velvet ribbons. A man is dancing with me and he's like a Minotaur, and he asks where I'm from. I say I've been to Turkey and I've read the classics. But then my life is mirroring Sylvia Plath. I see her life and mine mimics it. I run my car off a cliff and I try to hold on to it but it's too heavy, I let it go and somebody saves me. I'm dressed in fifties clothes and I'm part of a themed daycare named Edward Little, some author I've read and loved. But the bliss doesn't last long. I'm shaking the children...
#dreams
117 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
4th Sep 2018 10:17pm
4th Sep 2018 10:17pm
Felicia
Though summer is poisonous, like a girl, it's sweet on the tongue. You dream of rusted pliers and fields of wilting lavender, a woman in a white dress offering you a peach and crying. I was a vape mistress, all slut mouth, my mind trembling with rooms full of dead raccoons and cicadas. Our Father. The horrible impossible yearnings, they never cease. By day you dream of getting free, the hem in your pink dress unraveling and sticky. Ache to make something lovely out of the longing. The world like a silent film, gone staticky. The way it all stops, so suddenly, without warning. Hush. Hush....
#grief
#loneliness
#women
267 reads
6 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
29th Aug 2018 11:09pm
29th Aug 2018 11:09pm
Fiona
By summer, you’ll be in love with death, with boys named Jason. Jacob. There’s an old gas pump in the yard and a humming bird made of tissue paper throbbing in your chest. You’ll try to define taste, burnt fruit and powdered sugar, your panties rumpled and thrown down the well. Grief always makes the most beautiful ruckus, the most beautiful jewelry. My tongue yearning to caress different words, apples, cicada, the way it caressed the cream lining of your ear. I’ll wake up at three every night craving mint ice cream, dream of my mother’s hands sifting flour. Like all the daughters, aching to...
#women
220 reads
5 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
29th Aug 2018 10:48pm
29th Aug 2018 10:48pm
Lucinda
I ache harder than the dead. I'm fascinated by all the tiny bones beneath my fingers. In the fish, the cats. My wrists. My breasts burn at boys bathed in green light and my lips go salty at the edges. There are ghosts in the attic, ghosts in the bathroom, even the faded brown truck is haunted and beer scented. I'm sure it's female. Her body floating in the river, the bathtub. Floating wide eyed above mine. Her sin like mine, like every girl's, even daring to want. Like mine, you can hear her yearning, its scented fever, all night long.
#grief
#lust
#women
166 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by toniscales (Lost Girl)
