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Therapists, I don't like their taste.i.
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.
she stole my rings
and left me hollow.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
Please,don’t make me
fall in love with you,
I don’t want to remember you,
those Sunday morning
or the way your
lost boy eyes always,
always found a way
to find mine.
There are only so many times
I can allow you to slice
through my scar tissue
before I finally
lion boyi knew a boy with
eyes of gold & fire
in his footsteps.
he would roar to the
stars, declaring himself
as fearless as a king
& as regal as a lion.
he would announce
every night when leo
would coax the virgin
from her radiant
five times around the
sun & loyal fangs bared
to shield his kingdom,
my lion boy
dances with flames.
I Am FlawedFrom body to soul and in between,
They blotch the parchment that is me;
I know of worse flaws I have seen,
I am flawed.
I sometimes lose my temper,
Use my mouth before my mind;
I ponder things I could do better,
And regret them for a time.
I can be harsh, I can be blunt,
I tend to hide my thoughts;
But this is far from what I want:
To be in someone's heart.
Comparisons are hard to make
Since we are all unique.
But half the time my words are fake;
The real me is a freak.
These flaws define me, describe me—
They make me what I am.
In that light, I'm proud to say that
Confessionsthere’s a lot I never told you
one. I have a habit of lying, about
the simple things (like, yes I
forgot to remember and I swear by
soul mates and I’m in love
with your susurrus voice
and no, I’m really doing fine).
It was not an act of infidelity because
I believed it, too.
two. I’m infatuated with the concept
that I am more or less fictional, the
delusive beauty a million men will
dedicate novels to: I am fragile,
a dust angel sent to save the world
from commonalities and
three. Since I’m not allowed
to remember your name
I will commemorate you
in acts of escapism,
killing off the pieces
String TheoryThis is determination,
existential numbness in which
I drown from the paranoid spittle
of that dreary-eyed girl
lost in the mirror.
what would you do
if you saw me now, all grown in
to my predetermined curves and
the nihilistic fabrications knotted in my skin.
Maybe you still want to be
a brain surgeon. Maybe you still
weep when you’re happy and stop
when you’re lonely, drooping over like
the puppet no one remembered. Maybe
you still smoke like it’s a defiance, and love
like it’s a war; maybe time preserved you
like a corpse in formaldehyde, and maybe
you still think of me,
i shouldn't write when i'm stonedpeople say you're
an asshole. but that's
okay because people say
i'm an asshole, too. maybe
that's one of the reasons
you love me and i love you.
but i think more than that,
i think the biggest reason
we're drawn to each other is
that neither of us fit anywhere.
we are both lonely. and we are sad.
but we don't care, and we love it.
we are good at being
alone. we are good at
being together. if i could,
i would paint a picture
of two souls tethered close
but sitting in separate rooms
and i would point to it. then you
would understand why we will
never come apart.
ExperimentalistShe always said she was
I knew otherwise.
This girl was raised to
Believe that the ability of
Counting the bones in your
Rib cage is beautiful.
Sixteen years old
With sand in her blood
And shoulder blades
As sharp as knives
As long as wings.
That day I knew
Her smiles were painful
And her laughs were just
Recorded in her throat
From so much practice
In a life that was once
A little punk rocker with a gift for singing songsGirl with the rock and roll smirk curled behind her teeth
Burning her insides for fun because there wasn’t much else to do
Aside from skipping stones across car parks
And sipping the last dregs of forbidden liquor
Behind broken trees to keep up the act of normality
Late at night when the moon is asleep
She lies on dismantled bed frames
Counting stars because lambs are too often sent to the slaughter
Lucky star heartbeats and posy veins
Hides broken windows behind her pupils
Ceiling lights tracing patterns on her cheekbones
As late night contemplation's lead back to Rome
Atlas limbs curled into her ribs
With a sense of obligation she
this habiti have this habit of thinking without thinking.
my mind will be walking down a road
while i am plugging away at the factory,
while i am putting groceries away.
if someone were to ask me what i was thinking,
i wouldn’t know what to say.
i would have to wait hours,
long after they’ve gone,
until my mind comes through the door,
tracking all manner of shit onto the floor,
and explains himself.
Sea sonnet for the girl with ocean eyesShe was southern Californian storms
On a good day
When the skies nursed the shoreline like a wound
And the rain tasted like two scoops of mint chip ice cream
She held the nebula in her palms
And poured it out onto the sidewalk
So that the gutters would have something
To talk about at night
She swallowed the ocean
And held it in her eyes
Of mountain rock blue straining against the sky
The bluest eyes I’d ever seen
Sparrow girl with the breathless wings
Embellished in vinyl’s and cassette tapes
Gramophone gilded lashes and half-moon wrists made up
Paper tapestries taped together with Shakespeare and Green
AdultsI envy those people
who leave home
and live like twenty-five year olds,
looking out for themselves
like folks did in the good ol’ days,
drinking whiskey straight,
driving all night with no limits,
loving and fucking without apology,
never having to remind someone
that they’re old enough—
Goddamnit, they’re old enough
and if they’re not cut loose
they’ll suffocate to death
without ever having breathed
on their own.
Alaska is hiding behind her eyesA girl caught up in the same game
Where circus tricks and trapeze artists
Are nothing compared to the burning of lungs
Where insomnia stains the people’s smiles
In a pale wash of sea foam angst bottled up and thrown
Into the horizon where the sky meets the earth
In a disjointed seam
She had hurricane rage eyes
And wishbone sleeves pulled tightly across her chest
To suppress her Medusa heart from cracking
The stars open and drinking their flames
Ocean funeral where Chaconne
Is played to sirens and sea urchins
Coiled beneath the oily depths of seascapes
Where her kite string spines push against the thin membrane
Of split grin skie
On the road again searching for lost thingsLake bones carved into words
The slow baked Texas heat seeping into
Galaxy veins and Saturn ring irises
Like cross hatched road maps
Leading to lost cities gilded in gold
The skies nursing oil spills like a wound
Your cat eye palpitations lingering
Behind drowsy eyelids
Where childhood adventures of never growing up
Spark between neurons and sneakers pounding
On old dirt tracks
Boyish dreams of Milky Way heroes
Make up the constellations of your breathing
I become a Gianttruth is,
we all want to feel
(bigger than them,
her and him and it,
bigger than the world)
and I feel
like I tower
the burj khalifa
- my heart ;
is it still beating
or already b u r s t i n g ?
it becomes hard
sad shoesthree hundred
have been sent
take a pair
walk a mile
and tell me
how you feel
June '13 (one hundred prompts)i.
I get woken by birds
singing in front of my window
in hopes of charming one of their kind
- lovesongs of nature -
and if I too was a bird,
I wonder, would you sing
in hopes of charming me?
The sky is grey,
though I've been promised
a deep cobalt blue; I try
repainting it all in my mind,
and think maybe cobalt is too dark.
Don't forget to rewind
your clockwork heart;
it would be such a shame
for it to stop ticking.
See, I've been called femme fatale
before; I've wrecked an honest man's ship
luring him in with my voice, saying
I don't know, maybe I love you -
but I was wrong
and watched him drown.
It is not possible
to fall in love by choice,
still I thought if I only tried
then maybe I could -
he would've treated me well,
I know, and I thought maybe,
I didn't understand love, then.
Everything burns brighter
when I use kerosene, and I can
pretend my eyes fill up with tears
not because of sadness but
because the intense light
my phone might be
than I am -
"What do you think, Siri?"
but that doesn't mean
that I don't need
the newest one
(it's not just a phone
it's a lifestyle)
Life is for using.
Use it as much
as you can.
they need more
than can be given
look at us -
we have become
(I am always hungry)
maybe we already
have too much
too much money
too much glitter
we don't need
We put the needle
to society's veins -
but still it's getting worse,
so we keep raising
we are wasting
and ourselves -
need more worlds
need more selves
need m m m m o r e
goodnight, loveI blow a kiss
out of my window
giving it directions
to your bedroom
lighter than feathers
can cross oceans
I am sure)
so when you feel it
there's a whisper
in the air -
to have wonderful dreams."
let's see the end together (phoning for love)"You know -
it's the end of the world,
well, not right now,
but you know -
For the record,
I feel honestly terrified
of picking up the phone
to get through to you
But it's the end of the world,
soon, so there's nothing
to lose no more.
I love you.
I don't like coffee
but I know you do,
so I thought -
you know, you could come over
to see whether I brew up something you like?
We could drink, I'll try not to monologue,
or you know, if you feel like it -
we could kiss.
Phone me in return,
when you're coming.
If you don't, well,
feel like coming over, don't worry.
I just hope those couple hours
we're still free to spend
will be good ones for you.
I love you.
See you -
well, if there's something posterior
to the end of everything we know,
I'll see you there.
Lemmings (choose your poison)Everyone has some sort of answer to the question
"Your poison of choice?"
I've yet to hear anybody reply that they don't have one,
don't want one, don't need one, and if they did,
I wouldn't, couldn't believe them,
for we are human and all we are essentially doing
is destroying ourselves, and if possible, we do it
with creativity, so our life drains away slowly,
because we want to live - we want to live forever -
but we cannot bear to carry our souls at all
and everybody knows that this can't work,
never will, and should the human mind be able
to wrap itself around the concept of eternity,
well, to put it simply, we will all be screwed -
maybe even more so than we already are.
27He had 27 bones
in his left hand, all under a thick netting
of coral reef. He had 27 bones in his right hand too, each perfectly preserved.
Both hands held their breath
as he approached stage exit.
Hit every bar, tour every state.
A river runs interstate through Texas.
Small yellow lines jump straight through it.
Take the US-27 from Fort Wayne to Miami. A second doesn’t make it
to his destination.
Cobalt. Aluminum. A third was found dead, drowned in his pool,
an empty shot glass floating beside him.
Cobalt weighed down his shoulders. Alumi
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`ChewedKandi has certainly gone out of her way to keep the vector community on the right path. Always making sure that her talents are infinitely scalable, Sharon has put her bezier curves to excellent use, and firmly anchored herself as an inspirational leader. We're absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for June 2013 to `ChewedKandi. Congratulations, Sharon! Read More