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An old kind of loveOne hundred years from now
The paint we picked out
Will be seven shades different,
Or old bricks made wise
By some graffiti prophet.
The note you hid in my mittens
– All I dream about anymore
Is the ocean
And you
(But mostly just you) –
Will be drifting through dream-catchers and
Those sapling hopes with
Roots tangled like our fingers and
Branches trembling with the vastness of our memories
Will be driftwood adventures
Nodding off with the tides
But I know in this heart of mine
That the smooth-bark-rain-soaked Beech Tree
You planted for me (there's a swing on it now)
Will still be there
And it will remember wha

HazeI am heavy,
like gravity grew stronger.
My chest is warm and my throat,
my throat is thick.

Merlot swirls, slips-
this glass is not big enough for my
Robert Mondavi dreams of
the fine life art forms that
form in my J. Lohr sleep.

Cabernet kisses on wine-tinted
teeth - we are dizzy lovers and
we don't mind.

2010 was a good year in
California.

Humanityi. Creator

Flicking through yellowed pages,
The crinkles smelling of dust and tears.

A human-induced God complex - authorial authority.

ii. Photographer

At parties, she hides behind her camera, just so
Someone gives her a smile once in a while.

Too bad she only sneaks candid photos.

iii. Conspirator

Vindictive whispers cloy behind closed
Hands and hardened hearts. They vent.

An immunity to gossip; a cathartic release.

iv. Voyeur

Peeping toms on laptop screens and
DVDs - it's only natural, apparently.

What is normal anyway?

leavingleaving is a can that you
kick around in the street
because it's been a long day
& it makes you feel better.

some days you kick it
harder, longer than others,
& some days there just
aren't enough cans or streets.

but the thing about leaving
is that when the
street lights come on,
you always end up going home.

untitled 01life writes stories on the skin;
told in blood and bone,
stamped across the body.

swimming like drowning"You've infected my brain."

"Did it hurt?"

"A little. It's like a hand is gripping my chest.
I find it difficult to breathe. Words get stuck
like a jagged Dorito in my throat. It feels like
my brain's been replaced with cotton candy
and all my muscles have turned to noodles
showered in a cloud of the heat we create
when we collide with a bang bigger than
the discussion of the one God made when
He dreamt of two star-crossed lovers bred
by brothers closer in thought than miles."

"My head hurts."

"I see I've diseased you as well."

"Oh, so this was your doing?"

"Well, I can't imagine anyone intentionally
allowing me access to their brain. I

pumpkins, pogo-sticks, and lip-to-lip
dear october.

the leaves haven't fallen yet.
maybe this year, they will not.
i am sick of things dying prettier than they live.

i am walking streets full of dead carcasses
and making sure to step on them to feel the bones crack
beneath my feet and it makes me feel powerful
and alive and deadly and beautiful.

i am three months away from january
and my unfulfilled new year's resolution is still
sitting heavily on my collarbone, trickling down my ribs
melting into the soles of my shoes.

last year, i celebrated the new year in my friend's friend's apartment
in india and two minutes after the countdown was over,
people set off fire

This Is Closureyour eyes were brown, and
far from beautiful. your pants
were bothersomely short, and i
hate thinking of you
because i loved you so much.

your climbing up was
me sinking

down, under atmospheres of ocean weight,
as you rose and rose into the thin air.

you were supposed to come back down.
you weren't supposed to do it the

hard way.

that was the day i learned to swallow
the ocean. i choked down
salt, whales, fishes and brine, kept
it chained to my ribs around
a sick stomach.

that mountain didn't break you. it
broke the organs and spines of everyone who ever
heard your soft voice and felt
the gentleness of your heart. you an

DriftElectric flashes upon the skin;
reflections of fear's loving advocate.

Infect me white and loud,
cracks of rumbling noise rolling
over brittle bones
making me a beautiful

O c e a n.

and how he loves to rock within me;
a sailboat on blue tremulous waves,

waiting for tsunamis.

a love affair.(blessing: noun
a favor, benefit or mercy;
a gift bestowed).

she was never
meant for man;
nor woman.
she loved another.
a being brought forth
from the tip of her tongue
and stored away in every cell,
awaiting in anticipation
with dragonfly trembles
for the day to be called forth.

she loved language;
bespoke of lexicon and linguistics
with a caliber of wonder that
often caused her diction to run away.
words filled her,
consumed her,
strewn like a wildfire
stirred up by a tempest wind.
and oftentimes they tore her asunder;
bleaching her skin like newspaper print
and coating supple curves with endless discourse,
and carvi

mosaics.sometimes unique
is not loud;
or bright, alive and raging,
possessed of a hunger for the atypical,
up front and too close,
or thrice-pierced and drenched
in the rebellions
particular to the latest generation.

sometimes it is a girl with
mouse brown hair and eyes
the color of weak tea,
who stands with her schoolbooks clutched
to her chest, in uniform shades of grey-blue
like the midmorning autumn sky

who has a wide mouth prone to nervous smiles,

pale lips and pale cheeks
and words that don't always come out
the way she means

who holds the universe
in the intricacies of her fingerprints
and laughs in treble clef notes
and u

dead starshe told her once that her eyes
were like burned out galaxies
the light in them
already dead but fading
fading slowly
and that her pupils
were like black holes
liable to pull
you in and never
never let go.

and all she said was
we are all just dead
dead stars in the end.

We Were Angels"Mermaids, sirens, they don't exist," the grizzled old sailor said.

"But you saw what happened," the cabin boy insisted. His dark green eyes were wide and a bit teary; he was only twelve, and it was his first ocean voyage. Seeing a man climb over the rail and lose himself in the waves had shaken the boy up, though what was most disturbing about it was the look of bliss on the man's face as he leapt.

"Charlie was always loopy. He made himself see what he wanted to see and he jumped in after it." The old man shrugged. "We come from the sea, and it calls to us."

"The priest says we come from dust."

"Your priest has never been out of sight of

ExhaustionExhaustion

I wake, swollen with noon heat.
Half dressed, I stumble,
elbows and toes catching
on the clawed feet of chairs,
the blunt holes of open cupboards.
I sometimes forget my name.
In the kitchen, I pepper the rice
instead of salt. Black flecks surface
in the boiling water,
sea turtles migrating.
If I knew where you went,
I would follow. But all you left behind
was an old sweater, an empty notebook,
an exhaustion,
complete and infinite
as the space around a closed fist.

ScribblesAnd he hated the way her portrait was painted
on the walls of his mind

so the thoughts would come and go
like little men with suitcases,
rushing through in the flurry of ideas,
in the death and birth of a dream, but they

would always
pass by her picture.

Browse More Like This

More from *Hfeather53

justi am everything i never wanted to be.
it's funny to realize,
five years ago i would've looked at me and thought,
"you
are the worst kind
of lost because you don't even know it,"
and now,
i see that's what i was before.
but i'm still just a fraction
of an idea
that tries so hard to show itself.
others say
i should
speak louder,
sing louder,
just
be
louder;
but i was born with vocal cords covered in
bubble wrap.
my fingers curled in,
with my arms pushing against my chest
in an x
because it marked the spot
i often fight to fill,
while
everyone else was armed with pitchforks and shovels and i clutched tightly
with my fingernails
and screamed
at the moon's blood-orange light
that ran into my mouth and down my throat to bloat
and scrape
and carve its name into the nest of space that was meant for my heart.
i am
not
a work of art
just a work of the everything's wrong in this time;
just a girl
born with just enough
to want a taste of love
from
and for the world.

Keepsakes and AnathemaI boxed up the remnants
That remain in my heart
And waited for you to commandeer them.

But six days you lingered instead,
A wind-whipped shadow
On the fringe of our burning garden;

Tiptoeing over fresh wet-stones
In hopes of breaking my hope-brittle spine.
Your Genesis of betrayal;
Adam’s obsessions filtered through
Cain’s heart,
And somehow I now bear the mark.

There, but for the amusement of God, go I;
Branded and baked, as I shovel soot.
"Keepsakes,"
I'll whisper to each flake
Fallen upon eyelashes.

Today, coupled with regret,
Weighs muddily grey on my eyes.
Anathema,
A wanderer,
I'll trudge forever through your vicious

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and I still keep running into parked cars

by *Hfeather53, Nov 22, 2012, 3:15:27 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Mama,
your baby girl's swimming
in dead of the night
hair, scarred knees,
overgrown weeds, and
countless pairs
of shoes-
with those
orange and yellow wheels
that hug my toes
and heels

I'm running into
parked cars
trying to get
my kite to fly
and hiding under
dashboards
listening to you
fight

I'm rummaging through
boxes of secrets
that Daddy tried
to hide-
solving puzzles with pieces
I'll never uncover
in these thoughts
of you

847

49 69 5

and I still keep running into parked carsby *Hfeather53

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thoughts of swimming in hair
----
edited
(yay I can request critiques now!!!)

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Submitted on: November 22, 2012
File Size: 692 bytes

Views: 847
Favourites: 49 (who?)
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=Sammur-amat Feb 26, 2013 General Artist

Congratulations on the DLD!

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*Hfeather53 Feb 26, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you dollface!

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=Sammur-amat Mar 6, 2013 General Artist

You're always welcome, you wonderful wonderful soul!

<3 <3 <3

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~Jacoooify Feb 26, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Sublime ^_^

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*Hfeather53 Feb 26, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you (=

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*bloodawni Feb 17, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Oh, so lovely. Congratulations on your DLD for this one.

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*Hfeather53 Feb 17, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you (=

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*bloodawni Feb 17, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Welcome.

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~nostrovia-poetry Feb 10, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Wonderful poem. Thank you for sharing! It has a nice "river" flow to it.

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*Hfeather53 Feb 10, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you very much!

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