deviant art

Deviant Login
Buy Art Buy adCast Buy Premium Membership
Shop		  Join deviantART for FREE Take the Tour
[x]
Cinderella
Waiting for a coach
and four
that never came,
she realized
a ball gown
won't bloom
out of sackloth;
glass slippers
are not dependable
and mice
are best left
to their own devices.
Midnight was never a friend,
and under that suit
he is the same as any other
man.
IcarusSun girl,

the whispering stars
& feathered clouds dance
for you tonight.

Do not let anyone
clip your wings;

you were made for the skies.
Definition of a Writerwrit•er

noun     /rītər/

A writer is a person
Who sees the world differently
From a high perspective of understanding
To an easily balanced imagery

They stand at the edge of the cliff
And run that extra mile
To gain what a normal person cannot see
And to obtain the hope that they wish to cherish

A writer is a person
Who buries their ego and places boulders upon it
They learn the rules, follow the rules, and will break the rules
And make writing their own

They lay upon the dusty old ground of a graveyard
And do an annual ritual to free the inspiration that has been pinned down
They want to show their abnormality to everyone
Red DressDon’t put on your red dress
for he doesn’t know the meaning
he doesn’t want the commitment
he doesn’t care for the color.

The red dress you love to wear
that’s stained from wine and beer
but still carries so much meaning
for who could find a second red dress

Don’t go out on your red dress
for the man who wants nothing more
to screw around and doesn’t understand
the meaning behind a simple red dress.

A red dress for when you dance.
A red dress for when you cry.
A red dress for when you need it.
A red dress for when you care too much.

Don’t put on your red dress for him darling
he doesn&rsqu
moonshines in georgiaman on the moon:

giddy with lumps of north georgia seas
greased on the crease of my lips
gravity drips from couch-cavities
when tides belch from below --

burst on the water's edge,
earth's bourbon sailors retch in moonshined ripples
trickled blue murder on their crinkled crimes;
raking water wrinkles like a wayward drunk
stuck on sunken bootleggin' dreams.

it's been a long, long time
since I've drowned your hemisphere
for fishing like a moonraker,
swishing my bait-lines like tobacco's
squished in your shallow gums
before you dare to down my air
breathing in this sincere georgia night.
L.E.S.B.I.A.N.Living on the
Edge of life
Saving myself
Being who
I truly am
As it is all i can be
Never forget that
Broken Birds and Stark PhrasesWe slip and slide and fall
down curves and carrow places.
We cursive at the wall
in our undefinéd spaces.

Disjointed limbs extend
to strumpet our arrival,
to warn who are not friends
we will kill to survive all.

Hung upside-down haunters
hug branches in the Forrest.
Merry nightmare monsters,
Cheery snarling chorus,

Arachnic children know;
you can run but you can't hide
from this disparic truth,
darkness waits for you inside.

Although you seek the sun,
as all creaky spinsters might,
the night can't be out done
and it has you in its sight.
Missing piecesMissing pieces

There are wounds
that never heal; silences
so loud they  thunder - I stopped
breathing years ago, that night
the ice took my chest. Since then
I walk  in pieces, howling
around my heart.

-SophieCT, 2012, 2013
Blame The ParentsI won't be able to keep a relationship in the future because I'm scared
I'm scared it'll turn out like theirs

I'm a pacifist because I hate watching it
I hate watching them fight

I have PTSD because of their fights
Their fights almost broke up this family

I self harm because they are pushing me over the edge
I was already close to jumping, but they gave me an extra push

I'm always in my room because that's how I run away
I guess that's called "Like father, like daughter"

I only eat one meal a day because he constantly puts me down
Even though he's joking, I can tell he means every bit of what he says

I can't trust anyone because they do
field notesi read some poetry
just for the sound--for the words lilting up and down
and the thick, honeysepia
polaroids unmisting in my head.
those are the poems i never understand
and the only conclusion i can draw is:
there is apparently
some supernova poetic awakening that comes
with the loss of virginity
and basically i need to get laid.
MorningA black cat sleeps in a ray of sun
My coffee is lousy
Another cardboard morning
The day isn't a blank canvas
Waiting to be painted
Its already scrawled with
Yesterday's mad crayon drawings

Smoke drifts up and out of the window
I drink the coffee
The PoetFor the work of a Poet to be truly appreciated
he must write it with his own blood and tears for ink
his soul the sharpened quill to nail the words
like so many specimen of unwilling insects upon the paper.

And once he has bled out
becoming the cause of his own demise
the reader is left behind to digest his soul
so plainly trapped within a cage of words
his requiem written as a love song to his Muse.
van houten must be godi. you know how in embroidered cloth,
from the bottom under the design,
all you see are knots? her honey-like,
crying
voice lulls me to sleep,
that's what we see of God's plan.
just the knots. when in reality,
it's the design on top;
beautiful and flawless that He
has in store for us.
bullshit.
i learnt that word
when i was three
but every time i said it,
my face hurt and mom's hand fell.
God will put you
in hell.
do you want that?
i knew better than to say it again.
ii. you're an estimated
fallacy, the perfect
misconception.
you don't need to exist
for people to believe.
they make you real with
dancing tongues behind
a crowd
of murmuring lips of
god's will.
iii. of the rain,
i sang songs, whispering
prayers only you
could hear.
if you truly are
what they say for you to be,
then there are no secrets
between you and me.
mother still sings
the same songs
in the rain, hoping
you'll hear her the way
i thought you would.
but she doesn't know you died long ago
with chiv
thieves of nocturne skiesPaper lanterns                                                                                            are midnight requiems
            That tell me                                                                            to look beyond the
                   light and have    &
Monday, Erased and Re-WrittenDawn broke brittle Monday morning, the sky cracked like eggs
(All done in silence beneath the roaring of my tinnitus)
Twenty 'til something and I'm driving out into blazing light
Looking for what, I won't know 'til its found but its
Just so damned bright and quiet and I think of a sniper in the clock tower
Fallen asleep waiting to pick off his targets but how can he sleep
in this goddamned brightness and nothings moving anywhere
Empty streets, has the world called in sick this morning?

Am I awake? Am I alive? Am I in a movie, maybe a character
in someone's book? Why don't I feel anything? Am I waiting for
the writer to tell me how I feel,
Browse More Like This
Download File
HTML, 618 bytes more ▶

More from ~Lryical-Jazz

The Avenueevery school has them
wher kids who aren't
supposed to smoke
do.
every teacher walks on
by, ignoring the sickly
green smoke, it's not
tobacco.
some of these punks are
my friends, claiming that
it's not as bad as the
crank.
i'll plunk my tray down
eating with the munchies
giving away my fries to the
drug-hungry.
and, my little boy, i can't
help but wonder about you
do you join your friends on
the avenue?
Poem Untitled, 2meet me outside the locker, okay?
sure, when? he bit his lower lip
right now?
yeah
can i ask you something? she leaned against the locker, eyes closed, drawing up her courage.
anything
she smiled, will you go out with me?
she didn't catch his answer; she didn't think she'd get that far
when? he repeated, hand inching closer to her's.
oh, she paused, no thoughts forming, technically, i can't 'til I'm 16
so, he glanced at the hallway clock,
school dating it is?
is that a yes? she hadn't planned to get this far, all the guys saw her as a friend
yeah, that's a yes
Valentine's Dayi suppose they'll form a crowd
showing off what they were given
and, they will turn to me last
looking for something, i suppose
they'll ask just what it is
i'll smile a nothing
and, i'll take your hand
knowing the best gift
was an angel from heaven herself
Hey Dadanger spills every pore
fists shake; body quakes
time bomb ticking away
you placed this burden that you couldn't carry
selfishly on my broken heart
how do you sleep with yourself now?
cut me off and left me in the dark
midnight lightning flashes against the night
bringing your lies to center stage
tell what you want to make of me
another goddamn hypocrite like you?
quivering now, shivering now, withering
wandering now, wavering now, weakening
hurting now, listening now, hurting now
with all your salvation lies
never will i ask of you again
"what do i have to do now
   to make you want me?"
i know exactly what you'r

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

February 25, 2008
618 bytes
Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 1
Favourites: 1 [who?]


Views: 56 (0 today)
Downloads: 3 (0 today)
[x]

Edward Scissor Hands

:iconlryical-jazz:

tongues slipping in the dark
between the ears
is all i know of your story
so, i'll cry with you tonight
we'll lose ourselves in the stars
within the branches of the pink dogwoods
because we cannot touch
love.
i watched them massacre you
from behind a pexi-glass screen
as anger pulsed an elevating pain in my ears
so, lie next to me tonight
you'll lose yourself with my amnesia kisses
because you've never touched
love.
:iconturquoise-hibiscus:
~turquoise-hibiscus Aug 31, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Your poetry is beautiful and there should be more comments here
Reply
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
©2013 deviantART. All rights reserved
About Us | Contact Us | Developers | Careers | Site Tour | Help & FAQ Advertise | Premium Membership Etiquette | Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Copyright Policy