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Standardsit’s okay

she whispered in the shell of your ear
and smelt salt on your cheek. oceans

that was where you spent your day.

it’s okay that you don’t come home
and it’s okay  your daughter
doesn’t know your name and it’s okay
that I am shifting to the mailman for advice
it’s okay that I would move mountains for you
but you won’t even cross town for me

it’s okay

she told you she was moving over coffee
and you asked her where
not why
and she said anywhere
and you said that’s not a real answer
damn it where are you taking my daughter
and she said nothing. she placed the mug
in the sink
Of boats and boutsWinter leaking into our phosphate spines
Fingers curled and clawing at sun baked whispers behind our lips
Trying to convey what silence tastes like on parched lungs
Misfortune snapping at our humming bird fingertips
The lost do not wish to be found.
Frigid.Without you I'm a winter heart:
a cold sunset and
a cloudy sunrise,
a night on my shoulder
like a ten minute dream
amidst the silent snow --

nothing lasts forevermore.

Ice on fire,
a melting dream,
three ways to
break apart;
will you feel anything at all
when the rain stops and
when the heart freezes?
RuminationShe’s not made of bones
(or sinew, or keratin,
or protein)
and her back doesn’t elope a spine
to lean on, her weight
heavier than earth-bones.
The gushes of oil spills flowing like rain
is the only rivulet in her tears,
the fuel in her blood.

Conjoined with the nuts and bolts found
in the pits of Father’s attic
jaundice skin's impenetrable,
even to the flickering of the candle’s flame
hair rough as ash and long as veins--
she was a battlefield.

But there’s a heart that beats
somewhere in her chest,
rattling like broken teeth;
trying,
trying to shake its enigma loose

trying to thump,

trying to pump,

tr
Ghostfog wraps around
       bare-naked, skeletal
               trees,
and she wanders
       aimlessly,
               like a lost child
(without him).

he had once told her,
       to be fooled by your emptiness
               is crazy,
there is so much
               more room for
                       bliss.

but he had ripped
       out her heart,
               and now she is struggling to survive
in this world, alone –

but there is a difference between
       surviving and living,
               and without august, oh darling august,
she has simply existed –

she is a ghost of who she was.
MarrowI caught my reflection by her
silk spun lips; She was
as beautiful as the slender
moon. She doesn't say
hello too often but this
time she lingered quite a bit longer
than usual - so it sounded by the
ticks on the old grandfather
clock down the hall.

What a delicate heart she holds.
How heavy it must be to carry - I
could see the weight in her
rain cloud eyes. She has never looked
so sweet, to me, even with those
hollow bruises underneath. Terse
or not, I found my marrow. And while
I could not keep hold for long; it was
something that had been lost for such
a long time. It is still there, I see -
I have seen. How

hastily I fell for her di
Red Rum and ChardonnayShe's got these hands that
memorize and define her,
wrap her up in a pretty bow
like a package to be shipped off
to another destination
because that's all she has ever
wanted was a little excitement,
a little freedom that will carry
her to a place where she doesn't feel
like all there is in life is open skies
and flatness and normal.

She's got hands that I want to
hold to make her stop running.
I want to take those hands and
tell her that no matter where
she goes she still has me and
even when we're old and withering
in our rocking chairs I'll still call her
and ask her if she remembers
that time when we went walking
on
Bleachingi.
So far beyond black
there has been a whiting

Ten arrows shot
and the moon blew out

Took my color as I
took her heart

ii.
Do not be surprised
when night follows

Puts his shadow at your back
and tugs at your ankles

I will be at your neck
a finger trailing

iii.
The moon
I rarely give thought

Her pale too stark
for my black

Her pale now paled
to yours

iv.
Did I love her?
No one holds an orbit

No one; she told me
black was much the same

      well-
I'm willing to wager my pale
if you'll wager in kind
re-interpretation of maniamaybe you are not
studying to be a doctor.
you might instead

be standing on
the guardrail of a major highway,
rearranging the lyre-strings

that will play
over the wreckage shifting in your skin
until they break.

will you still come home
flustered and rosy
in a whirlwind of slammed doors?

forever the violent & reflecting city sunset
who breathes me
against the wall saying
i want to love everyone
in the whole world
Angel in a CageMy angel's wings were already cut,
long before I joined her life.  

I have watched as her body entrapped her,
bar by bar, rusting away,
painfully slowly, yet much too soon.

Her fingers have bent into right angles,
knuckles swollen,
so now her hands
don't even look like hands anymore.  

She never has a moment free of pain,
but she only ever cries with a smile on her face.  
Christmas cards get her every time.

You can't give strength in a last will,
so I need her to hold my hand till
I find my own.  
I'm too young to say goodbye.  
Blackbird please, please fly by.

My angel, my hero…
Keep shining on me.

Someday her cage wil
supplication for bath salts and blessingsdear courtney,

i am proud of you. we play war games with ourselves,
i know, but if we are pliant enough to be convinced
of our worth, then we can save each other.

tonight, two longfingered nailtipped fists
wound their grips around my lungs and squeezed.

i am not strong, courtney. i am afraid, courtney,
but you convince me of what i deserve (because

you would not love a stupid thing would not love
a ruined thing would not stand to love a leper)

and what i deserve
is

.

dear courtney,

i feed buckets of ice to the coolers and i grind
komodo dark roast coffee beans in anticipation for
the cups its steamrolling spillstreams will fill and

Defeatdrowning bodies of fishermen
engulfed in the
fearless sea,
enveloped by the songs of sirens
and suffocated by their skeletal hands,
their cries carried by the waves.
zeroi swore
i would never number the poems
i wrote about myself because that
would be like ticking off the days
until my breakdown;

i was a moth, unapologetically throwing myself
at any gleam of hope; wasting my wings
on industrial promises

colors always felt much more
appropriate for the purple boiling
beneath my heart and the pallid
purposelessness of my head,

but i was born into a colorless world--

no one sees me behind the metallic scars
of my skin and iron grating of my voice against
the grain; no one sees me as more than
gray regret or monochrome mistakes,
no one sees me but

all i ever wanted was for a
fallen god with feathered he
Wonderland
I tell you Wonderland exists. I've seen it with my own mad eyes, cats with smiles, plants as big as your head and bigger than the things inside it. I've seen Alice as she runs with me, oh we never stop running, running, running. Ask me a riddle and I will always answer correct, even if the asker says it is not. For he fails to see that everything can do anything, and my answer is everything. They say madness is a disease and yet I see it giving you freedom of reality. I'm always happy that I see the right way round. Because I'm always off my head.
Mermaid Serenademermaids serenade humans,
and use them as their slaves,
drowning them in the ocean,
their cries carried by the waves.
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She set Fire to Herself

:iconravenwritingclaw:

We’re just two kids who
cannot share our toys
except
toys have turned
into cigarettes, bus passes,
olive branches,
and hearts
like

I wake up at 2:46 a.m.
every morning
and am hauntingly aware
of your heartbeat
it

pulsates in my floor boards,
shaking my typewriter
free of its perch
and

every morning at 2:48 a.m.
I crawl to it and write
the same love story
again and again
but

do you know the worst part?

It’s not even our story.
:iconravenwritingclaw:
I can't seem to write happy poetry. I feel like I keep writing the same story over and over and I don't know how to stop or if I even want to.

Written at 1:06 a.m. prompt from #paper-forests I suggest you all go follow them because it honestly has some of the best poetry/prose I've read on dA.

How did you like the line structure? Do you think I write too much of the same story?

Enjoy! Comment if you wish!
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:iconhillsofmyst:
=HillsOfMyst Apr 30, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Your wonderful work has been featured here!
I'd really appreciate it if you could give some love to the other featured pieces and :+fav: the journal! :heart:
Reply
:iconravenwritingclaw:
~ravenwritingclaw Apr 30, 2013  Professional Writer
Thank you so much! :heart:
Reply
:iconhillsofmyst:
=HillsOfMyst Apr 30, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
You're very welcome! :)
Reply
:iconpepsiboy81:
~Pepsiboy81 Apr 12, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
"I wake up at 2:46 a.m.
every morning
and am hauntingly aware
of your heartbeat
it"

The structure of the stanza is incredible, how you've focused the heartbeat at the end, turning it monstrous in a sense just by the simple use of "it" (even Frankenstein's monster, was a "he", you see?)

And then at the end it just disintegrates into obscurity, reference of nothing that even exists, accordingly. Love this a lot.
Reply
:iconravenwritingclaw:
~ravenwritingclaw Apr 12, 2013  Professional Writer
I'm incredibly grateful for your comment and am glad you liked the poem :heart: Thank you also for the :+fav: and :+devwatch:
Reply
:icontuishimi:
*Tuishimi Apr 9, 2013
This is great. Poignant (I don't really like using that word but it really is).
Reply
:iconravenwritingclaw:
~ravenwritingclaw Apr 9, 2013  Professional Writer
Thank you :heart:
Reply
:iconsebastiangrimm:
~SebastianGrimm Apr 2, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
The same story can be told by infinite points of view and every one of them could be utterly bad or amazingly good.

I enjoyed reading this a lot, the last two lines are very strong and give a strong punch to the sanity :)
Reply
:iconravenwritingclaw:
~ravenwritingclaw Apr 2, 2013  Professional Writer
Thank you :heart: I appreciate it :) and thanks for the :+devwatch: as well!
Reply
:iconsebastiangrimm:
~SebastianGrimm Apr 2, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
No worries :D My pleasure :D
Reply
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