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If I were your GodIf I were your God, I would make it rain
Vodka, so you’d be so drunk off life
That you’ll begin to realize that the only
Way to be saved is to save yourself.
I would switch Bible and Qurans,
Qurans and Torahs, So when you
Open them up in your hotel rooms,
You’ll realize words in a different language
Can be just as beautiful. I would
Give you broken wings. You’ll never
Be able to fly with them, but you’d start to see
That your purpose isn’t to fly in the sky,
You’re place is here, it’s now.
TreatyThe long war
Between the heart and brain
A treaty has been signed.
Bringing harmony between self
We call it poetry.
NostalgiaI use to recite the alphabet every day.
I would start at A, but always stop at U,
Then look out at the porch and
Paint her portraits of herself
Made out of words. Colors always ended up
Outside the lines and shapes blurred with tears.
But it never mattered.
These paintings became a gallery
Documenting life in a chronological
Fashion, so when I look back, I could playback
These moments of innocence like movies.
I still find myself reciting the alphabet,
But I’ve moved on to V.
I started coloring inside the lines.
I can see vividly now…. I can see
StoryI know you have a story hidden
In your chest but you’re
Afraid to wear it on your sleeves
For everyone to see. No need
To worry – I’ve seen scarred arms,
I’ve known people who let their
Demons take over their hearts.
Your story is just as valid as
Mine; even if it’s just a fairytale.
BannedMy mind is a library
Lined with banned books.
I've been copying them down
In fear that someone
Will Burn them down.
HeartbeatI’ve twisted my skin
Like clay, to match
‘cause I can’t lie and say
“I don’t want to fuck you.”
Lately, every night
I’ve been feeling
A different heatbeat.
But her heart beats with
A different rhythm
Every time she opens herself up.
And every time she’s around
It’s like light kissing my eyes.
And I realize that,
Even with a pounding headache
And bottles, now only filled with
Sorrow lying by the bedroom floor,
I want to make breakfast together,
I want to mark down days on the
Calendar, I want to…nevermind.
It was probably just the shitty wine.
WastelandI use to put humor in my poetry,
But every drop of funny has since dried up,
Now, this place is a wasteland of memories
Where I dump senseless thoughts to rot.
Some nights, I hear them screaming,
At which case it’s easy to cover it up
Behind the sounds of sirens and razor-blades.
UntitledHe’s looking for a WOMAN – He says,
The previous was lacking, too unpredictable.
He wants the curves of a Sine function without
The head to comprehend it, I suppose.
A soulless monument that he could squeeze
His own into for his own enjoyment.
She told me, she’s looking for a MAN,
With arms of steel that can shoot
To the heavens; with a body like shields
That could protect her from
The cruel titans of the world.
In the corner of the room,
There’s a person resting
In Solidarity – silently waiting
That never showed up.
The Love Story You Gave MeI, We kissed
Your lips tasted like heaven
But you left traces of
Down my throat.
II, We loved
When our skin brushed
the wound on my thigh somehow rooted into buttresses of your veins
It poisoned your heart and
robbed your breath away.
III, I left
That night when your eyes burnt in liquor wildfire
I could smell her perfume on our bed
Your lips tasted like vanilla
And my tears tasted like bitter blizzard.
The Love Story You Gave Me
one of these doesn'tshe used leviticus as wallpaper. we built forts and slept on the carpet and hid all those pages behind torn-up magazines. whenever we moved to a new house, she'd walk from room to room whispering exultation, finger-painting olive oil crosses on all the doors to exorcise the ghosts. must've chased them into my stomach, cause we'd sit for hours yelling at them to leave. her nails made holes in my shoulders so they could slip out quiet, but sometimes i'd start choking, like they were getting stuck up in my throat.
sometimes i'd start laughing.
she'd glare possessed into my skull and see them sliding around somewhere behind the backs of my eyes, but they couldn't hide, not from god and her passion and all the angry fire she burned for christ;
she'd snarl them out senseless, press the book to her belly, sob rebukes salivating until satan wheezed skin from the back of my throat, sucked his neck into my shoulders
seven years old, i figured
AcceptanceI was never born
to be cookie cutter,
I was always the brownie baker,
turning the oven up to 451 degrees Fahrenheit
with a dagger in one hand and a bar of gold in the other
flicking specks of the metal
into my words and watching the town below
blossom into what we call a generation.
Always birthing phrases and dialects about
understanding and acceptance
but never being understood or accepted myself.
"How can that be?" Schrodinger will ask.
I am unwilling to open Pandora's box,
so I guess we will never know.
Simply SmileTo make a person happy
Sometimes may require effort
Other times it can be simple
Being there for a disheartened soul
Consoling them through their grief
One does not need to strive far
To achieve what they want
In purifying a lost cause
You could even say
A act of smiling is all it takes
Making a person know you care about them
Realizing that they aren't alone in the world
They mean some significance to a human
And you could make the earth a better place
For many people
When they need a friend most
The Man with the Gaping EyeThe dusty air of the courtyard never seemed to settle,
invading the lungs of those passing by.
The hot afternoon sun bakes the stone roads black,
light tinged orange.
The man with the gaping eye,
his empty socket a crinkled web of scars.
A blank face looks upon me,
His once strong jaw,
now loose and misshapen from days he wishes he could forget.
He still knows their names,
they have long forgotten his.
His leathery fingers,
gnarled and twisted,
appear like the roots of an ancient oak tree.
Knuckles many times larger than they should be,
are cracked and worn,
weathered by both sun and time.
His calloused feet,
tucked and curled beneath him,
bear the scars and broken bones of times when he forgot,
crushed under foot and hoof.
He has long lost count,
it now hurts too much for him to walk.
His only eye,
it tells the story of his past,
whispering tales about the years of joy he used to have,
days so long gone they became legends to him,
legends he no longer believes in.
now i see the stars.there was a time when i
couldn't catch my breath whenever i
thought about you , (crippled lungs and-
boy, you hit me like an asteroid,
there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,
oceans of my tears cried on
nights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.
thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,
i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,
for a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,
weighted to the ground and
buried in myself, but
where there is no light there are no shadows, and
sometimes, i wonder if i miss me.
yes, yes i do.
i may not see the moon, but
You Were Born Missing SomethingYour skin is glazed with crystals of frost
and your heart's valves are close to
freezing shut tight
from being devoid of something
Though I am torrents of hail, whirling storms,
warm tears streaking, and tornadoes of rage
that flow uncontrollably through my veins
and out of my mouth,
every breath near you is warm
because your words are so cold
I am a natural disaster at its finest
with bones twisted in painful angles
and a crooked spine
you were born spineless
At Sixteen... Ben turned fifty the day he met his birth mother. Her visit wasn't a gift, and there could be no return or exchange. Nancy was now sixty-six. Ben had done the math. In 1964 America, his mother was likely ostracized.
"I can't tell you who your father is, and don't pry further," was all Nancy would say about Ben's paternal descent. They had met in a coffee house near where Ben lived. His mother clearly had little interest in her son’s life. "It's cold in Minneapolis," she said after a silence.
"There are winter activities in the area, mother. I love snow. What do you do for enjoyment in Florida?"
"I suppose you think I play shuffleboard all day and bingo evenings like every other retiree," Nancy said. Ben didn’t know his mother was retired, or what she’d done for work. Minutes after meeting her, he didn't care. But he had to try.
"Mother, I have no idea what your life is like, why don't you tell me? I
Welcome To The InternetSet our sights for the constellations?
Nah, we brought this track from different dimension.
While you’re still look for the towers of Babylon.
We’re moving onwards. Haven’t you heard?
This is what the internet sounds like
So login and tell all your friends.
Hard to believe data’s only a click away
And yet we got to start writing its serenade.
They always told me to live in the moment,
Busy living in just about every timezone.
Always a step ahead from these other kids,
They all center me like Saturn’s rings.
Take a pic, wow…instant hit.
All our heads are saturated.
Made easy for these billionaires
Ha. Welcome to the internet.
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More