[x]

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

i got flowers oncei am lonely.
i received flowers once
and i placed them
in a vase til
the petals all browned
desiccated
and turned to dust
on the glass of my bureau.

i have never gotten flowers since.

i spend my days
with a boy
a man
whom i love far beyond reason
and he holds me in his arms
and holds me together.

i bite my nails
and pull my hair
over the moment when he
inevitably
feels the disenchantment
fall over his body,
all clean lines
and smooth shapes,
and realises that leaving
the worst thing
would be
the best thing.

i am lonely
and even with a hand to hold,
and even with a cloak of security
bunching around my shoulders
and hiding my thighs,
i feel

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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,

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ScissorLike clockwork it's time for it to be done
Secretly, like a midnight sun.
Make flesh start to unravel.
Mind wishes it was the target to be hit.
The heart won't let the skin again split.
Too bad your ears have been left at home.
If you knew; it'll just bring you shame,
but only because you think the deed was for fame.
Maybe you'll drop a tear for 15 minutes.
but in the end I'm the one who still feels it.

Dog DaysA shaking little, beaten up dog, thrown out, never again to be seen.
Matted fur, cataract eyes, not knowing what the next day will bring.
Left in the cold, hard rain, to be all alone and slow to die.
So many animals around, no one can hear him whimper and cry.
No collar, no leash, no family pet has ever been giving to him.
Even God dons no pure light like he is a deadly sin.

No expression left on him, not even a sad frown.
For the world has done a great job, beating the poor dog down.
No Humans want him for a pet, no green tennis balls, or hugs.
No belly rubs, leg kicks. No sweet kiss to his ugly mug.
Yet, dreaming of good things do

Truly MorbidIt's sicking, cold, burnt into memory
those glossed over empty eyes.
Falling deep into your skull
being the witness to the end, yet
still laying there. Motionless with
stiff joints and complete lack of
motor responses. Everyone can still
see you but, can't at the same time.
No more laborered breathing. The
color sapped from from lips.
Grey now black, all that's left is
a chilling husk. Skin tone lost forever.
No more moments left to experience.

Senses FallI yell in your face, but you do not hear,
wave in front of you, but you can't see,
and this lack of sense responses
is putting me into deep atrophy.
I can Strike you hard, and no bruise forms
and the sweat off my brow won't touch your nose.
Being silent, invisible, ethereal, have no aroma
This forever need to taste all of life
can put me into a never wakening coma.

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untitled

by ~peanut-time, Jul 13, 2008, 5:00:34 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Been told I'm a gallant knight, that I'm
perfect, always last forever.
It's only because I keep my head
above the water, through calm and
chaotic weather.

When has forever had an end.
When you say stop, it's your
heart that gets to mend.
Stuck to remember everything.
Walling in what could be. You're
lucky you forget me easily. A
blow the head only sets me free.

I'm not your savior, and I'll never be
I woke you with a kiss, now you seem to
think you're sleeping beauty.
The first thing you see, my eyes,
it's not fair.
I just saved you from death, and later
you'll put me in despair. Living
with the guilt of wanting to be happy.
Taking full advantage of what could be.

Take control of every aspect. When I
laugh, and when I cry. When we see
each other, and when we say goodbye.
Love sounds great, so inviting.
So don't ever choose me.
I'm tired of being someone's faux,
prince charming.

untitledby ~peanut-time

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

No one will read this. If you do it's because of these comments....crazy eh?

~mascaraCoverStorie Jul 13, 2008 Student

_{If that's your reality, Jesus, I'm sorry.}

~peanut-time Jul 16, 2008

Either I can't see that it isn't that way, or it is and no one else can understand. Either way it's pretty bad.

~mascaraCoverStorie Jul 16, 2008 Student

_{Ah. This piece is well-written, in any regard, it made me think.}

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