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jerry's voice weaves a net
to catch my drunken skin,
sagging and dancing against
his cherry pie voice
warm and sweet in the dark of
the 7:17 dawn,
sun still sleeping behind a tall mountain range.

it makes me ache for open hearted
companions
barefeet wet from dew and black from distance
fearless,
unapologetic as they scream their throats out
raw splattering on the gasping earth from
the heaven high rooftops.

flowers poked through the pores
of ocean flavored skin,
peeling from laying too long
in the morning-faced
sun.

i wonder why people feel
so ancient, when their skin is still so young.
we've built this generation in the
imprisonment of fear,
the shrill avoidance of beauty,
we've forgotten what it feels to be living
free and loving
true,
and that's why you see so many young bones
crumble when their lives have just
begun.
watch the fire flash in my eyes
like
razorblades bearing down on metal
scratching off
silver skin.

the rolling of my naked hips brings more
than just
dynamite lust,
it brings a dragon alive in men,
whispering,
shredding,
screaming,
fire-breathing dragon warriors
ready to fight the wars waging
on my
glowing skin,
eager to be called the winner of my limbs.

with tornadoes in my fingernails
as i scratch their backs,
bringing earthly disasters in my
ethereal touch
as i sweat on top of them
with their hands wrapped like curling vines
around my dancing waist.

look into my eyes and you'll see
the sugar cane in my irises
the pleasure waiting,
the juice waiting to crunch like bones
and run through your teeth
if i only hand you the key.

normal girls wont kiss you
like i will,
and that's why when men look,
they see my curves like a gift from heaven
they want to hear what i have to say,
and at the same time devour me.
be confident.
you are wanted,
you are beautiful.
believe in it.
the funny thing is,
you think i'm still interested.

i don't fall in love with people who leave me
alone,
frigid, frozen
covered in a 9 o'clock night rain
with a piping cup of peppermint tea in my shaking fingers and
nowhere to walk except home.

you only ever touched me once
and that was centuries ago
when my lungs were new and fresh,
and i didn't come home smelling like ashtrays and stolen lilac
perfume.

i'm not a little girl anymore,
and i dont cry when red lights shine down
and people scream into microphones
with sweat sliding of the sides of their faces
cheeks shiny like stainless steel coffee pots.

i'm not attracted to you,
just like i'm not interested in your friend
that i ******
who tasted like american spirits and greed
because it's not worth looking at boys
who will never, ever satisfy you
or understand even the tips
of your fingernails
and golden brown split ends.
do you ever start chinking away
breaking, cracking the stone, hard mineral, steel cold
barrier of your heart
so it'd be impossible for someone else
to do it for you?

white wine pungent, soft
clinking glass against an empty chasm
sunlight
hard wood draped in sleeping veneer.

cascading drapes against
violet
         dark
                 stagnant bruised skin left alone and slowly freezing over.
smoke leaking through whispering
dry lips chapped with desert words
lack of moisture creating canyons
hidden inside desperate mouths.

it's breaking like a frozen over
ashy, navy, drowning lake.
my own fault,
i always start breaking my own heart.
my own form of life insurance.

it's fogged over like a magnifying glass,
cracking across the two foot surface because
the strangled fish can't breathe under all
the permafrost and ice.

i'm waiting impatiently for summer;
i hate this cold.
wet
in the shower,
i pretend that the burning hot
water
raining down on my body
are your soft and callous fingers
warm and wet
july heat;
seep through
my skin.

i arch my back, push my ******* toward the
low hanging ceiling
and i pretend that the water
hitting my throat
are your lips
kissing my neck
carefully.
i pretend that the steam is your breath
escaping,
but then i open my eyes and i am
alone
and it is cold winter not the summer *****
of July.

"let me use the shower!"
someone yells.
i pull the water to a stop, and it trickles
as the feel of your kisses dwindle
in January
chill.
written in January
"how strange it is to be anything
at all"

sometimes i look
at my skin
and wonder why we have
branches growing out of lined palms,
and wonder why
our eyeballs look like galaxies
compacted

and i realize that there is no answer
but to stop thinking about it
and just
live
for ***** sake.
please take me into the
forest, deep
with tall redwoods and let me feel the rocks like
swords under my callous feet.
where we can watch the sunset from
up above the tilting world, sitting on our thrones
made of Marlboro filters and sticks
on a mountain cliff.
we'd be cliffhangers
and thieves and vagabonds, painting ourselves
with the blue tinted night
like the deepest parts of
the
sea
far from the wandering grasp of
reality.
watch the stars with eyes like
flickering lightbulbs,
shining yellow in empty, echoing rooms.
bring along four bottles
of wine,
one for each of us.

we'll drink until theres wine slipping past our cheeks
like some kind of blood-orange sob,
leaking out our hollowed belly-buttons
rivers running swift through the lines of our
palms.
wounded from every pore with the blood of
our intoxication;
magenta tongue stained skin.

would you let me take your hand and lead you
through the empty, knocking dark
and sing to you in the soft moments of
before morning?
would you trust me enough to
close your eyes
and let me lead you in a bruised,
tumbling
drunken journey to the top of the
highest mountain?
we could lay in the summer blanketed wind
made of dancing sky and
burning earth.
close our eyes and stop the earthquake in
our minds,
wake up with the sunshine seeping through
every corner of our aching
bodies,
roses growing out of our jigsaw jaws and puzzle piece
crumbling ribs and lungs;
see through our sober fingers and
wandering eyes
a different world than it was at
midnight.
b.h.
parched lips tinged with
sunset,
you knew i was escaping before
you even held
me
and said goodnight;
look me in the face next time.

a.d.
maybe if you were
the sun, i'd be the moon
floating on a little boat,
miles beneath you, melting through
the wooden splinters and rusted nails
bathing in whiskey seeping from leaks
and late night tiptoed desires.

r.m.
you barely moved, still but shaking in
ecstasy like a fallen leaf
balancing on a current.
i wanted your hands all over me;
i'm not sorry i made you angry and livid
like a rabid dog,
but i regret crying over you because
you were
never worth it.

b.b.
*** and **** stain
the memories like an old carpet
they're so far back in my head,
we were such different people
that i wonder if it really counts.
it doesn't,
but i'm glad you we're there.

c.m.
i only recently noticed
we have the same initials,
and that probably explains
the way i kissed you.
your touch started after my birthday,
your hands sculpted my bones as my cells
we're replaced,
like they will be every other 7 years.
it feels so far away and vacant
and i guess you always really were the
Nowhere Man.

m.g.
your lip bites were like the ravenous cold,
on top of spanning roofs
when the moon was heavy and ripe amidst
the cotton field clouds
my long skirt draped like curtains over
our secrets.

a.f.
*** in a leafless forest
trunks naked and bare,
dwindling at the tops, skinny and clueless.
you whispered the lyrics into my
cascading hair
and i sang along.
chocolate skin
against golden,
i could smell the burnt wood
embedded in your pores.

j.r.
you should have expected me to lead you on,
get bored and flee before you ask anything else from me,
even though i've taken all of you.

a tip: never again trust girls with equally brown hair and eyes
because they use both
to strangle and drown you

you have a kind heart,
and i hope you got the mud stains out of your clothing.

j.w.
nicotine bitten tongues
wet and slippery
your fingers dug deep
and you held my hair as i spilled
my lust all over you.
i fell asleep to your soft, drunk snores
and woke up to a fresh cup of piping hostility,
i wish i spilled it on your leg.

n.o.
you have nice eyebrows,
but maybe i should have read your initials.
i'd never let you touch me again;
too frantic, and you we're panicked because you
didn't know how to touch
a woman.
i could feel it on your breath,
like you we're afraid i'd dissolve right there
on the bed.
i'm sorry you wasted two mixtapes and a
broken cigarette
on a girl who doesn't want to be anybodies.

d.
you tasted faintly of bread
and ***** chaser.
i still don't know
what you look like
exactly,
i only know you we're twenty four
and liked when i spoke Spanish
because i have a very skilled tongue.

s.a.
a bathroom floor
tiles dimly illuminated,
skin soft, whispering
it probably would cave in
and leave us falling
under all our temper and temperature;
we'd crumble like a house of cards
in the plumbing and winding pipes
below.
INSPIRED by the beautiful, amazing poet Wednesday. go check her out. http://hellopoetry.com/oldstarsigns/
 Jan 2014 anothershrubbery
carmen
A constant stream of justifiable lies. Contorts what I want from my life.
What used to seem impossible is now my reality
but I'm not so sure I want it anymore
because it is different
so different than what I thought it would be

Is it worth the games I'm forced to play in order to dream?

Today is hard but tomorrow will be worse because I will wake up to hate
reflected back at myself

There are so many things I should do. There are so many things I should want.
Do we not define our own success? Each to their own version of happiness?

But all I keep thinking is
I shouldn't be eating
cp
Fear has been eating me up inside.
I'm a dancer who is  not sure she can stand another glance in the mirror.
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