Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Carsyn Smith Mar 2015
Remember as if I am sand
See as if I am a mirage
Listen as if I am a prophet
Breathe as if I am nectar
Kiss as if I am ambrosia
Speak as if I am stone
Touch as if I am glass
Fight as if I am life
Forget as if I am death
Walk as if I am a mile
Run as if I am plague
Love as if I am her
Old - January 30, 2015
found in an untitled document
Carsyn Smith Feb 2016
"I love you, a lot. Don't break my heart, please. It ***** when people do that to you. I did it to someone else to be with you so please don't do it to me because that'd ****, a lot, because I love you."
He broke my heart two days later.
Carsyn Smith May 2014
Today I listened to our song.
The very thing that I avoided
like a plague that might **** me --
I forced myself through every second,
exactly three minutes and forty seven seconds.
Every note, measure, and lyric
was a shake in my once impenetrable fortress --
a reminder that even I am not perfect.
Carsyn Smith Apr 2015
My tears are the purest ivory and the thickest acid: they are only shed when my heart stumbles.
Word ***** part two
Carsyn Smith Sep 2015
Late September kisses the nape of my sweat beaded neck
as I watch the sun rise over the towering skyline of the city.
71D heading east on 5th Avenue --
its four-ways pulsing like a heartbeat monitor.
My legs ache as I pull myself into its hollowed out torso;
my eyes itch, my lips throb, my skin resonates memories
of hours drowning in late night revels as I lean against the side
of the beast coasting towards the awakening autumn sky.
The hum of its breathing vibrating my lungs and
shaking the soles of my worn converse, the orange washed clouds
filling the spaces between metal towers like some sort of abstract painting.
I sway and bounce to the beat of its wheels on these barren streets,
each jolt shooting more pain through my spine
until I radiate with a dull red hue. The glow pours over my body
and washes onto its floors, dissipating into its skeleton and
leaving me chilled. The beast groans, the sun now glaring
through into the driver's eyes, as it pulls to a short stop.
I step out, ignoring the aches as Morning's hand guides me home,
back to my bed,
to sleep away Evening's drunken hands and puffed breath.
Prompt: Your experience on a bus ride (where did you go? did you forget anything? where you comfortable?)

Word ***** about an early morning bus ride after a late night
Carsyn Smith Jul 2015
It's so ******* hard to get rid of you when you're most of who I am.
Carsyn Smith Jun 2013
On the day you were born,
Two Candles were it.
They were two very different towers:
One just a lump of discolored, black, wax,
The other a solid Construction of white.

Now it's your first day of school,
Two Candles burn.
They are still very different towers:
One a hill of black wax,
The other a Mountain of white.

High school rolls along,
Two Candles blaze on.
They are shifting, changing shapes:
One is a small house of blacks and brown,
The other is a Mansion of white wax.

Your wedding day has arrived,
Two Candles shine.
They are nearly the same hight:
One is a dandelion of black,
The other is a Sunflower of white.

The day has come to light new candles:
Two Candles for a new life.
They are with no similarity:
A puddle of black,
A Waterfall of white.

You watch their candles change:
Two Candles for your child.
They alter:
Growing black
Shrinking white.

And as you watch theirs, you loose track of your own.
Two Candles dying.
A Tower of black,
A mound of white.

You're on your death bed.
Two Candles flicker
Black grows strong with a red flame,
white shrinks with a small blue fire.

They lower you into Earth.
One Candle rages on.
Black - strong and tall as ever.
white is no longer.

They place your Candle
With the billions of others.
You name engraved in silver.
That's what you will be known for: a tower of black wax.
Carsyn Smith Jan 2015
They found me curled up in your old Tshirt
Old notes ripped and crumpled from a strong grip
And trembling from the withdraw

I thought I knew nothing of addiction
Until I tried 24 hours without --
Without craving you in some way.

The sound of your name is like
A sip of alcohol to an AA member

Your cologne is a shot of ******:
Exciting and gone before you know it

Your eyes are like a sniff of coke
Making my whole body shiver

Your touch is like sitting in a haze
Relaxing, familiar, amnesic…

I wish everything you did could go away,
So when I take a draw tonight,
The smoke won't have anything to cover.
I don't understand why I miss you so much, when I know you're no good for me
Carsyn Smith May 2013
That look.
That eye piercing, judgmental, closed expression that leaves you closed out.
She’s already made up her mind. She’s done speaking even before words
were spoken. She’s done. It doesn't matter what you say now, no matter
the white in your words. She’s constructed a story, in that rock thick
head, it’s become a truth. And even if the two of you were to find
some kind of agreement, she will always express doubt. She will
always think you're telling a lie. She'll walk away, ready to tell
the story she’s constructed and place words in your mouth.
And you’ll cry, in the room right above her. You’ll cry in
frustration, and anger, as a distasteful flavor fills your
mouth – the taste of false quotation and fabricated
words. The part that’s going to **** you inside is
the fact that you're going to go back downstairs
and act like nothing ever happened in that room
right above her. If she can’t hear you when you’re
right in front of her, there’s no way she’d hear the sound
of dozens of tears as they roll down your cheek and crash onto
the hardwood floor. A stain that will remain for only a few moments,
then it'll dry out, dead. And you'll put on a façade and agree with her lies
because you never wanted any trouble. You never wanted to see her mad or
disappointed. You'll just agree because you convinced yourself it’s the right thing
to do. Well everytime you lie to yourself, it adds a pebble to your back. You’ll
become a slave to these lies and carry them everywhere. And with each one
you’ll feel more and more alone until you're about to snap. You’ll go to her
for comfort and she'll tell you everything is okay and that this is just
teenage angst. Another lie, placed into your mouth as you agree.
Another pebble. Another back break. Another tear.
But who’s counting? You are. Who cares?
You do. And, in the end,
who’s alone?
You are.
I try not to rant in my poems, but I feel like this just had to be said.
Carsyn Smith Jul 2014
I'm Mona Lisa.
I miss a paint brush's sweet strokes,
the smell of fresh paint,
his shadow as he labors.
My darling Leonardo.
I've always wondered if Mona Lisa misses Leonardo Da Vinci. Not the person depicted, but the actual painting itself.

A Tanka is a Japanese poem with lines 5/7/5/7/7
Carsyn Smith Oct 2014
I am nothing but footprints in the sand
to him.
Odious, he who left me to fight the tides,
promised me forever.
How long is forever?
                               Three years, two months,
                               Eleven days, an hour
                               and twenty-three seconds.
Now he’s back,
expecting a norm so chimerical.
But, disconsolate as I am,
sleeping ‘til body withered--
crying ‘til eyes dusted--
Yet he’s obdurate to this, my Odious.
No amount of imprecations
can succor this heartbreak.
My armored skin,
antiquated from battles long and harsh--
turned to mere paper against his words.
He has me by the corner,
above the red, red flame
and wants to act like I am not burning.
Such a silver tongue, my Odious,
he can fabricate like no other.

My dear Odious,
     Leave me to fight the tides,
     as I hope your Promethean fever
     leaves you as cold
     and as alone
     as your true heart.
Yours always,
Carsyn Smith Jun 2013
Life is like a river,
ever changing, never stopping.
The river is supposed to take our worries,
our flaws, our mistakes,
and carry them downstream -- far away.
But what of the items that sink?
The worries that get stuck to the rocks?
The flaws that wash up on shore?
Branches fall from nearby trees and
while they sit there, they trap other things --
things that were on their way to being forgotten.
If life's a river,
what are the fish that choose to swim upstream?
Life is like a river.
Some patches are rough with white water,
some sections are smooth and soft,
others are full with piles of stones ---
testing our cunning and flexibility
Memories are painful --
but sometimes we must go back upstream
and remove the things that hold us there.
If not, our journey downstream
will become haunted by ghosts
that should be resting.
Carsyn Smith Apr 2014
If you don't want me to go,
don't push me away.
If you don't want me to stay,
don't pull me closer.
If you don't want to remember,
don't ask me to explain.
Tell me to leave
only after you've held me close.
Tell me you hate me
only after you've stolen a kiss.
Tell me you're sorry
only after you've left bruises.

Tell me you love me
and I'll stay.
Carsyn Smith Jul 2014
I've reached the point
where all I want to do
is scream; curse the world;
cry until no tears are left.
Girls who told me lies:
"no boy will come between us"
"we're friends forever."
How silly of me to think
they meant those bound words?
My heart hurts because of them
I loved them like kin
But how quickly they've left me
because of a bruise:
a small mark on my neck's side.
It's just a hickey.
But they don't want to be friends
with a "****" like me.
It's not my fault they're lonely
not my fault I'm loved.
I want to blame jealousy,
but I'm just running
to the arms of Patriarch
crying in His sleeve
begging for His forgiveness.
Because this hickey,
the same ****** mark as
scratches on men's backs,
marks me as a ***** ****
and him as a man.
But we're friends forever, right?
Or was that before
I had the gall to love him?
But that shouldn't matter, right?
Because something like
a boy won't separate us.
How stupid am I
to actually believe
I thought I found friends?
Girls are such terrible things
we deal in weapons
of silence, gossip, and blame:
things that do not show
things that will bleed the heart dry.
My heart is bleeding out: *D  R  Y
Just an angry rant full of tears, regret, and boiling blood.
Carsyn Smith Jan 2016
And then she was a chasm,
A cavity of weakness;
Void of throat shredding screams,
Drowning in mind mincing whispers.
She is now hollow of all
But a single reverberating beat
Clawing at the Heaven she yearns for.

But she is now a chasm,
A cavity of sorrow;
She found the space behind her ears
Home to hundred-legged creatures;
Her mouth's roof now scarred
From the family of nesting bats;
The glow worms that once illuminated her dark eyes

That is all she will ever be:
A Chasm.
Her bones broke when she joined the mountain side.
Muscles turned to moss, skin to crumbling stone.
Her lashes are now the stalagmites and stalactites
And although she did not open her eyes to this,
She is no neophyte to the mountain's arms.
She simply allows herself to forget for a time.
C. E. Smith

Sometimes I just lay in bed and a phrase comes to me and I have to write about it: "And then she was a chasm." What does that mean to you?
Carsyn Smith Apr 2015
2B or not 2B -- that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to trust
The estranged memory of my parked car,
Or to take arms against the flight of stairs
And, by ascending, remember. 1A, one floor --
No steps -- and by 1A to say we end
The footache and the thousand natural shocks
That heel is heir to -- ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. 1A, one floor --
One floor, perchance no callis. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in these shoes of death what callis may come,
When we have shuffled off these mortal streets,
The lot must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of memories.
For who would bear the sores of party shoes,
Th’ endless rows of resting vehicles,
The low ceilings and countless steps,
The insolence of the inebriated, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,
When he himself might end the fuddled search
With a local inn? Who would challenge the stairs,
To grunt and sweat under buzzed breath,
But that the dread of someone waiting at home,
The undiscovered disappointment from whose bourn
No party-er returns, shaming the conscience
And makes us rather storm the steps to 2B
Than face anger we wish we knew not of?
Thus a spouse’s fury does make heroes of us all,
And thus the reality of ten more steps
Is boiled in the evening’s song and merriment
With little regard whether the car is parked in 1A
Or perhaps upstairs in 2B. -- Harsh you now,
The ground that catches me. -- Cushion, concrete bed,
I think I shall rest here.
A parody of Hamlet's "To be or not to be" speech.
Carsyn Smith Jun 2013
My heart hangs hellaciously,
swinging on sickened strings,
bleeding blackened blood and
singing sad songs to itself.
It's a new creature,
a freshly feathered phoenix,
the hatred hardening the heart
until the blackened blood
drips and dries
to reveal an
opaque obsidian coat --
a thing of great omnipotent and omniscient.
Carsyn Smith Dec 2016
If he were a canvas,
     My fingers through his dark hair
     Would be gentle whips of cornflower
     Or the shade of the southern shores
     Aching for sun kissed sands.

     The deep tint of the midnight hour
     Is the feel of my palm on his cheek;
     Unspoken words spark between our skin,
     Igniting as I am red phosphorus and he is sulfur.

If he were a canvas,
     Our breathless laughter
     Is a warm canary radiating
     Across all the dark spaces we ignore
     Like solitary candles in suburban windows.

     Our hushed voices on the pillow
     Is the gold with which the sun shines;
     The reflection of my heart in his eyes
     Is silver like a glowing full moon.

If he were a canvas,
     My lips gently grazing his forehead
     Are a soft powder pink,
     Like the petals of an awakening rose
     Or the shade of clouds draped in dawn

     But when mine meet his, amaranth.
     A ceaseless incandescence
     Of raw desire and a hint of diffidence
     From a flower seeded in our gray matter.

     When he touches my skin
     It’s in shades of pine and dandelion and wisteria
     And suddenly I see the painting
     Has covered the painter in romantic chaos

And it is the apron they put on display.
Carsyn Smith May 2013
One Rose.
One Rose is beautiful, special, unique.

One bouquet.
One bouquet is overwhelming, unoriginal, common.

One Rose.
One Rose that has been nursed from a seed, watched grow, and given at the perfect time.

One bouquet.
One bouquet that was hastily picked, paid for, and given out of fit.

One Rose.
One Rose is all a person truly needs.

One bouquet.
One bouquet if you haven't found your Rose just yet.
Carsyn Smith May 2013
There's a voice on my left,
sweet as syrup and smooth as silk,
it says things I've longed to hear.
But, at the same time,
There's a voice on my right,
painful as a potent poison and raw as rigid razors,
it says things I never wanted to descry.
But is it the angel that whispers
sweet nothings
or is it the devil?
Should I layer myself like a grain of sand in an oyster
or should I dive, head first, into the cold water?

And now, a different voice whispers to me,
sweet and angelic.
It must be an angel, to be so kind and gentle.
This new voice leads me away,
Washing away my layers,
growing closer and closer and closer
to the sand that hides beneath it all.
Are you the devil in disguise
or an angel undercover?
If I reach out, will I be burned?
If I let you hold my heart, will you break it?
So many questions, so many possibilities, so much uncertainty,
surrounding this one voice,
Your voice.
Another revision of "I've lost myself." Shortened and reconfigured. Enjoy :)
Carsyn Smith Jan 2013
When the sun rises, the shadows come out. They stretch
over the dewed grass and up the brick walls. They hide
from the light that only makes them stronger.
Without light, there would be no shadows.
We think we can destroy them, using our
light. But really, they’re always there,
scattered, stretched, faded, on the
turf of the football field. My
shadow is no different. It
lurks behind me when
I walk to the bus stop.
It stretches over the
uneven sidewalk and
into the tar-spotted street.
Even at school, where the light
shines from the ceiling. It sits quietly
under my desk. Or when I perform, and the light
shine in front of me, it will dance with me, a secret duet.
Carsyn Smith Dec 2014
I think…

yes, I know, a dangerous pastime.
I was wondering silently among
the silent rolling hills and cowering the
booming tempest that has become
my mind. I stumbled upon your grave
once more. A small grot wedged
into the hillside, overlooked by the
darkest and loudest of storms,
flashing bright, illuminating, so that
I might never forget what lies here.
I sat with you and we exchanged words,
the grass above you whispering into
the wind, caressing my face once more,
but my heart does not sway like the
leaves of the Life Tree anymore. So
I found myself thinking…
about how very fragile trust is
about how little people put in one another,
but how quickly the blame burns blue.
A flame like that engulfs more than skin, dear,
it is still hungry after the house is gone
and the city sits in ruins. It came for you and I,
I can almost see it now, sitting among the rubble.
It took something from me, but left it in you.
I think my mother told me once,
that lone wolfs are alone for a reason,
and now I see why. But I digress…

I think…
the reason why the blue fire took me,
a simple notion that is clear to me now,
you couldn't trust, so you can’t be trusted.
Oh, where the mind goes when left to wonder...
Carsyn Smith Apr 2015
Drop the leaf, and allow yourself relief.
Much like the mysteries of lifeless time,
Much like my cursed gift of endless rhyme,
I can not tell you why comes the nighttime.
From my great wisdom, I can tell you this:
Let thy leaf fall and give mine roots a kiss,
And I can offer what you look for -- bliss.
For your sake I prayed I be false in sight,
Now you breathe and your life must thank thy knight.
Foolish is he to look for death to spite,
Now a price you must pay to make things right.
Oh dear gods, you victim child of fate,
The jealous martyr will demand and wait
For thine toll now that you see death’s black gate.
The Dreaming Tree. I don't do drugs, my mind just breathes differently. <3
Carsyn Smith May 2015
So a guy asked me out the other day, but I was so scared he'd be too much like you that I said "no," and I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult anymore.
Sorry I haven't posted anything in a long while, I've had a lot on my mind
Carsyn Smith Oct 2013
The dullest life lived
is one lived never fully
aware of the world
Carsyn Smith Jun 2013
Snow was a carpet in the front lawn.
The tree loomed in the corner, proudly
decorated with tinsel and ornaments. Piles
of springs and cushions blocked the window,
blocked the cold breath of Father. But as the snow
melted, the Earth began to wake. The tree was
removed, place aside to be set ablaze, and the
leather and tweed was moved to let Mother
in. It was always open, letting the smell
of Her warmth float onto the carpet.
Little brothers liked to invite
the rainy ground inside, let
it splatter the wood and
coat the cushions.
When the sun
shone brighter,
hotter, machines
lured the sticky air
inside, and blew a fresh,
cool, breeze into an empty room.
Dust covered the furniture while the
dominant creatures retreat elsewhere. By
the time autumn comes Mother is growing
tired, Father is growing stronger. the sofas are
moved to make room for a painting or new lamp.
Father crawls in again and the sofas are moved to make
room for the tree, to barricade against Father, just like last year.
The cycle starts again, but with a new year.
Carsyn Smith Mar 2014
Lock the doors up tight
Stay away! For your safety!
Don't let the heart out…
Carsyn Smith Jun 2013
Beautiful Light,
why do you torture me
with your stunning Essence?

Your small towers
of scarlet,
of apricot,
of violet.

Your movements are a
completely different language to me.

The shadows you cast
flicker in the dimming light of hope.

I come to you
for warmth,
for strength,
for a smile.

The way you shine,
the way you glow,
the way you seem to fade
only to reappear.

Your smiles --
so strange,
so captivating,
so heartbreaking,
pull me closer --
pull me closer to
an unbearable pain.

The way you made me laugh --
so pure,
so innocent,
so lovely.

The way you said goodbye --
so casual,
so naive,
so sure.
Hoping, knowing,
we would meet again soon.

You captivate me,
you endanger me,
I thought you loved me?

My Beautiful Light,
Why do you torture me
with your stunning Essence?
Carsyn Smith Jul 2014
One evening I was walking home,
nice dress and heels stomping pavement
of the moonlit streets in my home city.
I've got something you'd love to grab onto, babe.
Catcall. It's not a compliment. It's demeaning.
He says *****, but all I seem to hear is
strong. daring. opinionated. outspoken.
Because that's what he's saying
when I stand up for myself.
when I act outside the roles of a "good" woman.
What he hope, with a five letter word,
is that I'll shut up, sit down, be seen and not heard.
because that's what being a woman is:
So, thank you sir, because all you've really done
is given me a reason to fight harder
a purpose to speak louder
and a way to stand taller.

"I've got something you'd love to grab onto, babe."

"What a shame... I forgot my tweezers."
This may not have happened to me personally, but it's happening to too many strong women today. Raising awareness is one step closer to stopping misogynist *******.
Carsyn Smith Aug 2014
These are my bars.
Limbs that stretch too much
to soaring stars
I could never touch --
these limbs are defective.

Bitter restart,
frail, powerless cudgels
grasping at Heart.
Claws cutting pastels,
shredding ****** dawn sky.

My mirror sepals
are names and faces
of all people
who met my graces
or sailed my winding path.

Leaves of glazed gold
reflect sun's bright rays
as they enfold
the sharpened green maze
in torn and ripped portraits.

Leaves of Abyss
litter my bony scars
swallow my bliss
coat me like hot tar --
kissing at dying bark.

Red lipstick stains
on switch blade carvings
of names on veins
with no callings
see me as a trophy.

Nothing of worth --
just merely conquered.
A space for berth
and his young *******
I am nothing to him.

He can't see me
as mighty Belle Arbre
or hear my plea
as I feel his barb
plunge my old wooden core.

He cut me down,
carve me to shape him --
I'll be His crown
as he is condemned
by my only Father.

That's so far long --
sitting on his lap,
dreaming I'm strong
enough to entrap
all my stolen virtue.

His silver tongue
wove such a strange tale --
willingly hung
and welcoming jail,
all he promised was love.

Something bruised skin,
cut lip or black eye,
limbs bony thin,
or tears asking why --
they've never known this thing.

I reach'd for him,
branches out-stretched,
he was my hymn,
so close, yet farfetched --
he sat among the stars.

Me, bound by dirt,
jealous of the birds
nest'd in my skirt.
They are just songbirds
but take flight for granted.

I would give all,
every last petal
if I could fall;
shrink to a pebble --
give anything to hide.

But I'm a tree,
I'm mighty Belle Arbre.
Broken, Earthly.
Yet reduced to garb,
Everything I am: His.
I'm completely open to editing and critic. Please tell me how to improve!
:) CESmith
Carsyn Smith Mar 2016
I know I was never kissed by the sun,
but all I've ever had was the moon's love;
my mother's arms were the only strong ones
that held skin untouched by father above.

The night sky never rivered down my spine,
but I had it pooled between my lashes.
Pearl teeth, lips the color of blush wine;
who I am has to be just the ashes...

I must be a phoenix about to soar,
there is no other way to explain it:
I've beauty, but not yet, but like before.
I am of the sea foam, not sand sunlit,

not like her. She is father's favorite kiss,
her hair's darker than an ocean floor,
her lips are full and warm and hot and bliss.
She's beauty, just like now, not like before.

She's on your lips but I am in your arms.
Touch me with the fingers that long for her,
listen to me with ears full of her charms...
Her name is what you call in drunken slurs.

If my heart did break, it made no real sound,
but spun and twisted me tight to my knees,
there I pledged my mother and became moon-bound,
dancing bare in her light in the slight breeze.
Carsyn Smith Sep 2014
Fiction is a blanket
that wraps like a snake
and cradles like a mother.

It's the bed in a hammock
that rocks and shakes,
but lifts you from the ground.

It's a cover from the elements
that chills to the bone,
and warms the heart.

Fiction is a shield
to stop the dragon's breath,
and whatever's waiting at home

It's tattered and weathered
burned fabric from the passion,
yet soaked from the love.

It gives perspective,
darkness in too much light,
light in so much darkness.

Fiction is the blanket
that makes my fingers cold;
my heart pumps strong.
<3 Fiction <3
Carsyn Smith Nov 2014
Great blind men see all,
But you are no gifted prophet,
Your claims are hollowed out
Your visions are tenebrous and ignorant --
Stop acting like you know me,
Stealing days, months, years
Does not mean I am yours;
My wings are clipped, but I still fly
My voice is silent, but I still sing.
You avoid my eyes, yet
You do not own your wrongs,
These bruises that go unnoticed,
These scars that are invisible.
Stop ignoring me! I’m still here.
I’m still trying to heal what is hurt,
Bind wounds opened by your hands.
Blind man, with eyes that do not see me,
Thinks he has ascendancy over me.
Blind man, oh my dear Blind man,
I hope you fall in your chosen darkness.
I can't believe I gave you so much of who I am....
Carsyn Smith May 2015
They call a deep orange-red moon “******,”
That, somehow, she can hurt and wound like I…
How absurd! A rock can’t show tears or glee
Yet she is as joyous as stars are nigh.

Goddess Moon kissed Mother Earth in passion,
Fire consum’ng their love so time would not.
Time is a hunter they could not outrun,
As he ripped them apart, doomed them to rot.

One grew lush and strong, the other ice cold;
One circled the other in longing stares,
The other raising man in open wolds;
Memories in scars -- what a tragic pair.

Bleed, Moon, bleed as I do cry for lost love,
Alone and cold with the stars high above.
Carsyn Smith Oct 2015
The window is strung with the residue of sun dried rain drops
like strands of glowworm silk hanging from the aged ledge of the forever forward shuttle.

They're from a storm passing through not too long ago, whose wrath still rises from the fallen leaves and souped soil on the side of the busy city sidewalks,

But the sun is warm and bright and the tree line ebbing and flowing against the blue morning sky is splattered with vibrant yellows and oranges and my nose fills my lungs with the crisp breeze that stands the hair on the back of my neck and my heart skips as my mind drifts towards the wisped clouds lounging just out of reach... and my cracked lips spread... and my teeth embrace the winter kissed air... and I laugh as a warmth fills me and... I think of you.
You make me happy <3
Carsyn Smith Apr 2014
I am a caged bird.
                                                           ­            Sing and sing all day,
                                                            ­       smile and smile all eve.
                                                            ­   If one person in particular --
                                                           you know who you are --
                                                       no longer deserves my attention
                                                    I will choose not to perform to you,
                                                but all I can do is turn my back.
                                            These walls constructed of steeled bars,
                                        do not protect me.
                                    They leave me vulnerable to your ******* --
                                 eyes that I can never truly escape.
                             Stretch my wings and convince myself I'm flying,
                         but I'll only ever be caught in your web --
                      your cage.
                   This battle of wits and accusations has to end.
               Why can't you see that I yearn for flight?
           You're just as caught as me, Cage Keeper,
        it's time to let me go --
    come to terms with the fact:
I am gone.
If you're on a mobile device (like an iPhone) please turn your screen horizontally for the full effect. Thank you!
Carsyn Smith Nov 2013
Can we just be together and grow
for a century?

Can you just laugh with me about
for a decade?

Can I just listen to you tell me about
for a year?

Can we just curl up and
for a month?

Can you just hold me when I'm feeling
for a day?

Can I just tell you everything about me that's
for an hour?

Can we just find a time to
for a moment?

Can you just smile back at
for a second?

Will I ever work up the courage to smile at
for the first time?
Carsyn Smith Aug 2014
You know things are wrong,
when you see yourself
as nothing more than a game piece
when you see him
as the player controlling your moves.
There's something wrong with society
when all you see is a chessboard
but no one playing.
That's not true though,
that no one is playing,
because there will always be him --
moving a knight to block her path,
using the queen to scare her into his arms.
She's check-mated into a corner
and doesn't even realize it
because he's got one hand playing her
and the other up her friend's skirt.
But I can't look away,
because everywhere I turn
is another game being played.
Carsyn Smith Feb 2015
Beat me down,
break my spirit,
all I need is one reason to cry in the shower;
to give myself completely to a
thousand lovely drops.
When I lay on my back and
let the water pour down on me relentlessly,
I realize I'm not sinking;
                                           I'm still here.
When I bow my head and
watch the water create a curtain of my hair,
I realize I'm still visible;
                                           I'm still here.
When I arch towards the ceiling and
let the water beat on my raw red chest,
I realize there's still a heart inside;
                                           I'm still here.
Yet my toes are still chilled, aching,
remembering how far I've come and
reminding how far I have to go.
Each stream that runs hastily
down the curves of my barren body
defines more than a physical adoration,
but a renewal:
I am not his,
or hers
or theirs;
the only thing that binds me is my mind.
Wash off the feel of his touch or
the scent of her perfume,
let it fall away like every other lovely drop
and see the world's beauty through your eyes again.
Shower thoughts
Carsyn Smith Apr 2015
If the sun and moon
Are lost siblings,
Then stars and clouds
Are tragic lovers.
The soft grass ground
Was meant for clouds,
But with snowy rope
They hung themselves
After the stars kissed
The longing night sky.
Now they reach
-- forever --
Towards sister moon
While the stars sit
With brother sun
In the cavity of space
Alone and so far away.
Word *****
Carsyn Smith Apr 2014
These warm sheets cradle me
with memories of last night.
I can sense you --
your baren body in the same sheets as mine.
These 12 inches between us feel like miles --
back to back.
Couldn't you just hold me for a little?
This ice on my shoulder is starting to burn
The crystals grow to form a protective coat
That resemble the stalagmites in my cavernous heart.
Eyes glazed over, the warm sheets rustle
and your sweet breath grazes my neck.
Your soft lips on my jaw line
and a wondering hand on my thigh,
Yet I remain as frigid as the ice on my skin.
When you're quite finished,
you'll leave me with agitated sighs.
I'll remain and slowly waste away in warm sheets,
crystallized skin protecting the embers of the girl within.
Carsyn Smith Oct 2013
He never knew he held my heart.
Never aware, even as he gave his away
and she gave hers to him.
It's cramped in here -
her heart beating next to mine
in the warmth of where his heart once was.
I want to leave,
to escape so her heart can flourish.
I never held his heart -
Why pretend like I did? -
He's not mine to fight for, never mine to keep.
Trying to leave quickly is like
trying to rip a snake,
whose venom fangs are plunged deep,
off your arm in one swift movement.
With tears in my eyes and a strained smile for her,
I take the snake from flesh,
but the venom chokes my heart
to a shade of blacken green.
Carsyn Smith May 2015
He told me he could wait
regardless of what he wanted.
promises flew at 60 per minute
from lips and trembling fingers,
falsities billowing out with strain smiles
all because of the clock above his head
a constant ticking, reminding and controlling
as if it were a religion
as if it were his master
Creature of Habit
have you seen your master;
gone to communion today?
remember all you’ve wasted with each breath,
each blink becomes a hash closer to death
but they all claim patience and restraint
pulling against chains not clearly visible
golden lips whispering at 60 per minute
regardless of how they speak, they act;
They claim they could wait
Sorry for the repost, but I had to take it down when I sent it in as a publishing submission.
Carsyn Smith Feb 2013
The initials of a school
branded on my wrist.
The token of my
very first performance
Memories that will fade
just as the ink on my wrist.
Memories that have been absorbed, --
stored -- into my skin just as the ink.
Gone. Memories that are
just fuzzed images now.
Missing. A past that has
drowned in the ocean of Now.
Carsyn Smith Apr 2014
I walked out into the woods,
on a clear Autumn morning,
and used Daddy's hunting knife
to cut you out.

As if I were a surgeon,
cutting away with purpose,
no blood was lost as you fell
away from me.

You dropp'd to the forest floors,
drifting away with the wind,
I thought you were gone for good
that I was free.

You're anything but benign,
a creature from the dark woods,
following me as a wolf
out for the ****.

Helpless to spend the Winter,
cold and alone and empty,
waiting for your sure return
back to my heart.

Spring comes as you slither near,
hidden and slowly warming,
crawling and clawing upon
my cold body.

You've made your home by Summer,
nested in my hollow heart,
soaking in passionate love
that will not last.

I walked out into the woods,
on a clear Autumn morning,
and used Daddy's hunting knife
to cut you out.
Carsyn Smith Jul 2013
and when the sun rises,
a red sky
a red sun
shining red rays
on the rivers of blood that scatter
the field of delicate flowers.
and bodies litter the grass
showered in red dawnlight
like drops of rain on dry concrete.
and we're there - you and me  
we're under the pile,
near the bottom,
because we were the first to fall.
Carsyn Smith Mar 2015
Friendship* is defined as *being friendly,
But somehow the word becomes something more:
An overt assertion; warm, open arms.

Little more than two syllables,
It carries a weight mightier
Than anything found on this Earth.

Endless laughs, countless tears,
Gossip and roaming thoughts,
One word holds so much love.

As cruel time shrinks,
As distance strains,
We grow stronger.

Friendship is defined,
By our words, as
*I love you,
My dear
(2 of 10)
Carsyn Smith Dec 2014
Did you know
My first love was the sound of the piano?
Its longing chords and soaring melody,
I tried to teach my fingers to dance,
But they could never do my ears justice.
Did you know
I love sappy poetry and lit candles?
The smell of standard vanilla
And the dim glow on flowery words,
But I could never recite them quite right.
Did you know
I love the way silence sings?
That two people can sit, quiet,
And not feel the urgency to speak,
But I could never stop fidgeting.
Did you know
I crave the feel of his strong arms?
The passion and softness behind lips,
And the innocence of a presence,
But I could never...
Carsyn Smith Aug 2014
When you reach the house that has become a home,
     take a right;
walk down the street that is a community,
    take a left;
then travel to the shops that are lives,
    take a left;
see the corner that has become a job,
to find the alley that is a veteran's bed,
     take a right;
walk past the single mother begging for food,
     turn around;
sleep soundly in your warm bed.
Prompt: write a poem that begins with a direction
Carsyn Smith Feb 2015
I'm a bloodied battlefield:
Caught between passion and ice,
In warm sheets, on cold shoulders…
Am I spring or fall?
Am I falling in love or falling further out?
I wish I knew.
Next page