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6d · 43
How are you?
Caro 6d
I’m good.
No, but like
Really
Really good.
Apr 8 · 51
Stiff Ankles
Caro Apr 8
I hated your stiff ankles
Really really really hated them
I loved you
But I hated
Those ankles

Stiff, unmoving.
Like bricks, you said.

I labored for two years
Every time I saw you
And
Them

Cursed ankles.
Stiff and plasticy skin.
Freckles that weren’t freckles.
Burns that weren’t burns

Failure to coax
those muscles into relaxing
Failure to ******
the tendons into lengthening
Failure to ease
that joint into movement

But
I did like how my thumb fit behind
Your ankle bone.
Apr 5 · 91
New Old Brain
Caro Apr 5
What to do with the hum-drum, mundane, been done?

That no longer comforts, rests easy or pauses.

Now only exciting excites
Nothing bites quite as it might
Have when I was up all night
Dancing,
Now it’s poetry and mirrors that
Charm
Me

But thinking of that sweet drunk girl dancing on her toes at midnight with a stranger...
AH!
There it is.

A new mundane for my new old brain to charm when clouds won’t let go their rain.
Apr 3 · 39
Beehive Behave
Caro Apr 3
Isn’t the wasp
Who acts like a bee
More a bee than the bee
Who all day, only has to be
Apr 3 · 155
About my Aboutness
Caro Apr 3
I have w e i r d anxiety
And I don’t quite k n o w where to put it
I feel off
Like watching a black and white movie when you’re a kid with a theme that’s b e y o n d you and knowing that you don’t quite know what it’s about
A lack of an aboutness with yourself
Much about what I do and where I go and who I see
And triumphantly living this l i f e
As I w a n t
But feeling a l i t t l e far from m y s e l f

I’m writing a bookmaybe I should get back to it
Apr 1 · 37
Obvious Bliss
Caro Apr 1
Sweetest ceremony of self,

Proud of the moons on my thumbnails...praising their rounded edges,

Soothed by the skin on the arch of the sole of my foot,

Finally, pleasurably, softly coexisting with myself,

A lazy stretch in bed on a Monday morning off,

The way the weekend falls away,

Blowing your nose and breathing deep,

Simple pleasures all encompassed in this body that I feed,

Exactly enough is what I need,

Luxurious and obvious, to exist in this bliss.
Mar 17 · 156
Owls
Caro Mar 17
It's March in California and,
It feels like an early September evening in Virginia,
An owl is cooing,
A nostalgic singsong that reminds me of the woods behind my parents house,
Comfort seekers in my senses inflate,
Disappearing into a heady haze,
Anything to distract myself from the mini self-betrayal I just executed.

I can watch myself as I do it,
Basking in this nostalgia,
The detachment from my pain easing my shoulders,
Making me feel high,
Or maybe it's the serotonin and dopamine,
Coursing around in my body,
Freely,
As it pleases,
Results of.

The owl is howling and my roommate is home,
My phone is silent and I'm blissfully alone,
Detachment, detachment, detachment,
My favorite drug, how I've missed you.

So sickly happy,
So near to trauma,
(my familiar place)
But my perspective saving me from feeling it..

I could be in Virginia in 2008,
My legs a little hairy,
A breeze blowing through my long, long hair,
Innocence teasing me.

Or I could be here, now,
Listening for an owl that has stopped calling.

How delicious. Sweet detachment.

My favorite drug.
Mar 3 · 68
...And But Me And You
Caro Mar 3
A romance novel I read
about an Irishman and the warm side of the bed
and a homestead
and a big chest to lay my head
and the way you **** me till I’m dead
and
Honey seeping from my lips
that you throw back and back
coating your throat
and making you float
and making you spin
me watching you fall in
and
Down as you go
but never on me
certain intimacies
kept privy
for another girl who will love you
like you love me
but every week you're here
and I’m here
and
Your cardio is improving
but your insecurities are making you
pinch me ever harder and
your drunken red head
gets hotter and hotter
weeks go by and
I'm craving your scents and
I’m craving the dent
that you made in my bed
but you’re wanting more and more
and that I can’t give
but
Months later I still crave your high and riding
your body with your hands on my thighs
big freckled arms
and that noble nose that knows
how to rub my cheek
and you bite my teeth
you caress my moods
storybook hands that squeeze
me
and hold my gaze
look at me sideways
tell me secrets I shouldn't know
say nothing
and
sweat drips from your curly orange mop
slow motion splash the pillow
falling down from the crown
cinematic memory telling me
we should have never stopped
but we did and
you
did and now
I’m here in my bed you’ve never been in.
Feb 9 · 222
FRIDAY 06:33PM PST
Caro Feb 9
Sleepless in Seattle on my mind and in my feelings,
Making me feel moody and 90's,
Chunky belts and colorful, dark sweater,
Old airports in family comedies,
Big clunky landline phones,
When Harry Met Sally and I watched it on a plane for the first time last summer.
Baroque in my headphones and 1950's swing playing from the ceiling

Girls talking loud, so important,
Deciding options for their next photo shoot,
sweet and divine making their plans.

And me
Silently observing, enjoying

If I were an overweight man
probably
I would be creepy

But I am a nice package

They're in L.A. for the weekend.
Oh, they've been to London and "her boyfriend is an *******"
She wore the baby blue, "it was my mother's", and it brings out her eyes
Why is he friend's with Madeline?
She's a *****
But we like her. She's very bold.

Plans laid and heading out. Good for them.

And I'm still here.
Ache in my neck,
Baroque in my ears (because I heard it improves learning and slows heart rate),
This anti-poem coming from my fingertips

Alone in this cafe and now the mood has shifted.
Jan 8 · 144
Vife
Caro Jan 8
Double yous and Vees

Mouth tickling me and mixing vees

Vife and happy to be
Abs and accent and happiness for the rest of this
Jan 8 · 144
Magia
Caro Jan 8
Manifesting as a goddess
Island of light or ocean
Or earth
Or universe

I feel star threads attached to my elbows and my rib cage where wings would grow
We dance together

Lightly affecting these precious astral ones with my desires and my light

O humanity, O goddess in me
Part of that star-freckled deep blue black space

Magia, magic woman

So light and free and golden to be
Manifesting my life exactly as I want it. It feels good to be this clear. I feel radiant, brighter than the sun and cooler than the breeze.
Jan 4 · 177
bellsleevesonatuesday
Caro Jan 4
sometime
s

I wish

I

was a fashion designer or someonelikethat maybe living in newyork being botheredbymynicotineaddiction but happy to not have to go stand intherain

wearing bellsleevesonatuesday and feeling n i c e and callingmymotherbefore dinner and having lunch withmybest friend and her dog

and living a life asleep

sometimes

it feels good towishicouldbe someone else and to know that instead i will alway
s

b e  m e
just over tired and taking a break to write out some thoughts while I work
Caro Dec 2018
Anxious she finds herself
Though lately less so
Childhood bed
In her childhood home
Thinking childish thoughts in her childhood head
Russian nesting doll

Nesting
Nesting soon to be though not so
Rings and nausea
And please let me sleep
Head in her mother’s lap

Mental illness and lack of routine
Tapping on her glass

The blurry light from the hallway outside the bedroom reflecting on the shiny wooden headboard.
How many many many times has this dappled wood revealed its imperfections in that blurry reflected light?
Put me to sleep with your consistency and resolve

Thank you little light
And mother’s hands that flipped the switch
And eyes that remember
And mini terrors of her adolescents that gave this reflection the right to sweep across her consciousness in swooning waves that feel soothing as they scrape.

In this moment its comfort is quite enough
Trying to fall asleep over the holidays and the blurry reflection of the light on the headboard that I didn’t know was so familiar to me
Dec 2018 · 195
Image Vacancy
Caro Dec 2018
No mirror to keep me company
No reflection to satisfy my lonliness
A dying narcissism
A quiet relief
A tearful goodbye
A quickly deteriorating something of something of myself

Self image vacancy
Mirrorless existence
Me only inside of myself
No me projected into my own brain

Just me, with me, however I am, having no idea how I am.
Age old vanity plane that could reveal all the illness in my head, covered in king sized, pure white, Egyptian cotton sheets

Oh how the body pinchers have fallen
Dec 2018 · 145
Fuerte Pero No Tan
Caro Dec 2018
Muérdame
Hazlo, fuertísimo pero
No
Tan
Fuerte

¿Recuerdas que soy que?
Ah, si. Delicada. Una delicia.

Muérdame
Ahora. Hazlo, peor que antes
Por favor... amor?

¡Ooi! Muy doloroso viejo.
¿Sangre?
Sin sangre. Entonces otra vez.
Por favor tesoro. Otra vez.

Y al mismo tiempo
Mi cariño
Toca mis costillas
Suave, suave, suave, sutil.

Otra vez.
Muérdame. Pero con cuidado.

Soy que?

Memorizarme.

Delicada. Una delicia.

Hay amor, muérdame otra vez?
Just getting off on the Spanish language
Dec 2018 · 334
Rose Prey
Caro Dec 2018
Rose petals thick and heavy
Just ready to wrinkle
Strong, firm, delicate
Simple
Feigning delicacy.
Tighter and tighter to their middle
Lips curling back
Pouting open
All eventually revealing the
Veins!
Veins
Veins
Veins on the roses
From the underside spread upward,
Uncurled,
Veins.
Some so proud and broad
Some coy and curtseying
Some wide open, greeting you.
——
Some angling to the light
——
Some fading their color at the tip
——
Some!
Some doubling inward. Two twists inside!
Why? Overcrowding.
Petals wide,
petals too ready, petals broad
And she made herself a lover
——
Some older, wiser
By quicker death wisdom grows
The peaked face within
Afraid
Afraid of what is coming faster for her.
Something her beauty could not slow
An aging ballerina, refusing to retire her slippers
——
Some wider
More careless
Hippies
——
Some like a dance
Such a vulnerable entrance  
Opening up her lips, her arms, her legs,
Spouting out her tiny tongue
Arrousing
——
Some so full
Hiding herself in her layers
More of her.

Ancient. Natural.
Yes unnatural and just a blip.

Trimmed from their bush. Here to die in a vase by my bed.
Nov 2018 · 44
pliss
Caro Nov 2018
Simplicity
In all its forms is good.
Simplicity
Simplicity
Sim pliss ittee
Even divinity has nothing on it
For simple things are not simplicity
It is the conduits and the nuances and very pragmatic essence of things that are simplicity.
Divinity is better than to be divine
Simplicity is better than to be simple

Be in the dark, in the quiet feel yourself, only yourself around you, feel just one bit of your skin as it exists on you, and be clear. That simplicity is where you find rest.

Oh, divine.
Caro Sep 2018
It smells vaguely of pizza
And there’s a little white fuzz floating around in the air,
I’m rewriting memories and helping a friend through a break up.
I’m sitting on my back staircase alone at night with no substance to keep me company,
Remembering a time sitting here with my ex having wine while he smoked a cigarette feeling relative peace and romanticism.
Now I’m contemplating the roughness of the stucco walls and the wrot iron and staircase and window cages,
The exceptionally uncomfortable and bumpy stair steps, all of the tangible visual interest around me,
Maybe falling in love with it,
It doesn’t notice me or maybe

Maybe it does, maybe it feels my weight,
Knows my smell,
Oh my god maybe these walls remember that moment that I’m thinking of!
Maybe they know all of it and they support me,
Maybe the me that was then and the he that was then is sitting here too just below me,
Letting the me that is now observe the sweet, pervasive sickness that we were lying in.

The pizza smell has wafted away and so has the little fuzz,
The wrot iron staircase feels okay against my head,
The angles that I’m looking down on feel unique to me, my frame of vision, is just for me.
He lived here, he bothered me, he smoked on this staircase nearly every night.
But maybe these steps and this material around me knew it was not his,
Maybe he never saw the stairs at this angle, maybe they never showed him their magic or their comfort or their mood or their simple, simple majesty.

Falling in love with a staircase and with the shadows that it kept secret for me.
Divine, it’s all divine.
Sep 2018 · 971
David, Hedonist, Myself
Caro Sep 2018
Sometimes I miss the holy grace of ignorance,
Sometimes I miss the comfort that I felt when I read about David and his caves,
About his moody eyes and his harp,
About his *** addiction and his soft, musical heart that only a god could love,
About the way he loved with abandon, taken aback in naivety, balking at those who disagreed with his unwavering need to be as he was

David made me ***
David made me feel closer to God and my mother
David told me a story of **** and ****** and protection and angst and a sweet tortured easily patronized self

Maybe in all of this, one day this flawed, beautiful man who murdered a giant and sang to lambs

Would be me

A woman, self possessed, soothing sheep and culling sleep in her victims.
Passion dripping from her honey harp.

David, thank you for the awakening and for the saturated hedonism that you spoke to in me.
Caro Sep 2018
Loving [you] me now, as [you are] I am,
In each moment that [you] I experience [yourself] myself
is
is like


what a body of water must feel like.

Affecting itself continuously,
Supported unconditionally regardless of matter or variants.

It is strongest, most full, most complete


when together.
In one container.

But even separated,
In different states,
With different influences

It can never cease to be.
Never

Always: it is
always you
are always I am
always.

But I am best when I am purely me,
Being me
Regardless of my conscious awareness that I am.

I am.
Aug 2018 · 1.5k
The Caribbean at Night
Caro Aug 2018
It’s moody blue waves go black with mischief in its moves,
Always flowing spraying secrets untouched into the salty heavy air above,
A slow smile spreads far and wide away towards the sun,
Also turning on its tides.
Moonlight illuminating its curves and gestures.

Deceptive and lovely, a woman.
Never to be owned or won. Never to consider not being.
Magnificent. In her alcoves and in her storms.
Gestures of night and paradise.
Aug 2018 · 1.1k
Grand Canyon Indeed
Caro Aug 2018
Curiousity killed the cat,
What of it?
I am not a cat and neither am I curious,
I think.

I want to know and see, but few things hold my interest.

Lately I crave being craved,
Lately I hate that I love the concave of my stomach when fasting for a smaller waist to contemplate in my mirror before going to work,
Lately I’m waking up moody,
Lately I’m grateful.
Lately I need more sleep,
Lately I’m not quite in the place I used to be,
Lately I think I must be growing or changing because this new sense of knowing is gnawing so softly on my skin it feels like luxury.

I think I must be on the edge of an expansive biosphere of me, complete and untouched, because the vision of her is fading as my ten little prints and their oblong archless counterparts bring me closer to the edge.

Staring boldly, daring no one proving nothing peering down into my canyons.

Just on the edge of this cliff, feeling my wind my edges my rivers holding me up,
And up,
And up,
And down so far below.
Though it’s not down that I will go.
It it through.

And richly on the other side I will emerge.
But for now that is not my concern.

Standing on the edge, arms spread wide, I’m alive.

Quite Grand Indeed.
Jul 2018 · 75
And She And She; Dusk
Caro Jul 2018
What do you want?
A fragile heart responded:
'To be alone in the dark with you'
A comfort she longed for but had never known.

Now in the shower,
                                          lights off

                                                            ­              alone.

Good. Goodness.

A good that only a 'you' can know and no one else can know it.

Like dusk: created. An Atmosphere, A Mood.
A place to mend the temptation of that want.

Alone in the dark with you?
                                                                ­                   No
                                                    Who is you anyway?

Only a feeling, an idea, a fragile comfort of someone else's something else?
                                                           ­                       No
               What she wanted then, was this moment.

It just hadn’t happened yet.
The comfort of this space.
Existing in her body.

In this musky, soft, grainy mood of dusk.

It is all made of she and she, and she are one.
Jul 2018 · 64
A Trick
Caro Jul 2018
Starry eyes and gnarly lies.
It's all just a trick.
All of it. Every bit.
Every sensation.
Every ounce of what it is to feel is a trick.
That sneaks up on us,
That mutes us,
That frees us,
That mutates us, if we want.

To think that not so long ago I was looking at starry eyes and falling swiftly into fits.
That I was captured by a heightened feeling of 'only you'.

Those two sentances need not have been. Just to say "To Think", is enough.
There, you've done it, you're a human, congratulations.

But for the sake of my self and the purposes of this prose:

I used to think: only you.
But now I know: every me.

The heady deep, that starry gaze, the sensation of falling into the night with your fingers on his lips...
It's not love, love.

It's just you. Experiencing you. As you decide that you want to.
Jul 2018 · 339
Brotherhood
Caro Jul 2018
I can still feel the pavement beating my feet,
Little bits of earth and water and worms between my toes.
I can feel the warm summer rain on my upper lip,
I can feel my hands splashing in the creek with this little man to be beside me.
I can feel wet hair on my forehead.
I can feel how tall those trees were above us.
Us.
How ******* lovely.
To go through childhood with a partner.
Someone to follow and imitate.
It’s that warm summer rain, our motivated, pounding feet, the slosh of mud and water, the scratch of twigs and sticks, clothes soaked and smiling.
Brotherhood.
Though I am your sister. I like to think that in those times, I was your brother too.
Maybe I showed you a sliver of what it is to have you.
Never in a million years would I give up the sweet sensation of these memories.
Jul 2018 · 435
My skin
Caro Jul 2018
SOUL: Wrapping around me,
Holding me close,
Tapping itself and clothing my nose.
Keeping me in and tight.
My safety and my sensation.

It feels sunshine and shame and gets goosebumps and bruises and keeps me intact. It changes color and indicates.
It touches me completely.

The skin on my back my protectorate.
The skin on my hands my guide.
The skin on my face my years here.

It is with me to the end. It grows and stretches and covers my vessel. It craves and flinches and cuts and heals. It sweats and bleeds and cracks. It wrinkles and sags and baby it’s you and it’s me.
But beautifully, painfully, tragically it is not.

Because once the skin has done all it can do. Once it has lived its life and can’t work for this soul anymore. Though it has known me and I it, though it fully believed that this body was ‘it’. It dies.

And I go on. To claim another skin.

A skin to clothe my nose. A skin to protect my soul. A vehicle to let me travel on this earth I think I know.

Poor skin. Naive and Perfect.

SKIN: Poor soul. Going on forever and never ending, never resting, always needing me.
Jul 2018 · 58
Who
Caro Jul 2018
Who
I don’t know,

Simple, simple, simple.

Divine. To not know.
Apr 2018 · 64
Captive Mind
Caro Apr 2018
Even when the night is dusky and when the mood is gone,
When she looks out the window and knows there is nothing,
She doesn't see nothing.

As long as she has her mind, she always has so so many somethings.

She sees herself. She sees a face she knows.

She sees cheekbones for days. She sees a face that she has watched grow into its nose.

She sees ambition and potential.

She sees lovers easily lost. She sees haters torn from her.

She sees a smile that she guards only for herself.

Loneliness has never been so sweet and so satisfying.

She feels true love. She feels an ernest quench to the dryness that used to be in her throat.

She feels safe. and free. and had. and good. and bad.

She sees all that she is. And she ******* loves it.

Captive mind her own. She feels good alone.
Caro Oct 2016
Space is deep and dark and blue black. It expands behind us, never ending, never beginning. Stars are sprinkled there in that space, some we engulf as we move our massive star outlined bodies, some become part of us as we move. We are magnificent and huge 3-d outlined beings, we are billions of years old, or maybe we have always been. We are not made of matter for there is no matter, only the blue black ‘space’ dotted with the lights of millions and trillions of stars; some of which make up our massive forms; and our consciousness, our knowing, our silent communication, our utterly immortal existence. We exist there with each other, there is no breath but we breathe each other, there is stillness except for ripples of love and knowing passed between our conscious mind.

We have been here for so long existing, taking millennia upon millennia to gracefully move about in this space, so massive and grandiose, then we wanted to create, or we needed to create. So we began in some way to create life and substance in our ‘souls’. Or maybe we willed souls to exist by our consciousness and from there we made light, maybe it was a black hole or rip in the continuum, but whatever it was, it was necessary and magnificent. From our diaphragm areas flowed blue, sparkling streams of light, shooting, streaming out of me and out of him.

Nearly facing each other square on, our individual streams of light and blue love and diamond brilliant swirls of matter caught each other and began to spin. Just like a wind storm on earth, two winds from opposite directions will create a tornado, a spinning, so did we. We created a soft and new little system, I wouldn’t quite call it a solar system yet, with the planets hardly developed, more like soft, foamy spirals trying to form sphere-like mounds, with suns in the middle still shy of their own little light. Everything so perfectly baby blue and new. Shooting stars soft and content, a milky blue and sparkling atmosphere enveloping airy spheres of new, new matter - we made something our own.

Something different from us existed, there between our bellies we kept it safe; there existed no to threat to it, but we longed to keep it close, watching it spin so comfortably between us. As we watched our little system develop, we too developed, our consciousness grew, we became even more gentle, with tenderness, a graceful antiquity and adoration dripping from our starry forms.
#universetwins
Oct 2016 · 264
Fed
Caro Oct 2016
Fed
Feed me your visions,
Pour your thoughts into my throat,
Your eyes like mine.
I need. I need. I need, you.
You. You. You. You are my blood.
But with you, I never bleed.

Entrance me, easily,
Hands on my neck, fingers tracing the lines in my spine,
Turning my soul with your palm,
Shifting my dark heart into the light of your gaze.

Dreams my dear,
Demon gone,
Heavy angel wings sending pounding waves through my chest,
Feathers soft,
Tip my chin aloft, with one long finger placed where only it knows where to go.

In this way I am fed.
Caro Aug 2016
Everything feels wrong when you're gone,
Like dusk in a movie about monsters,
Like rust, like too much dust,
Like sad elephants lacking tusks,
Too many eerie feelings for me to foster.
Things are off.

Dressed up with no where to go meets the first time you watch a dystopian film as a child.
That sinking pit in your stomach,
That hopeless apathy,
That dread of a future made of nothingness...

Well anyway, those two feelings fall in love, get married, and give birth to a hideous child that comes to visit me
every time you're away.
Darling. Come back to me.
Keep the terrible child at bay.

I can't listen to music.
I can't eat.

I know you're just sleeping or your phone died.
I know you're out eating or going for a ride.
But. ****.

This monster movie goes on and on
This dusty, rusty dusk won't end
And the elephants lacking tusks?
They moan and bellow and I join them.
Here for 4 perfect days. Gone for more than a month. In theory I'm being dramatic but...well, see above.
Aug 2016 · 615
Torrent of Peace
Caro Aug 2016
He slept and I loved it,
He dreamt and I coveted not,
Having dreamt many dreams,
Spared of sleepless nights,
His sleep was my happiness,
His dreams my requite,

His hands in my hair,
Fingers long and strong,
The air in his lungs,
His chest so wide and proud,
Twice I said to him:
           Look up love it's the stars
Twice he said to me:
           No you are my star

Though I've dreamt and slept to my hearts content,
It's his dreaming, his sleeping,
That murders my weeping,
The gentle close of his eyes and his gracefully wandering mind,
That sends a torrent of peace through my chest.
He slept and I felt the heavens smile.
Jul 2016 · 297
Utterly too too
Caro Jul 2016
The table we bought is too big,
My eyes adjust to the dark too quick,
My brassiere is too tight,
My heart is too big.
The week is too long,
The homeless are too lonely and so am I

Empty empty empty I feel bad.

But I kissed her.
No, I kissed her too much.

Empty empty empty I feel bad.

Forgive me, me? Not for kissing her or anything like that. But for...this. Because the table we bought is too big, I burned my bra long ago and the homeless ask for things you can't give.
Because being alone in a big city is tough.
Jun 2016 · 263
Christmas in July.
Caro Jun 2016
November:
Stop screaming forever, like I'm some storm you're going to weather, you're the one who's tethered and I'm just trying to get my life together.

February:
Now I'm screaming forever and wearing your words like a ******* sweater, I can read you like a letter and you want me too.

April:
We're screaming like we're deaf, but we're not. I've got the hots. We're flashing the lights like we're blind but somehow we don't mind. I'm a wet mess all the time.

July:
Just touch me and you'll see,
That your fingertips were made for me,
And then you'll drink me up like gin on that famous Eve.
Because I think we're done screaming,
I think you'll start dreaming,
I think we'll forget how to lie,
I think you're my Christmas in July.
Jun 2016 · 384
Haters
Caro Jun 2016
Do you ever feel like you're made of paper?
I don't.
I'm made of flesh and bone and rocks and stones.
The flesh and bone I was born with.
The rocks and stones came later,
You know, they came with the haters.

Do you ever feel like you're made of lead?
Heavy and falling and poison and dead?
I don't.
I'm made of blood and water and thread,
The blood and water my birth-right,
The thread to keep me warm, back full of stiches,
You know, from the *******.
Jun 2016 · 244
Out Of Your Seams
Caro Jun 2016
Half the time,
Half the heart it took,
Double the time and hiding beneath the cloth of the breakfast nook,
Lay fast asleep the death of dreams,
That would awaken when,
Her satisfaction,
Was just a fraction,
Her inaction,
Was his redaction and their attraction,
Wasn't gaining traction but rather losing the bet.

Is it selfish to chase your dreams once you've pushed humans out of your seams?
Honestly probably about your mom. And my mom too.
Caro Jun 2016
...They had gone for drinks. Then dancing. Then kissing. Then that night as he lay on her brothers spare couch, too drunk to drive, she kissed him goodnight. He wanted more and she wanted nothing more than to have it.
...
Two days later they were in a sweet little tent of sheets. Two days after that they were there again. And again for a week. She swore the air was foggy, the way his big hands and even bigger arms made her feel was like something out of her deepest longings. They took off each others glasses and looked into each others blurry eyes, her hair was curling in that wet air, her cheeks were red and he was falling quickly down her caverns. He kissed her face until the sun came up and then willed it to go back down. But she had other things to do.

Eugene had schemes and dreams for Davina, he wanted to take her far away and make her happy. He could too and she knew it. Terrified, she ran away swift and quick. She was in such danger of being content with the heart of someone else. He barely saw her go.

The air wasn't wet anymore, her waist was lonely without his fingerprints. But her eyes were dry and strong her thighs.

She burned the cabin down, left him with her lavender lace and took back her blurry eyes.
an excerpt from a book I'm writing
Jun 2016 · 376
Moody Foodie
Caro Jun 2016
Dark as night and in the mood for food,
Oh did I say food? I meant you
Isn't it the same?
I want to consume you, to move you around my plate,
I want to savor you,
Let your body fill my body and give me strength for days,

I'll know you on my palette,
My tongue will recognize,
The peculiar taste,
That is your face,
When its paired with a dark red wine.
Jun 2016 · 2.4k
Denim Jacket Leaning Down
Caro Jun 2016
On the tip of my tongue you burned like hot coffee,
With a hit of my blunt you’ve undone my lofty, made me a softy,
I wont forget.
Denim jacket leaning down, you’ve got room in your throat,
You’ve got words in your coat,
Pockets full of notes,
Ink on your arms that wrap, wrap around me,
Words pushing on your teeth like braces,
Laces,
Up your shoes that walk all around me,
I won't forget.
Maybe whisper it now or tell me tomorrow,  
In the morning I’ll drink you up and you’ll drink me down.
Denim jacket leaning down, tippy toes to kiss your nose.
You’ve made me a softy,
I won’t forget.
Sweet and simply say it from behind those curtains,
Smoke in your nose from my fire lungs,
Stain my breath with your words,
Blessed syllables,
I won’t forget.
Caro Jun 2016
You lied about my sweet weight,
And you lied about my arches,
You lied about your love for the depressions in my skin,
You faked that sincerity
Of course you lied, because how else?

You lied about your moon and my tides,

But you tread upon on my land,
Cheer as my salt beats my rocks into sand, I never flinched at your hand,
I never quaked at your voice,
But I should’ve,
I would’ve if I had known that you would run my rivers dry,
That you would lick your lips and sigh
And make love to my demise.

You’re sick in that the only thing I hold dear,
You craved to hunt.

You rip into the throat of my wild and reckless stag,
Watch it bleed as it cranes to see by whose hand it falls,  
As it breathes its last breath it catches sight of your thumb,
It knows, but consciously it forgets, because
It is with this abandon that I die for you daily,
And you **** me anyway.

I should’ve quaked at your voice,
Hearkened to the screaming that ripped away my choice,
You never loved my mountains, fountains of lies I threw back and back,
You lied about my ocean that you don’t care to explore,

It was critical and fatal,
You lied about my sweet weight and that I cannot forgive.
Jun 2016 · 337
Burning Sweaters
Caro Jun 2016
You don't get dark when you fall apart
It's when you're putting it back together, that you see the damage from the bad weather,
Mom I can't come inside my clothes are soaked

I guess it's not so serious in the end,
I'm not made of glass I don't break I bend,
So I'm bent out of shape,
I'll take some yoga,
Get a massage,
Focus on my breathing,

I'll do a bunch of stuff and sort out my kinks.
Give me a high five, promise I won't flinch,

I didn't do this to myself,
But I'm here by myself,
I won't be bitter,
I'll be better,
See:
I burned all the sweaters,
I've moved somewhere with better weather,

So I should be getting lighter and I think I am.
But on Tuesday I cried because of a printer jam.
I wasn't worried about the printer but I was worried about my boss. Would they yell at me? Did I **** up? Am I worthless? Do I deserve this?

My boss is nice don't get me wrong, but I was told for four years that I am what's wrong. I am what's wrong. I am wrong.

So anyway I had to reload the paper,
I missed a therapy session and misplaced the stapler.  

So I didn't do this to myself,
But I am what I am and I'm dark,
Im here by myself not afraid of the dark,
Maybe in the end I win,
Maybe in the dark I'm better,
Maybe my night vision will save me next time,
Maybe my clothes won't be soaked.

— The End —