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Mikitara Jan 2014
the pages of my notebook are probably more lovelorn than i'll ever be
i never longed to be a tree burying my roots deep into Her soil, moaning
okay maybe i did because sometimes i only exist in crumpled up shreds of graphing paper between my awkward handwriting and
things i wish i'd have told you,
residing at the bottom of the ******* bin
(we're all writing about somebody)
fundamentally, i only exist between the blue lines and the margins
i want to be a tree again
Mother Earth is a **** (i mean, dang bruh, she's beautiful)
want my roots reaching as far into her as they'll go / want her attached to me in every way possible / want her in every way possible
i want to stay here forever
if i fall alone in the forest **** right i'll make a sound:
symphony of the lovelorn branches in C-minor except it's not really a symphony i'm just giving an impromptu solo to my ******* bin,
i have played the viola since 6th grade and
heartstrings since 7th
Mikitara Jan 2014
hip bones under hips, hips to lips, lisping lips, sheer lace slips, butterfly clips,
heated hips to heated hips

bruised hips under bleeding lips, the pink slip, slow dance dips, managing on meager tips, frisky nips,
tired hip to tired hip

sad lips under comatose lips, archaic fingertips, tightening grips, worn baking mits, lips to head/soul to stars
cadaveric hips to a bleeding heart
Mikitara Jan 2014
in my dream last night, i fancied the way your lips parted softly in your sleep
your mouth was Elysian and your eyes were dancing beneath their lids
i hope you were dreaming of things that make you happy (i am no longer ignorant enough to hope that i am what makes you happy)
i fancied the way that your nose was red from the cold you just got over
your face was so peaceful and honest in that space of me watching you dream in my dream
they say the truth can be ugly
and that the truth can set you free
but looking at you, wrapped in slumber, unable to deceive
i think truth is the loveliest thing in the world
i will never be free of you, even when i wake
Mikitara Dec 2013
all of these corridors lead to my heart
the way that all the old roads lead to Rome.
all of these corridors are verdant
with graffiti of things i imagine you might have said to me
if this were a different timeline where our fatestrings intertwined
for longer than that one school year.
i think, these walls won't ever be red again
and i know they won't be
because these are the dreams i entice towards Rome
and to preserve my dreams I keep them airtight
but they cannot breathe
Mikitara Dec 2013
i feel like a queen in a king sized bed. the edge of my quilt is the edge of my terrain, and i
i believe the world is just too big for me

on another note, the sadness is back. it feels like this:
-overwatered flowers
-flash freeze
-snowed-over sand
-abandoned parks
-carpet carpet carpet burn
-corset laced tighter than my own ribs
-nine years old bedazzling my eyelids even though it hurts
-becoming a frost flower and
-New Orleans 2005, because that's what waking up from nightmares is like:

clammy palms
empty lungs
hurricane blown but you still wake up utterly alone in a king sized bed that you don't really fill up
??? from my journal
Mikitara Oct 2013
pour rice down my throat to staunch the flow of blood
on each grain is a something,
an art,
art through the ages,
my body is an art
I am blur and gray, day and dawn
broken choruses string all the worlds in my eyes together
and force them to sing a something
about eyes like stars
the thing is that I'm not looking up
(I'm never looking up
I'm terrified by the shades that linger in the more upper rings of Hell)
I'm looking down and around and I'm surrounded by stars
this is the bottom of the lagoon
I am an everdrown
Ophelia, wake up!
(she's gone she's gone she's gone)
godspeed starlight swimmer
written by bloodshot eyes or maybe a pencil with fractured lead in between the lines of one of the Bard's books.
Mikitara Oct 2013
do you cut your diamonds on those sharp, pretty little horns of yours? i bet you do.
do you wash your upper-echelonic car with the tears of your victims? i bet you do, i know you do.
you burn out the water-logged hearts of sailors stricken by your siren song
with a body hot enough to turn sand to glass
but a heart cold enough to **** the sun dead fast
you act like queen of hell
(but you taste/look/smell
like heaven)
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