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Poems
Cindy Long Jul 2017
Shes a hurricane.
Cindy Long
Jul 2017
Shes more than just a pretty face. Shes a hurricane. Demin and lace spun around like wind and rain. A princess that has long since lost her crown- its probably at the bottom of the pacific by now; stitched together with good intentions, lightning, and leather. Held to the ground by a chest harness, gagged with cotton, and her heart made to beat to the rhythm of thunder. Voice like the pounding of the sea against bluffs; breaking down barricades with one subtle stroke. Uprooting trees like she does her long blonde curls and nothing can calm her chaos-not cuffs or rope, not diamonds or pearls. Shes just a little harder to handle then most. Oceans plunder through the floodgates of her eyes at any given moment; parading through the coast, tumbling around with all the broken and bruised cement.
Shes all the abandoned throwns left to drown or freeze without power, warmth or shelter. The promise to do better and be better next time coaxing her further into the fray by her collar and leash but its always the same unpredicted weather. Shes both beauty and the beast- complete opposites chained together by her ankles and wrists. Poetry pouring from her luscious lips in a heavy mist; a coldfront may stall her out but shes still quick to spit with the flick of a whip. Shes deeper than she appears but her foundations crumble under the rubble of her own ivory skin. Broken coral stumbling through the empty halls of her soul-it takes it tole. Shes the act of god, something so vivid and yet so insane could only be brought on by the abundance of sin. A divine cause lost in plush-sweet and also ******; a unity of odd mixtures: vinegar and sugar. Cloudcover hiding the blisfulness of the sun and she cant help but blush. Shes altogether too much and all she leaves behind is death and decay-she destroys everything in her path But its not her fault; she got broken too while sitting in the lap of a tormado; wrapped her up, held her tight, then let her go.Any attempt to get back inside only left her trapped in scar tissue, She went crazy when he called her baby so its no wonder nothing survived. She may leave you with a mild breeze and a sky of orange and pink.She'll send seashells spiraling into you until you become debris..make you wonder what its like to live without the kink.
Shes all the abandoned throwns left to drown or freeze without power, warmth or shelter. The promise to do better and be better next time coaxing her further into the fray by her collar and leash but its always the same unpredicted weather. Shes both beauty and the beast- complete opposites chained together by her ankles and wrists. Poetry pouring from her luscious lips in a heavy mist; a coldfront may stall her out but shes still quick to spit with the flick of a whip. Shes deeper than she appears but her foundations crumble under the rubble of her own ivory skin. Broken coral stumbling through the empty halls of her soul-it takes it tole. Shes the act of god, something so vivid and yet so insane could only be brought on by the abundance of sin. A divine cause lost in plush-sweet and also ******; a unity of odd mixtures: vinegar and sugar. Cloudcover hiding the blisfulness of the sun and she cant help but blush. Shes altogether too much and all she leaves behind is death and decay-she destroys everything in her path But its not her fault; she got broken too while sitting in the lap of a tormado; wrapped her up, held her tight, then let her go.Any attempt to get back inside only left her trapped in scar tissue, She went crazy when he called her baby so its no wonder nothing survived. She may leave you with a mild breeze and a sky of orange and pink.She'll send seashells spiraling into you until you become debris..make you wonder what its like to live without the kink.
Unedited raw poem.
OliviaAutumn Sep 2014
Bergamot
OliviaAutumn
Sep 2014
The first time I went down on a girl she had the delicate flavour of bergamot.
I was so addicted to her I could brew in her imperfections,
dream of sugar mice in her navel.
she had given me the most dangerous sweet tooth for the freckle on her forehead and her bergamot scented bed.
Tracing the crack on the right hand corner of my mouth
I left her kiss behind, a ***** secret
fading like the silhouette of a flower at sunset,
darkness closing in around my naked body
that was a canvas I refused to believe was still art.
The second time I learnt not to stay too long,
to leave my socks on
to escape out that 4 minute exit window
so I don’t infuse my heart in this metaphor we call love
I wasn’t strong enough for this weight
upon my shoulders to remain
the perfect convent school girl I was taught to be
so I begun to shrink my body
to fit in the comfort of a waistcoat pocket
amongst demin in a closed closet.
People begun to notice the cage I kept my heart in was growing bigger,
or I was growing smaller,
trying to break free from beneath my skin,
stretching it thin so you can trace the lines
I’d learnt to repeat: do not eat. Do not eat.
Do not let anyone in.
Do not let anything in.
There is nothing worse than letting someone see what you look like on the inside
you cannot make love disappear on command
like you can with a one night stand,
you cannot control sexuality like you can control your calorie intake,
restrict your appetite for more of her taste, give yourself space,
shrink yourself to give yourself more space to waste
and keep looking for love in all the wrong places
as one day your prince will come.
Keep looking
In the company of men, in the bottom of a bottle
blur your eyes so you can no longer recognise
who it is who lies beside you
who that person is in the looking glass,
there is no reflection in the mirror when you
starve yourself thinner and thinner
become the skeleton in your closet
to hang the girl they condemn and call a sinner
but a different kind of hourglass will count
down to 6, not the size, but how many feet
you will be in the ground.
When they open the closet door,
Your bones will no longer be there to be found..
No one tells you can’t read love like the fairy tales beneath your bed.
that your prince may wear a dress and listen to Nirvana,
the heart has no pronoun for a reason
love is not an etchasketch you can shake to change,
it is a kaleidoscope of every colour of the rainbow
with hundreds of different variations
an each one is beautiful
The sixth time I went down on a girl I told her I couldn’t stay long.
That I had to wash my hair, purge myself of her sweet touch.she held out her hand l
like a compass pointing north to home
and said every person has their own northern star
even stars fall.
No one asks them who they are falling for.
Instead we hold out our hands to catch them
And say come as you are.
I was so addicted to her I could brew in her imperfections,
dream of sugar mice in her navel.
she had given me the most dangerous sweet tooth for the freckle on her forehead and her bergamot scented bed.
Tracing the crack on the right hand corner of my mouth
I left her kiss behind, a ***** secret
fading like the silhouette of a flower at sunset,
darkness closing in around my naked body
that was a canvas I refused to believe was still art.
The second time I learnt not to stay too long,
to leave my socks on
to escape out that 4 minute exit window
so I don’t infuse my heart in this metaphor we call love
I wasn’t strong enough for this weight
upon my shoulders to remain
the perfect convent school girl I was taught to be
so I begun to shrink my body
to fit in the comfort of a waistcoat pocket
amongst demin in a closed closet.
People begun to notice the cage I kept my heart in was growing bigger,
or I was growing smaller,
trying to break free from beneath my skin,
stretching it thin so you can trace the lines
I’d learnt to repeat: do not eat. Do not eat.
Do not let anyone in.
Do not let anything in.
There is nothing worse than letting someone see what you look like on the inside
you cannot make love disappear on command
like you can with a one night stand,
you cannot control sexuality like you can control your calorie intake,
restrict your appetite for more of her taste, give yourself space,
shrink yourself to give yourself more space to waste
and keep looking for love in all the wrong places
as one day your prince will come.
Keep looking
In the company of men, in the bottom of a bottle
blur your eyes so you can no longer recognise
who it is who lies beside you
who that person is in the looking glass,
there is no reflection in the mirror when you
starve yourself thinner and thinner
become the skeleton in your closet
to hang the girl they condemn and call a sinner
but a different kind of hourglass will count
down to 6, not the size, but how many feet
you will be in the ground.
When they open the closet door,
Your bones will no longer be there to be found..
No one tells you can’t read love like the fairy tales beneath your bed.
that your prince may wear a dress and listen to Nirvana,
the heart has no pronoun for a reason
love is not an etchasketch you can shake to change,
it is a kaleidoscope of every colour of the rainbow
with hundreds of different variations
an each one is beautiful
The sixth time I went down on a girl I told her I couldn’t stay long.
That I had to wash my hair, purge myself of her sweet touch.she held out her hand l
like a compass pointing north to home
and said every person has their own northern star
even stars fall.
No one asks them who they are falling for.
Instead we hold out our hands to catch them
And say come as you are.
spoken poetry
Poetic T Apr 2020
I Hope I Dont Die
Poetic T
Apr 2020
I'm a silently panicked individual,
on the outside I'm calmer than
the ocean on a windless tide.
But underneath I'm like a riptide of
trepidation,
I wonder different scenarios.
What if's,
when will I,
why the hell are they
not 6 feet away.
In my view, a cotton cloth isn't going
to stop anything, if a **** can get through,
boxers, and Demin trousers.
How's a thin cloth going to stop it,
P.s the rest of your face neck
hair is open for business.
Its absorbed, every breath, touch
cough, that travels much, much
further than you think.
With your vinyl gloves that spread more
than you realise..
But what ever makes
you comfortable.. that's ok!!!
But don't touch anything
I want to pick up with your filthy hands.
Id rather trust unwashed digits to those
blue, white, finger puppets of falsehood.
I read the news, so many who help us,
those in need thank goodness I'm
not one, not yet..
But they help the poorly,
the dying..
I hate that word
DYING..
loneliness,
of family unable morn you,
to smile and wish you good journey.
You, we, them just die without a smile.
a We Love You.
No they just gasp looking for comfort,
but all they see is others gasping for
just another day...
Flatline...…………………………………….
on the outside I'm calmer than
the ocean on a windless tide.
But underneath I'm like a riptide of
trepidation,
I wonder different scenarios.
What if's,
when will I,
why the hell are they
not 6 feet away.
In my view, a cotton cloth isn't going
to stop anything, if a **** can get through,
boxers, and Demin trousers.
How's a thin cloth going to stop it,
P.s the rest of your face neck
hair is open for business.
Its absorbed, every breath, touch
cough, that travels much, much
further than you think.
With your vinyl gloves that spread more
than you realise..
But what ever makes
you comfortable.. that's ok!!!
But don't touch anything
I want to pick up with your filthy hands.
Id rather trust unwashed digits to those
blue, white, finger puppets of falsehood.
I read the news, so many who help us,
those in need thank goodness I'm
not one, not yet..
But they help the poorly,
the dying..
I hate that word
DYING..
loneliness,
of family unable morn you,
to smile and wish you good journey.
You, we, them just die without a smile.
a We Love You.
No they just gasp looking for comfort,
but all they see is others gasping for
just another day...
Flatline...…………………………………….