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Shannon Mar 2015
v
I am angry in the way that
bubbles in champagne
rocket towards air.
I am pretty-
in that beige and golden way.
That heat paints my face,
Scolds my cheeks-
like an iron to the crispest collar
of a well-dressed man.
And I am virile in the hot.
Lovely reds and pinks and
eyes that catch-
LaCross nets that
will not meet your gaze
lest you see the squall
I work so hard to hide.
I am breathless with my rage,
and oh, so beautiful! Finally.
In my pain,
I am dry and fragile
brittle leaves crunching underfoot,
the salt left careless by the sea.
Nothing grows in me-
nothing grows in me.
I am dead sea
and beauty floats boastful where
love cannot swim.
For I carry this grief
in the way a river stone
bears the weight of the rushing water.
The lovely
and the ruthless.
The heinous
and the clean....
the very worst of me
is the prettiest to see...
Naked before the judges table
I have no shame.
"Such a pity", they'll say.
"Such a beautiful girl,
all that anger in such a beautiful girl."

Sahn
3/24/15
anger is hard to explore in oneself. it's hard to objective. i believe pure anger can create it's own light which has a certain loveliness. thank you for sharing my work.
Shannon Mar 2015
I wait for the crashing fight.
for the tire screech,
the door slam-
for the lava words
that roll magnificent red from my tongue
and slowly drip ashen black onto the wooden floor between us.
I wait for the broken flute,
tiny bubbles, tiny dreams-
all absorbed by Berber Carpet
and mailbox stuffed
with molehills of mountains.
I wait for the heaving pressures
that blow things upwards,
that blow things inwards.
That makes canyons
and mushrooms
I wait for the fury that turns my eyes
cast with doubt, cast with coal dust.
my lungs puffed with indignation-
so little room to breathe
that I am high from venom.
I wait for the disgust to
wrap around me like a Sunday School wrap-skirt
colorful and gay,
and dropped to the floor without
consideration.
I wait for the hate to be early.
with hope already so foolishly spent on each other,
with faith so carelessly blown away
riding in invisible
paper airplanes-
such are the kisses sent across busy roads.
Waste, waste all these desires of the mundane
when lust drives
outside forces divide,
heat and sinner unite us
and I wait,
I do.

I wait for it to pass.
So as to get to the stuff a day beyond the splintered wood
past the love,
past the lush.
past the lace on my forehead.
I wait for it all to past so as to get myself wholly to you.
For it is not the very last of days
I wait to spend with you,
It is the very all of days I wait to spend with you.


Sahn 3/16/15
you shared your time with me, and i am as always, ever grateful.
Shannon Mar 2015
I'll have you know the movies love me,
they love my lovely face in silhouette
and they say, 'oh you are the reason we do what we do.'
I think you should know the sidewalk loves me,
they heave my great weight effortlessly
and say, 'oh, it's such an honor to hold your burdens up.'
You should probably be aware
that waters love me.
they ****** me in the most intimate places
and say, 'oh how can I not tickle you so?'
and luck, she burrows in the meager coins in my pocket
while she seduces a golden deity
to give me baby prosperities.
Blessings, those scamps, they just adore me!
Ringing and ringing their bright silver bells
so that only I can hear them...
throwing  butterflies down with the rain so the drops
fall
Softly
Down
against
my
skin
because
Time, he seduces me.
He takes me into the strongest hold and tells me stories!
Oh, the stories Time will weave just so I don't leave his lap and-
I'll warn you, the stars are mesmerized by tracing the shadows in my face.
They love to play hide in seek,
they hide in my eyes for days and I can't find them.
And Laugh!
Laugh thinks I am her playmate
and she shares whispers with no other.
With no other that is not
me.
I am loved the universe wide,
I am loved
Far reaches of the sky,
I am loved.
Beneath the sticking blades of grass-
yes, loved there as well.
I am loved,
Now hold my hand and
Love me too.

Sahn
3/11/15
always, ever, gratefully, so.
Shannon Mar 2015
No more to write another word
of my merry making
Or place you in the crescent moon
and tell the maids you're taken.
Take the ink from in my mind
and stopped my fingers writhing?
I'll think the biggest thoughts of God
then place you in the tithing.
If all the paper turned to beads
and all the threads unraveled-
I'd weave a poet's deepest fear-
in the darkest places traveled.
We are not the whispered tale.
Ours did not skip fleeting
It leaked its way
through pulse and vein-
to drum the story beating.
I have you in the scar on knees-
that leaves a child sorrow.
You have me in the set alarm
that gives one more tomorrow....
If I stopped a thief from stealing
if I stop a ship from sail,
If I stop a bride from blushing
take a train from off the rail:
If you take my words and wrap
them in the perfect silken bow
this lovers tongue, you will still hear-
this soul, you will still know.


Sahn
3/8/15
I could not be any more delighted to make your acquaintance, dearest ones.
Shannon Mar 2015
Willfully-
I don't see you from the side of my body.
Yet these **** toes like small children tugging on my hem,
"Come on, come on!"
They want to run to you
(and I do, too)
but I will not budge.
as I am quite intently giving you no mind.
Contented to just watch you from the blindspot as
I keep you carefully wondering
why if there is so much beauty in the world to admire...
Then why-
you would-
your whole body could
only
and against your own will
only-
not see me too.


sahn 3/5/2015
thank you so much for sharing my work. a little playful, feisty piece. i am ever grateful to have readers that are so very fabulous.
Shannon Mar 2015
I saw you over there, lustful man.
I braided **** ribbons in my hair
so they could make you think
of wrists
and feet
and places of interest.
Ribbons of heat
curling from
the effort of
not watching me.
The devil leaves a sinful man
who fights within himself-
The devil leaves the sinful man to battle
lonesome.
The devil knows what you do not-
you'll never leave as victor.
I pass my glaze of a glance of sigh of a slight turn-
you de-watched me too.
That is to say
you watched me so tightly
you had to un-think me with purpose.
You had to descend on those
deviant rungs
step ginger down,
rung by rung by rung
and you stopped half way
between me up here
and me down there.
and oh! what a glorious place you stopped.
The holy place of me- where I am still a Mary
and a Magdelene?
I've yet to be.


Sahn
3/3/15
Thank you for taking the time to read and share my work.  I am always grateful.
Shannon Feb 2015
I stretch, and stretch
up towards a place where my head is far
further above so
that I cannot hear the jet engine of your words.
I hear my bones creak
with the effort to get
away from the pollution
of your coal train ramming me.
I hear only my body
cracking like spring ice
as I rise, rise -
rise above your noise toxins
that settle like limp and sodden cardboard crowns
worn about your tortured head.
High above your hollow community
above your entitlement park,  
above your tiny-
tinny voice.
I hear it. Your hateful sounds like poultry jibber
so far down in
atmospheres
below.
I laugh to hear your wordless squawl!
I stretch but  now to bend
and see you
beneath my squishy toes.
Bend at the waist
to see who's nipping at my ankles
and I cry a tear of mirth.
A white rapid that
whisks your bitter apple groove
far away.
I stretch you gone.
I stretch you indifferent.
I grow myself pardoned, I grow my self free.

sahn
2/15/15
thank you for exploring this topic with me. I love comments, suggestions or messages of any type.
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