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Apr 2017 · 644
siphon
smallhands Apr 2017
to paint violent torches, eat quivering berries bent on thorns
every quaint brittle poet is mighty, strong, zealous
at each full yoke aches pure whole angst
mussed tousled everythings, draped silently on green tables with merciless baby finches eating delicacies
sipping gin and whistling - the year that beauty blasted through our roof and crumbled down onto our floors
the last part is the poison - chase it 'til it's siphoned;
may it be swallowed by a foe

-c.j.
Apr 2017 · 486
siphon
smallhands Apr 2017
to paint violent torches, eat quivering berries bent on thorns
every quaint brittle poet is mighty, strong, zealous
at each full yoke aches pure whole angst
mussed tousled everythings, draped silently on green tables with merciless baby finches eating delicacies
sipping gin and whistling - the year that beauty blasted through our roof and crumbled down onto our floors
the last part is the poison - chase it 'til it's siphoned;
may it be swallowed by a foe

-c.j.
Apr 2017 · 385
eden
smallhands Apr 2017
you'll always venture near dark gardens,
through mazes going along eastern hills
over fences you'll explore vast spaces
made of imaginary kingdoms

until the sun quits raying and shining down,
scamper into joyous field of flowering sepals just heavenly
see the valley's dandelions sway and drift side to side
under olive trees, from vine to vine

out even further lies some open-faced southern edens,
for visiting despite malevolent heathens not going their
expected ways

-c.j.
Apr 2017 · 348
eagles
smallhands Apr 2017
once God just tries, you'll get your wish
keep jumping nearer on your weak legs
dive just under the sky, close enough to
nip nicely at your shins
keep even chase with the quiet casts
you only reach quaint everests when nothing juts under
change everything
you, yourself
just try

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 430
la fois
smallhands Mar 2017
there is a room full of clocks ticking in sync
because time has a heartbeat
and places are just different variations of time
time that can be beautiful if we let it

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 365
feux d'artifice
smallhands Mar 2017
if you close your eyes it's just like
being in the midst of war
the fireworks puncture the sky
and follow each other without pause,
our final kisses
hurrying to make something beautiful
before we have to go

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 452
loup
smallhands Mar 2017
no doubt I was born with wolf blood
at seven I could howl and shake the moon above
and more truth shows and home calls

I step alone but wild winds blow while
I decide now if colliding heads and
seething teeth match and align with
my true story

are homes composed of icy spears
and brutality's wounds?
which body was I meant to occupy?

no doubt I was born with wolf blood
yet I am strikingly human as well
split genes in this animal
two worlds where I belong

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 318
retour au noir
smallhands Mar 2017
irises are blue,
pupils are black
from lover to lover
the colour changes back

baby eyes smile,
light reflects feeling
coming closer to learn
the life of the girl
you are seeing

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 312
in rerum natura
smallhands Mar 2017
is it a second chance or the twelfth?
the stars around my heart are fighting again,
sparking up the little adolescent muscle in my chest
because the danger in metaphors caught up
with me and they convince me I'm not living

in the real world, I bite my lip
I walk alone

but when I think of you
my heartbeat-
you take it away

these faulty stars know ways to go and stop
and start again
but they are still only juveniles

the twelfth chance spins into the thirteenth
so I let go of my lip and slow down or
run ahead to meet you
and my heartbeat becomes me

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 336
monstrator
smallhands Mar 2017
to invent something, one becomes obsessed with the one real altering "what"
inventors spend summers and springs in their attics
attempting mad tries concerning a last ambiguity
being wise does not always work in said theorists' formulas
madness breeds brilliance, but one botch will torch onlooker's perceptions

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 732
alone, quiet
smallhands Mar 2017
how the writing thins because another day heaps promptings onto her overthinking head, harrowing laments and fantastic stories
she gets some time alone, quiet, where ideas amplify or where dreams turn boundless

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 263
nighttime
smallhands Mar 2017
because the day was over
and it was quite alright to say goodbye
she skipped formalities
and lay her head on her own pillow,
her dreams already beginning to whisper to her

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 245
billions
smallhands Mar 2017
there were billions of bodies buried beneath my feet
and the sun shone
to say it was a new day would be a lie
it was a resuscitation of the one before
a chance to make amends
or so I thought

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 607
algebra
smallhands Mar 2017
your algebra is senseless, you know- we learned so long ago to carry the zero
maybe as the numbers add up, days, squares on a calendar, you're only thinking how it will be when she goes

what a blue monday it was, hearts trapped in a hurricane
scribbled scattered formulas flashing in your head, her eyes reminding you of the innocent laying on your bed
notes are in a windstorm, and in the calm middle, you hear her say
even the prettiest equations couldn't solve us

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 366
after winter
smallhands Mar 2017
"the roots of love come tumbling down" when the winter exits and spring takes over, melting the snow and whispering to the sproutlings
transforming the ice into a river, the cold into warmth, the deadness into newness

no intelligence decides the weather- if clouds thicken, rain abounds, if impressions ****** the soil to the worms
a single thorn mutilates our trust, staining any emblems worn that winter day, but
the crumbling love outside rests tonight

-c.j.
inspired by "The Roots of Love" by Big Wave
Mar 2017 · 271
jilted
smallhands Mar 2017
are you mine or should I give up that fight
this alienation seeks to press in, it is eager to bite
jilted lovers, if lovers at all
fading like old photographs hung on the wall
whatever the oblique harangue put on,
little frames adorn anyway
lightness into lightness

just before the empty,
I ignite, I paint the stars-
and the feeling that usurps grace is suddenly over me

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 230
no sun
smallhands Mar 2017
inevitably waking up to a black sun, the eclipse is stuck
news channels don't even mention it anymore because
it's been this way for a while, now

sunshine became shadow- the smart people said we should just turn
night into our day, with the moon as a replacement
the world cannot revolve around a dark star, so the world chose to be nocturnal

we adapt constantly, we still are somewhat comfortable, but all
of the flowers are gone and we've turned to animals for their meat
desperately as the goods of the ground die out

pale arms and legs are the norm, and we ration our electricity in case this never ends, in case the sun never sheds its selfish cloak

we are managing, but there is no such thing as thriving, anymore

-c.j.
Mar 2017 · 320
telescope
smallhands Mar 2017
over the years the line "this dream is, this dream is in a telescope now"
has meant something but only lately did I realise what it means,
at least, in one facet-
the ideals swirling in my head, these things I think I want, these stories and scenes that infatuate me until I'm speechless-
they are far behind now, not because I changed my mind,
but because I grew up
and it takes a telescope to see them now

-c.j.
inspired by the song "the greatest light is the greatest shade" by the Joy Formidable
Mar 2017 · 256
solum
smallhands Mar 2017
say you need me like lepers need miracles
like houses need foundations
say you could not live without me here,
brushing your hair out of your eyes, telling you
a song I love or a stupid joke I make up
because I know I need you, for life
I will be your miracle worker and solid ground
just tell me that you want me to

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 232
skręcone
smallhands Feb 2017
thank heavens I realised he can't treat me that way
what kind of man tells you of his infatuation,
gets separated from you, reunites with you,
then exerts his energy to secret affairs, the kind
that set you beside another woman and allows
people to shine flashlights into your eyes?
what kind of twisted love story is that?
not mine, no, not mine

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 236
enveloppé dans des livres
smallhands Feb 2017
Sally prefers to be wrapped up in books,
to ignore the others' penetrating looks
cathedral bells in her head, a Catholic wedding
in the plot

-c.j.
smallhands Feb 2017
there's a portable television showing a map
of the world with concerned voices behind it
reporters tell us to take it as it comes
and that every exit is now blocked
there's reason to run and there's reason to fear
as the news blares in pixels and decibels
and we bite our lips when we realise that
to run is human but to fear is divine
so until further notice we hide inside
pretending no bravery so our god will
save us in our weakest, most human moment
God watches the news too, don't you know

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 193
gambiller
smallhands Feb 2017
Allison came in late, always
she loved to dance in ballrooms, too
perhaps she'll learn to waltz in time, in time

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 296
gentle homicide
smallhands Feb 2017
to break her heart you'll need more than a needle of course
a knife sharpened minutes ago can cut cleanly-
is that what you intend to make, a clean break?
it will hurt far more if you go halway
and stop
heartstrings taut, reminding onlookers of a harp
created by a blade trimmed keenly and sharp
to break her heart you must damage it but not
beyond repair
or else, you see, she'd simply get another one
this way it's stuck in her chest, unright,
mending each fibre until the ache is only
a phantom hurt
it will merely be a vague pang, eventually
you may sharpen your knife now

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 248
maisons/corps/intérieurs
smallhands Feb 2017
and the suburban war begins with blood
because we were raised by wolves
there are no cardinal rules
just keep watch while your friends sleep
and succumb to the inevitability of
a heartless empire, yet again
fight outside the windows, we are trying to
keep the houses holy
we have never said anything about the insides
of us, though, and blood still spills

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 288
livre d'anniversaire
smallhands Feb 2017
for your birthday I'll write you a novel
no surprises there, just acquiesce to my stories
of the street just east of Eden where we made our choice
notes resembling thoughts in the back of your head-
I'll release them, bring to life what you thought was dead

-c.j.
smallhands Feb 2017
does the speed of sound and that of light
ever resonate in unison?
thunder and lightning bolt coincidences?
as this pen runs out I lose my mind and know
I started something I couldn't finish
sound, light, parallel or not in speed
a phenomenon under naïve speculation
until poetic justice arrives or the teacher
speaks science to me in harsh monotonous rote
does it matter if I know? knowledge- isn't that power?
power is not knowledge, however, and the voltage
of the skies won't quit until I have an answer

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 220
peindre et écrire
smallhands Feb 2017
I graduated twelve days ago
oh, how odd it is to be classless
not in a desk and not in a crowd
who am I if no one will tell me?
maybe it's just like when we were kids
adults paint the walls and we paint
the canvas
belittled for reasons we could not know
at the time
the adults write the checks and we write
the essays
I am growing, but whether it is up or left or right
I don't know

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 261
feux de port
smallhands Feb 2017
who are you talking to under the harbour lights?
please say, "nobody but you" and steady my knees
when I ask, "where will we go?
you know my name, you know my heart, and my mind
I hope you know, you were my rock, never my stepping stone"

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 168
diable
smallhands Feb 2017
the devil we know will chase us until we get there
until the last page
(he stirs up all the rage)
back home there are no beds warm enough to
sustain us
worse, there is no wonder
english became devilspeak and there is no way
around the despicable revelry
so like ink we bleed, pages thick
at least until satan's clock ceases to tick

-c.j.
smallhands Feb 2017
stay free of the weight of love
unless you find it sweeter to wait
for somebody new, foreign heartbeats
in a pocket of air or a fortune cookie
lucky molecules that match your love

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 121
dødsmarsj
smallhands Feb 2017
isn't the wall at the door supposed to end up
in the fireplace?
the chimney beckons him and he obliges and
continues to whistle the chorus of his death march
thinking he'd sleep like a baby tonight

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 162
saisie
smallhands Feb 2017
always ready to tuck the darkness in so
it has no way of painting four walls,
no way of seizing her spirit

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 192
la beauté est son cadeau
smallhands Feb 2017
her cherry lips are red in the grey
she could easily be atop a cake, pinned with
a wire, waiting on a table at the after-party
when most want wild, she prays for peace
she seeks purity when others settle for filth,
painting their souls black
beauty is her gift, beauty is something they buy
the spectrum she sees is whole, and she tries
to magnify their sights, turn them away from
the fruitless fractions

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 197
écraser
smallhands Feb 2017
memories from the basement DC:
pacing to find a signal, daydreaming about you,
stepping out the glass sliding door,
hoping the open sky could give me something
locking myself out in the cold dark November
night, rolling my eyes and muttering, "I can't find entrance,"
and feeling beyond clueless as I walked past the cars in the
steep driveway, thinking,
this isn't something you do for just a crush

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 203
misunnelse
smallhands Feb 2017
I won't share you
not during witching hour, or rainy afternoons,
or when the moon gleams neon
to think there is another one that makes me
clamour for subliminal explanations, relief
you should know I can't always be the sweetest,
to **** maybes and what ifs must be done
you might say they're just people, we do things
together, it's nothing to worry about
but the thought of you close to her makes me
reach for my needle

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 190
drapeaux
smallhands Feb 2017
I feel it all rippling like royal flags
within me
and when I look into a mirror I don't
recognise myself, my skin has
become so pale
blue eyes incite magic that god only knows
I can't control
inner sensations double as sirens,
piercing another likely story through the glass

I feel it all, and it's beginning to ache
so burn these flags for my body's sake

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 194
nous ne nous ne
smallhands Feb 2017
we won't go home immediately-
it's not like we seek cheap thrills, but
the urge to get away is indomitable
and tonight, we're going to run

finally, my saviour, finding me in
sweet disarray, and me doubting,
thinking you're not the one

but the night was not a mere visiting-
statue after statue felt our hands graze
their marble, heard us repeat, we won't
go home, we won't, not yet

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 188
amour électrique
smallhands Feb 2017
how white lies linger in every room-
that sacrificial valentine, bleeding red
until white was gone completely
to restart the heart requires
something electric:
love
Feb 2017 · 198
enfant
smallhands Feb 2017
who needs you to pour the milk into the bowl?
a little stranger with a growling stomach
she hasn't been here yet
when she does I'll hold her and sing her lullabies
little hands, soft, and her hair is dark like mine
I think I need her, too,I think
she's elsewhere now
when she comes I'll kiss her and whisper
sweetness into her ear
yes, I need her
I can't wait until she gets here

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 198
les eaux de pluie
smallhands Feb 2017
fire rides down my spine because I'm angry
but there's this strange attraction between
my being and yours that extinguishes
the flame
have you tried collecting rainwater in a cup before?
this is what this is like- my hands hold this
overflowing vessel, and no matter how much it
may seem in vain to keep standing there, spilling
the water, fueling this endless cycle of fullness
and almost enough, I can't stop looking up at the sky
that bears the gift, transfixed

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 214
autre côté
smallhands Feb 2017
mother and father will break the fall
they will help me get to the far side
except they won't, they can't

father will stand by you in a suit that
lovely day, you in white
his eyes will beg, come home, dear daughter
we miss you in our lives, I miss you in my life
but his mouth will say, look at you,
you gorgeous girl, be happy, be good, love him

mother will sit in the first pew, smiling and crying
she taught you how to be good, to love
they may not break the fall, but they have taught
you all the parts of being that work and make miracles
they will meet you at the far side

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 192
fête de piteux
smallhands Feb 2017
I'm sorry your alarm sounds like a gunshot and its murderous echoes
early morning hazards seem to be bad omens, don't they?
you flip the switch from dark to truth,
lights changing colour

I'm sorry your eyes hurt from the exposure
curtains shrugged aside, spilling the day in
through the shameless glass

I'm sorry you have to see the sunrise,
the meager clouds whispering about
birds and flight and winds blowing south

you are alive, a survivor of the night, and
though you don't deserve this nuisance of
a beginning, you deserve this beauty of
a new morning

another chance to breathe, and to do all
of the things you did before
and others which you have never thought of

I'm sorry, I'm not sorry

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 364
maison
smallhands Feb 2017
until you kissed me
I had always thought home was a place
home is a feeling
and it might not be cozy and warm all
the time, but the clocks don't tick and
our bodies fail to feel foreign-
we are safe

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 725
l'hirondelle
smallhands Feb 2017
I changed my name to smallhands
when you commented on their smallness
delicate hands sculpt our world,
the rougher hold it up
I wanted to be an artist blamed for the
earth's utopian aesthetic
so along a swift edge I signed my name,
my new persona, and said,
"my hands are small but my ideas can
swallow nations"

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 392
kjærlighet
smallhands Feb 2017
anthems for a seventeen-year-old girl include:
a bizarre love triangle, delicate hands, and home

bizarre love triangle is something
not taught in geometry
it is scalene, and it is uneven
for the shorter leg is the devil's arithmetic
and the longer, the perfect equation
the common side touches both in
different ways, for different reasons
shorter swells with jealousy as
longer and longer yet meet at their divine point
practicality destroys the art made, year last
a loss, a jilt, weathering sides so relentlessly
distanced from what devours ideals,
both isolated lines in cosmic space
each prayer inches them closer together
though it is bizarre, it is also beautiful

-c.j.
Feb 2017 · 542
viridi lumina
smallhands Feb 2017
as yellow metabolises to red,
I speed underneath it,
thinking,
intuition's dead

colour-confused yesterday, colour-wise, now
novel concepts you can dip naked in tea
if until slowness illness reigns,
the missing yield sign assumes power
green lights we have yet to prepare for

-c.j.
Sep 2016 · 265
hendur
smallhands Sep 2016
my hands are diminutive
yours, stately
your strong hand, your left, can shift mountains
(in dreams)
diminutively, I am gathering stories, one by one,
I am building my own kingdom
knots of my bookmarks are in open basements,
open systems, getting another injection done

daringly, you motion the seas to come
loathe your home, soak your dead
ancestor's heirlooms
my head aches, darling, yet soon you shall have
your life changing sequence, making it difficult
for me to draw (aliens giving some often-buried opulences in a breaking mug)
oh, **** the nerves in my small hands
yours do the work, I say, diminutively
but you turn to me and say
you are the work

-c.j.
Sep 2016 · 352
surérogatoire
smallhands Sep 2016
he made me feel like an extra
love wasn't in the cards- it was a possible
by-product because people always wish it
could thicken while lust engages all limbic
faculties
maybe my head held much more freedom than
he was used to
luckily an egregious loop wound me in its corral,
intimidating with what awful perhapses could
transpire
black paint all washed into covers, t-shirts,
white lingerie
even a list fixed of my mother's heaviest hues;
muddled, mindless file, to have with unsolicited taking-
like anyone ever looked anyway!
I am superfluous

-c.j.
Sep 2016 · 312
retinentia
smallhands Sep 2016
why don't you just stay awhile?
the mundane will go by faster with you
yeah, we forget good won't majority-trump all
save just you and I
didn't we have this conversation before?
that is why de ja vu has been gnawing at me-
it really is discomforting
nevermind that, just stay awhile
help **** time while holding my hand

-c.j.
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