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stopdoopy Oct 2018
It burns like an acid,

these hot tears,

Tearing through my skin.

The inside of my chest shredded,

And it's your hand this time,

That holds the carving knife.

Through it all, I hear a pounding-

                                          It's my hand on the table.
                                          As some tune's stuck in my head.
                                          I look around at all my friends,
                                          Grins and smiles a blaze by the fire.
                                          And for the first time in a long while,
                                          I join in, and I'm okay.
Getting over people's a process, but it will happen for you; just as it has for me.

I love my friends
b Nov 2017
A dictionary in a bag of bricks.
I watch it sink down the swamp.
Words only mean what we do with them after,
So I never feast until I know there's dessert coming.

I am the stone before the statue.
A block of possibility.
Waiting for guidance like a wiseman,
From anyone that can convince me we're not all mad for trying.

I am the stone before the statue.
Waiting to be carved.
Waiting to be told who I am.
Yanamari Jan 2017
I found a carving made of wood
A carving I made and
Never really understood
The shape was awfully made
And yet at the time
Emitted an aura that felt good
The raw quality,
The way light fell on it,
At the time I could only think
The carving was perfect,
The way that it stood.

I found a wood carving that I hid
Away from my mind
So that I could bid
Farewell to the misplaced notches and indents
That surfaced on the carving.
Why did I leave pieces here
And cut off parts there?
What experience did I have in carving
Such an obscene piece?
Of myself, the carving, I would rid
But if only I could
Forget what I did
What I carved
What I was amid
But I cannot

The reason I didn't understand
The decisions I made
Was because
I understood the decisions I made.
There are parts to this poem drafted in my mind and yet I carved them. I consider reattaching them but what effect will that have to my misshapen poem?
Elaina Jan 2013
Wind shapes open land
Carving its own signature
Painting on canvas
E Townsend Nov 2015
How do I get a carving out of a tree?
The smug shape of your G+E
outlines with a ******, misshaped heart
etched into the evergreen.
You ruined my favorite tree
with five words.
A sentence I knew you would inevitably say
at some point of our lives together.
I really wanted to doubt myself for once,
and be proved wrong in the right way.
But you just had to keep me incorrect.

I call the local lumberjack and ask him,
"Cut down the tree as soon as possible."
I think that's how you get a carving out of a tree.
"I don't love you anymore."
Paul Rousseau Oct 2015
We've taken you from your home. Lush in line, your twins and elders, taken.
You lost connection to the Nexus, put on display with porous candied paper messengers and the consumers of blood, perched from the ceiling by invisible lineage.
We have taken you. We're sorry. We lament. We trade small goods to take you, but its easy.
We take the tools too. The serration, the ******, newspaper mat lobotomy.
We lament. We are sorry.
We lament and cut sad faces. We cut the undead that spawn from the soil and ****** your innards into the hot room. We are sorry. We too spawn from soil. You feel you've lost connection to the Nexus- with the stringy appendages of chilled gore.
We've taken your insides and given you a new face.
We are sorry.
Kudos to Brian Oliu, who inspired this...thing.
Cazandra Leia Oh May 2015
There's a devil in each of us,
And an angel lives there too.

I saw the angel inside me,
Begging in tears to be set free.

But the devil stepped up,
shutting her up for so long.

I almost forgot her plea,
So I carved to set her free.

No one did understand,
How much this meant to me.

They stopped me for good,
Which stopped me from good.

It's been too long since then,
When i last saw her,
I'm afraid they killed the angel in me...
Bunny Dec 2014
I cannot eat and I cannot sleep anymore
because Your Great Love has been
knocking down my doors.
God, I am filthy, but you make me clean
You've had great plans for me
before I even became a little bean.
Growing up brings some bitter pains,
You wash it away with your healing rain.
My timid soul is thirsty and starving.
Shape me Lord, into your perfect carving.
Sarah Michelle Dec 2014
Hundreds of orders behind but never
Never quite
out of business. I cut my finger often
but my carvings are cut, always
must be.
I owe the people wooden hearts
to call their own.
And I owe myself a living,
living with clocks and statues and cabinets
for some purpose
known by God.
"wood carving"
Jennifer Louise Oct 2014
Their hallow heads hold fire after being carved by kids. I wonder how they do that, gouge a gourd for human fests. I bring them water every day, until they grow with might, these now seedless pumpkins that glow all through the night. They say they scare the ghosts away but none yet have I seen except the ones of the rotted skeletons that were once these.
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