my heart is alive
it's hurting so very sweetly
with the taste of you
how lovely it burns
I miss the taste of your mouth
while the day goes by
sharpie on my skin
i want to write my words on
your flesh so gently
i can try harder
but words don't do you justice
I wish you were mine
a white sheet of paper
an inviting canvas
sharpies lined up
in a rainbow
and thought out
by ink-stained hands
then a line
what a miracle
the marker is
but the turn of a wrist
drag it along
with your rainbow of colors
perhaps a red penciled rose
With few of blue
and thorns of green
a cerulean sea
and golden sand
with ashen hair
and icy eyes
rose petal cheeks
and baby-soft lips
Wrote this on the long way back from edwardsville.
broken hearts doodled on my hand
mean words scribbled out in dark ink
his name in hearts lies in permanence on my jeans
“fear nothing” boldly stated on my thigh
encouragement markered on my legs by a friend
witchcraft inked onto my wrist
signatures and quotes sharpied onto my clothing
people like to read and add to my canvas of being
they give me new things to remember
a million passerbys with pens immortalized in denim
if you ever meet me you'll beable to recognize the jeans i talk about here, please add something to them
a picture of Debbie Harry (by Andy Warhol).
a Stoneman Douglas awareness sticker.
a red Supreme sticker.
"favor" written in blue dry erase.
the queen of hearts from a pack of Aviators.
"still waters run deep and *****" in Sharpie.
and me. except that it's not me.
it's you. and it's not erasable.
I used a black sharpie to write a love poem on your arm
Hoping the ink would sink into depths causing little to no harm
That the rough words may permeate through your tough skin
And the permanence may prove that forever starts from within
That the black is dark enough to hide all your scars from being used
And that my words are evidence and proof of my love for you
So let that ink sink as deep as it might
My words peirce your soul without a fight
My sharpie art fill you with awe and an imaginative spark
Be inspired by my loving words and the permanent scar they leave on your heart
You may forget my face, you may forget my name but **never forget where my love made its mark
Love is a sharpie
Some days it draws good things,
Some days it draws bad ones.
The lines can be thick or thin,
Or long or short.
If you leave the cap off, it'll dry out.
Or sometimes they just explode.
But usually they work just fine,
Although they do smell funny.
You can do many things with a sharpie. Even though it says "permanent",
It'll usually wash off.
Some times, you gotta rub it real hard to get it to come off,
And even then,
Not all of it does.
The Sharpie X on my hand stands out against my pale white skin
It says "you are a child"
With it a thirteen-year-old is equally restricted as a twenty-year-old
The sharpie X means no alcohol and it means no trust
It says "you are a liar"
With it they are making sure that you don't lie about your age to get alcohol
Is that what every person under twenty-one is?
there's something about seeing
the faded sharpie on my arms
because it means i've scrubbed it all away
along with the memories of flowers and thorns
there's something about knowing
that you haven't been okay
that makes me fill up pages with too many words
and drives me completely insane
but i'll scrub you away like sharpie
because what should be permanent, never is
and soon enough you'll fade away
much like the words on my skin
In this city the bright lights can blind you
let you forget the rustic coins littered around the floor
caught by grimy hands belonging to a woman
she holds her life on a thin piece of cardboard
written in faded Sharpie
If you ever lose your way with the crowd
and stumble upon the empty alleyways
they possess cracked glass from beer bottles,
old shopping advertisements, broken toys
and the stench of trash mixed with lost hope realizing
the pavement isn't always perfect but littered with cracks
Walk further down and you will pass the rejected streets,
houses gone foreclosed and no remorse
all that matters is the country's history,
pressed on notorious green paper belonging to greedy hands
forgetting about the family that lost their house
Wait at the train station,
for the rumble and two yellow lights
The snake of a train claims passengers
trapping them between closed doors,
only allowing them to face their own misery
some escape with headphones
others just stare into the darkness with sunken eyes and drunken sighs
Walking home see the gum wrappers and dead leaves skid around
the soles of your worn shoes
Graffiti garage doors only display discarded art
And when the night is still
you can feel the empty consonants and vowels crawl up your legs
forming the unspoken words from unwanted voices that lay
Hidden under our feet.
In my creative expression class we read Italo Calvino's *Invisible Cities* and then we had to describe NYC, so this is just my piece. Hope you enjoyed it.
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