"porcelin" poems
Dirt keeps jamming
under our fingernails.
We've spent hours
digging through each other.
Were looking for a lover or a friend;
an ancestor and a relative.
We tried to sink our teeth
into each other
but all we found
was chipped porcelin.
One day I'll learn
how to hold nothing
and love the way it tastes.
One day ill leave the place
where lovers say,
If for no other reason,
*My pants are already
grass stained.*
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 7:49 AM UTC
White cotton
and pink lace
pictures of castles
far away
children laughing
pinwheels blowing
in her room
a garden growing
a little Mozart
a little Top
a little smile
one teardrop
an "I believe"
on her wall
in the window
porcelin dolls
angels fly
about her house
and faerie dust
on the couch
the smell of roses
everywhere
endless infinity
in the air
prisms dancing
in her eyes
and I just never
wonder why
Nov 14, 2009
Nov 14, 2009 at 5:00 PM UTC
Broken into a thousand anxious pieces
stomped upon and disliked
rejected and neglected and humiliated
like a broken dish someones gone crazy on
until the porcelin has turned into the powder it came from
Like sand, or flour, it does not resemble a dish at all, but could
become something else, most likely swept up into a dustpan and dumped
a million microscopic pieces of a former dish, that is me
A mess of powder splatter on the floor
what will I become next?
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
Red white and blue
cloudy foggy blue can't quite see through, but
cutting through this impossible blue is pure white
blinding white of porcelin skin that's never seen summer time, and-
red, the color and brilliance of blood
slices through the blinding white
and she fades to black.
black, the absence of color, the abundance of relief
I needed relief she excuses, I just... I needed it to bleed
never meant for it to happen this way, she's addicted to the silver
not the silver lining on the clouds,
because storm clouds don't have a silver lining
when they're only black
and she can't differentiate between the colors
when everything is blue
a foggy mist she can't see through
she's just trying to break through, maybe even cut through
but all you see are the scars on your arms,
so stunned by your own assumptions you can't see through
your own fog, to the words on her lips
bandaged cuts can't keep her silent,
her sweet voice slowly seeps through:
this is my story, this is my song,
and if i were you, i'd never sing along.
because her favorite color is red as the relief spills through her veins
and the scars it leaves behind tell the stories
of regret that she can't run from
but she keeps on running,
cant catch her breath, can't catch a break
she paints pictures in colors of crimson,
on her arms she paints her life scene by scene
the pictures always change, but the captions stay the same:
"I, I needed it to bleed."
red relief comes in a line,
you cringe at her scars, but only she can feel them
sweet crimson relief, she can finally breathe
see, the scars on her arms tell a story in red, white and blue.
doesn't want to admit it but shes addicted to this feeling
she runs her fingers over the scars,
this is her 3 dimensional healing
and she, fades to black.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 8:09 PM UTC
Can these feet be killers
& stab the concrete,
If only the ribs would come, and lie lie lie,
My wet streets, my wet cheeks,
My porcelin toenails break, sweat down cheeks race,
Eyes they started,
Deep breathing on & onoff,
Deep breathing on & on off,
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
She's sitting on the edge of stone
looking across the blue
a white rose in her hand
rememberance of a tune
a song of angels
playing in the air
over and over she turns the rose
his voice is everywhere
Her dress is all wet
tears falling down
she does'nt really care
another drop to the ground
Empty porcelin
with a pretty face
a soul entwined
to his heavenly space
she laughs a whisper
and drops the rose
looks up to the heaven
a stairway flows
she sees her image
lost out there
then she takes
to the clouded stairs
she embraces herself
her soul with tears
and now a smile
love in the mirror
down she goes
back to the stone
angels singing
no more alone
Nov 15, 2009
Nov 15, 2009 at 6:00 AM UTC
Broken
Shut down
Demolished and destroyed
Brought down to her knees
Literally, literally brought down
Face to face with porcelin and water.
Purge, purge, purge
Empty the empty
Break down and out
Out, out, no way out...
Betrayed
Dismissed
Returned, replaced, retried
Falsify your family, break it down
Let it out
Praise thee, mighty nothingness.
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 31, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
Blue eyes, auborn hair, porcelin skin.
Thats what you see until you get to whats within.
Within it a soul that longs to come out.
Float through the air, scream, run and shout.
It wants you to know how much you are missed.
How much i know it knows it ****** up, how it misses every kiss.
It wants you to know that it still remembers your smell.
The way you look when you first wake up, and how youre putting it through hell.
It remembers your music, your voice soft and sweet.
It remembers how much you loved the feeling of the sand on your feet.
It wants you to know, that it dwells on the past.
That its hard to move on when you left without looking back.
It has a few questions, like why would you leave?
It thought it had found its mate, another soul from the same breed.
It longs to hold you again, to rock you to sleep.
It wants to feel the way you breathe when your dreaming those beautiful dreams,
It wants to tell you that it misses you so.
It wants to ask you, why would you go?
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
As he lay,
his mind away,
stars colide
as she smiled
porcelin skin
unbroken sin
tear drops, whats this
tear drops
from the wolf
another silence broken
another stillness corrupt
note too self...
its cold in speke
Jul 14, 2011
Jul 14, 2011 at 4:08 PM UTC
1.
The rolling hills
Crest and
Dive and
Move like
Oceans,
Covered in armies of trees.
Trees,
Like thousands upon
Thousands of warriors
Made of leaves and
Dirt and
The souls of prehistoric
Insects that may have
Planted them.
The trees carpeting
The thunderous hills
Have a sort of marching
Energy to them.
Like they
Were frozen
In place.
I am reminded of the
Army of terra cotta
Soldiers.
Unstuck in time,
Stunned in space,
They silently guard their own hill,
Crumbling slowly,
Like cheese.
And the terra cotta arms
And the terra cotta legs
Of the terra cotta trees
Are attempting to drag
Their iron roots
Through the hills,
Sinking like lead
Through the earth,
As if it was meant to be the
Ocean it resembled so much.
Maybe,
Armies of troops once trudged
And fought through swamps
As vast
And troubled
As seas.
And a terra cotta war,
Unconqured by
Shattering warriors,
Is left like
Smoldering porcelin,
Still being fought
On the hills
Of Utah.
2.
You can still
See the remains
Of their clash;
You can analyze
Their placement
And movements
Like battlefeild strategy.
You can wonder what
Terra cotta general
Put them there.
Did the trees respect him
As a father?
His tactics
Funneled down to
Swarming like ants
Or dripping like oil.
There is the occasional
Silent,
Lone,
Watchman,
Angled towards the
Power lines,
The coursing blue veins,
And the sky,
Filled with the
Bright and
Rippling trails
Of their valiant enemy.
3.
The terra cotta trees
Give way
To the stone,
Brick,
And steel,
Of an upright man,
Overwhelming white
Against
Overwhelming green
Against
Overwhelming yellow
Against
Overwhelming blue
Against
Overwhelming black.
The people live unaware,
(With meerkat eyes
And posture)
Of the armies surrounding them,
Signaling the dusk of their time.
The trees will outlive us all
By millennia.
Their war will continue.
Our bodies will become
A wave in the hills
That they march through,
A crater in the commander moon,
A foot soldier in their
War,
A leaf,
A branch,
A bird,
Food for a plant
That is food for a squirrel,
Soaked in through
The churning,
Breathing roots
Of the terra cotta trees,
In the living,
Moving,
Tumbling hills.
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 5:58 PM UTC
The kettle sings
she dances towards me
she pours mine
and then her own
honey drips,
chamomile
with hints of mint
spoons clank
I stir too fast
she breaks her biscotti
and gives me half
We cheers porcelin rims
she smiles at me
our day begins
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 1:36 AM UTC
Movement,
The way your body sways in its own rythmatic unison, hypnotising me.
Beautiful, porcelain poison.
You gaze with allurmemt in each pupil, pulling me in.
I am taken away by your bewilderment ways.
I am falling in love with you day by day.
Sweet porcelin love.
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 1:04 AM UTC
It's been months,
filled with complete destruction.
I'm still ******* crying,
begging myself to stop forming a mountain of emotions in the pit of my stomache,
weighing me down.
I don't think you ******* know how much of you has become part of
my sadness,
my soul,
my life.
It's as if you knew the moment you laid your eyes on me,
I craved your strength.
Oh how I miss your touch,
running your fingers on the cracks
of my porcelin body.
How could you leave me ******* helpless?
You left marks in places of agony that grew flowers only by your slightest touch.
I still solemly desire your angelic lips to be pressed against mine again,
I reminise about the way you saved me.
And all the memories that lead up to this point.
Now you're watching me ******* drown in the middle of an ocean of unspoken words and you're no longer reaching out to grab me,
you have selfishly left me to fend on my own.
I guess this is how it feels to be abandoned by someone,
I just hoped it hadn't been you.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
the craving runs deep,
clawing into her,
asking her to sink,
into what she once was.
sliding into a paradox,
no longer caring at all-
torn into nothing,
soon will be my porcelin doll.
beauty unmasked,
soon i won't see,
for the end of herself,
is all that will be.
i watch her destruction,
the death of who she was,
turn to be forgotten,
as if forever lost.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
This morning,
I pulled a flaming string
Of ***** ruby tinted hair
From the inside of a sock on my floor,
And in the shower,
I found a single thread
Of burning, stranded follicle
Wrapped around the drain's grate,
Which struck me as odd,
Because you've never step foot
In my shower (as much as I might have wished),
You've never even set foot in
That bathroom at all,
It was always too ***** to touch your porcelin skin,
To by seen by your eyes or feel your judgement,
But even so,
I still find your hair everywhere.
This morning,
I put on a shirt,
One that you said held me half as nice
As you ever could,
And I thought of your words
And I thought of your gentle touch as I plucked
A lingering fiber of a lost flame flicker
From the breast of my attire,
And another wriggling yarn undone
Soaked in the end of a sunset
From the interior of my ripped jeans pocket
That still embedded the whisper of your perfume,
Your hair was absolutely everywhere.
This morning,
I stumbled into my car
And sulked in the sun
As a hair of yours relaxed
Among the dust of dashboard features,
And the sight of it
Prompted my mind to wake,
My hand to shift into gear,
And my tired legs to throttle the gas.
This morning,
The cars and trees and blank-slated faces
Hazed together in a fuse of
Gray and brown and all the other ugly colors,
The colors of dead things,
Which must have been why
I drove to the cemetery.
The gates, rusted and lonesome,
Creaked a "hello",
And the ground was frosty
To my arrival.
This morning,
I found a hair of yours
Draped over the head of a stone,
And that struck me as utterly odd
Since you've never been here before now,
And this morning at work,
My pants were covered in dirt
From kneeling before you as the sun came up,
But I didn't care,
I had to come see you
And ask you to keep
Your ******* hair to yourself.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
An infinite sky exits within my teacup.
Rose, mint world..
in a porcelin bowl.
Blue backdrops the newly budding tree,
its green sprouts compliment the sun with
their shine.
I do not wish to drink this world away.
My tongue is dry.
My lips wrinkled from the thirst.
I kiss the bowl one time.
And swallow this world.
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 1:31 AM UTC