ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
it catches in my breath when i look at her. she’s unaware, soft and silent,
the sort of girl who exists best backstage, because she’d be blinding on the podium.
so i’d sit there on the bleachers and pen her down. metaphor after metaphor,
all sapphic verses dedicated to everything she was and everything i wasn’t.
there i am, lying on a hotel mattress. your friends are kind enough to me, but they’re not my friends.
i don’t think i have any friends, anymore. other than you, that is. the rest of them, well
you could say they did themselves in. you could say that we don’t talk anymore.
you could say a lot of things.
so here i am, equipped with mediocre poetry and a bleeding tongue.
there’s a girl in a sports jersey, she’s number 5 and she won’t kiss me.
i’m learning to focus on what’s left behind rather than what’s gone.
and it rains. how it rains. it pours and i let the storm swallow me.
i am made of too much love and no-one to give it to.
it is inconvenient, you see. to be loved in this way.
to be loved so wholesomely and carefully. like a delicate thing and like a god all at once.
with second guessing ten times over, nothing but doubts.
so he’s never going to talk to me again. i should be hurt
but if i’m honest, i was expecting this. all i can do is leave the lights on in his apartment
and slam the door on my way out, like a poet. i break porcelain. i break ceramic.
i take his leather jacket on the way out. i do not give it back.
there are things in the pockets.
pressed flowers, ruined empires.
subway tickets from 2006.
a cassette for a band that i didn’t know anyone else listened to.
i throw the cassette into the sea
and go home. i fold myself into the aquarium
and sleep. i live an algae life, you ought to know
and he’s scraping me off his shoes in my latest dream.
i heard that he’s dating my girl now,
not that she was ever mine.
i hear that they make each other very happy.
i hear that they aren’t listening to my warning signs.
there’s spare change in these pockets
and i’m running on too much caffeine.
i know the bus schedules like the back of my hand.
bet they thought i’d never leave.
the sort of girl who exists best backstage, because she’d be blinding on the podium.
so i’d sit there on the bleachers and pen her down. metaphor after metaphor,
all sapphic verses dedicated to everything she was and everything i wasn’t.
there i am, lying on a hotel mattress. your friends are kind enough to me, but they’re not my friends.
i don’t think i have any friends, anymore. other than you, that is. the rest of them, well
you could say they did themselves in. you could say that we don’t talk anymore.
you could say a lot of things.
so here i am, equipped with mediocre poetry and a bleeding tongue.
there’s a girl in a sports jersey, she’s number 5 and she won’t kiss me.
i’m learning to focus on what’s left behind rather than what’s gone.
and it rains. how it rains. it pours and i let the storm swallow me.
i am made of too much love and no-one to give it to.
it is inconvenient, you see. to be loved in this way.
to be loved so wholesomely and carefully. like a delicate thing and like a god all at once.
with second guessing ten times over, nothing but doubts.
so he’s never going to talk to me again. i should be hurt
but if i’m honest, i was expecting this. all i can do is leave the lights on in his apartment
and slam the door on my way out, like a poet. i break porcelain. i break ceramic.
i take his leather jacket on the way out. i do not give it back.
there are things in the pockets.
pressed flowers, ruined empires.
subway tickets from 2006.
a cassette for a band that i didn’t know anyone else listened to.
i throw the cassette into the sea
and go home. i fold myself into the aquarium
and sleep. i live an algae life, you ought to know
and he’s scraping me off his shoes in my latest dream.
i heard that he’s dating my girl now,
not that she was ever mine.
i hear that they make each other very happy.
i hear that they aren’t listening to my warning signs.
there’s spare change in these pockets
and i’m running on too much caffeine.
i know the bus schedules like the back of my hand.
bet they thought i’d never leave.
Literature
traffic on the overpass under the fingernails
and while alacrity
is still
quite far out of reach,
my hands stretch, spreading out
like skeletal maps, each bone
finding breathing room, each vein
a highway being built
even as the cars continue to drive
(trying to fix a train as it moves down the tracks)
and they disassemble,
they pull themselves apart
at the joints,
to build a floating bridge of
little white hopes,
thin little ribbons
licking the potential
to fly
(but the road is anfractuous,
and they’ll drive forever,
circumnavigating the potholes
and finding their way back
to where they started)
our cognitive maps don’t h
Literature
a thousand lilac garlands
Your spine is a ladder, and she
braided it with flower crowns.
Her pressed-lace fingers coil tight
in the wet tangle of stems
as she climbs higher, kissing
the smooth bone with her toes.
She knew the only way
to your heart was through your mind,
but it's a mighty high ledge to reach
and her delicate palms just kept -
slipping.
So she braided your spine
with flower crowns to
keep her grounded, even as she
shinnied into the clouds.
Literature
to that tender light
she walks, beauty in
stretched hips and floating soles,
souls,
saturn-struck
venus-touched
she reminds me of what it means to write
love into my veins
gazes caress and sting
simultaneously she sings me
to sleep, fingers carding through my hair she is juno
a mother, a lover, i shiver at her touch
i am a proserpina prophecy she is only mine for
half a life-time,
i drown in dreams of her skin
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
19th february 2017, IST. ignore dA's time zone, listen to the poet.
it's 2:18AM right now. well, whatever.
all rights reserved // © a-girl-named-divine
it's 2:18AM right now. well, whatever.
all rights reserved // © a-girl-named-divine
Comments40
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
to be loved so wholesomely and carefully. like a delicate thing and like a god all at once.
also the last stanza
i love this i love u!
also the last stanza
i love this i love u!