[x]

A Pocket Full of SkyWhen I was young, my father would take me to the highest tower of Notre Dame precisely once a year. It would be cold. Freezing. But we'd stand there, and take deep breaths of air, and peer down, towards the tiny ants of people below. Down, towards the sprawling city beneath us. It was always winter, when we'd go. Always cold. Freezing, freezing. But however cold it was, and however dull and bleary the weather, my father would ask one thing, and one thing only: that we adhered to tradition.

"Lucie," he would say, with the fond smile and kind eyes I always remember. "Lucie, my peach. Whatever you become, and wherever your heart and mind leads

Bits of Nothing 61On paper you're perfect.

Isn't it a shame the world isn't made of origami?

PressureSomething broke.

A hard CRACK while sitting in
a soft chair. No pain registered.
The absence of it
is like watching explosions in space.

You follow the curve of your skull. You remember
how skulls are formed like tectonic plates.
Your head wants to be a planet,
volcanic, living, in change.

You continue to your left shoulder,
the one with all the problems.
But today, it has nothing to say.

Your rib cage moves
like oceanic waves, expecting a storm
that hasn't come.

You stand up,
homo erectus,
you consider your legs,
homo sapiens,
nothing feels wrong,
homo stabilis.

But you can break
more than your body.

if only, if only.i.
we drove nowhere
and we spoke a language
that nobody understood
underneath a foreign sky
blanketed in the scent of pine.

ii.
you told me
my eyes were like envelopes—
because they were always
opening
closing
fluttering to the sound
of breaking seals
and ink stained fingertips.

iii.
i told you
we should run away
to a new land
with new faces
because
i was enamored
with people i had never encountered
and places i had never gone.

iv.
you laughed at me
and said that
if i didn't spend
so much time with my head
buried in world maps
i would realize
that i was living on one.

v.
i remember
it rained that day
and the tea went cold
but the

Harvest MoonThree a.m. moonlight
across lazy dust motes; a
tree scrapes the window.
Your arm weighs on my hip like
whispered promises of love.

chromaWe were merely children when the stars came.

They rained down from the sky in a burst of light, like shards of glass pouring down from the heavens. Supernovas blooming in the night sky, petals raining down onto the barren earth - angels, falling with their wings sheathed, glowing, as they glided down. We watched, starstruck, as the glow overtook us - we were mesmerized. We waited with bated breath as the meteors landed, the celestial light subsiding as dark forms started to pick themselves up from the dust.

They moved towards us with an otherworldly grace, their steps leaving no marks on the earth as they descended upon us. Frozen to our sp

Souls and SparklesTo write something that is meaningful to someone else, you must first write something that is meaningful to yourself.

There are a thousand rooms in each person's mind, and each mind is a maze because it has been tangled. The hallways are criss-crossing and clumping, like long hair in the wind. Society has made it so.

We all have impure thoughts. Things that would make us "bad", unequal, or imperfect. Thoughts that make us different in gloriously unusual ways. We are born into the world unashamed, but then we are taught the unspoken words. Words that are rules. Words like normal, like good and bad, ugly and pretty. We are taught that if we d

The Animal(Howl into my ear;
give me your claws.
I want the animal in you;

in you I shall nest.)

Take your clothes off, take them off for me.
Let me see the scars and the marks,
those dark moles and faint sun spots.

I want to memorize the way your fur grows.
I want to tickle my cheeks with your goose bumps.
Let me count the bruises and the cuts.

I'll bless them with names;
I'll lick away the blood stains.
We can lie skin to skin for days.

I have enough kisses for your brows and lashes,
for nails, teeth and toes, for thighs and knees;
in your curves and dents I'll nuzzle my nose.

Let me see your skin dance.
Through and around; your

AntiquatedYour rose petal hips
Will always demur
To your ivory lace slip,
The stockings climbing
High on calves and thighs
Like a garden trellis
Near the blooming soul
Between your open legs,
The place where he
Could love you the most

A Dancing GirlA girl stubs busted toes
across cigarette sidewalks
and rippled parking lots,
shatters her music box,
her mother's dying swan,
to dance with vagaries
for the dawn of her city.

She dances violently
for every chaired cripple
and the politically corrected,
handicapped by society.

She weeps in corners
with the coroners who
uncover bodies under bridges,
every vagrant of her city.

She sets fire to roof tops
where falling stars nestle,
runs rusted fire escapes
that lead to dead end allies,
and turns over dumpsters,
raging for a way out.

He Sketched her Death from PhotographsThe polaroids were discovered
numbered in a brown paper bag,
the kind that men on television
hid pornography within.

The shorthand on the reverse side
of each freeze-frame
was deciphered.
She was someone's lover, sometime.

And so he drew her,
in charcoal first, then pencil;
each dark part of her face.

Whiskey Laden DreamsBitter eyes and tears might taint a drink, but sitting in this bar alone with your stool pulled out next to me, and the Martini poured regardless of your presence still brings a smile to my face; despite the taste. I'm having a whiskey myself; dry. Yes, I know I don't drink, but every once in a while you need whiskey to solve an intricate problem, and mine is the distinct lack of alcohol in my life.

There are people everywhere and it amazes me how none of them are you, from the woman in the black dress coming down the stairs to the signing couple in the corner, laughing silently. They're not you at all, and that's what's amazing – in an

for unseeing eyesladen with sky
we stumbled
and painted mockingbirds
on loveless branches
folding in our slender limbs
and ducking under our own
voices, fidgety and frail
against the wall of night.

between the dipping blades
and drawn shoulders
we learned to craft our words
steady-soft,
a drumming rain
that carved canyons
in open hearts and
drew the sunshine to
our supping lips.

keen-eyed, we watched
remembering the weight
of unseeing eyes
and scalding remarks
and we learned to slip
the noose-knots and slide
through the soul-cracks
and somehow
build kingdoms under
upturned noses.

with lyrical uncertainty
and tender determinat

if teen dreams were teen novelsthere was once a boy who had all the write words to say
with all those fancy allegories, metaphors and similes
and antonyms of synonyms, like rails and snares and storms
and organs and trains and drums and hurricanes and
hearts,

and she was only a girl with plain words, the kinds of things
that are only found in piles of papers and pens, books
she keeps where she sleeps,

that will only break when he leaves in the morning,
but she shares everything, like a boat shares a bard,
like a cigarette shares a lung, like a mouth shares other mouths,
like an artist shares her heart.

but there is a running in her heart:
not that type of b

Va'eiraThis was a lesson in just how quiet it can be
when you don't make enough noise.

Me, holding a toy gun to a stranger's head
"Remember when things stopped being ridiculous?"

You, eating dandelions in a midnight field
"About the same time things stopped making sense."

A boy in church camp carved a small crucifix
for his arts and crafts project. He won the blue
ribbon and a brand new Bible. The next morning
I found it hanging over our cabin door.
A toad was nailed to the cross.
Still breathing.
Still breathing.

Sometimes we wake up early enough to hide the evil from our world.
Still breathing.

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2. Love or The L-WordI am afraid that the L-word
Is yet to cross my lips
I cannot help it
It just scares me a little
The commitment
The promises
I feel weird just thinking about it

The L-word
How can just four letters
Carry such weight?
In their soft, surrounding
Encompassing shapes?
And my tongue is paralysed by such weight
That it can hardly choke out
‘I’

I know what you want me to
Tell you
I know what you want me to
Say
So, hopefully, this will suffice
I have never hated you
Know that I don’t hate you
And will go on not hating you
Always

1. IntroductionLet the curtain go up
Let the audience in
In the back of the stage
My blood starts to sing
Strike up the band
Introduce my act
Because that’s all I am
This is my mask
You watch my tale
Because you’ve paid your fee
You laugh with the jokes
But you still do not see
This story I’m dancing
This act that I have
I’m an actor, I’m acting
It’s all a façade
My lies are more truthful
Than what I choose to tell
You want an introduction?
Then what will you sell?

Eye of the Storm

All around me
Is flashing grey light
In the centre of the storm
I am the wordless night
The wind it howls
The thunder growls
But I can feel no fear
In the eye of the storm
It’s safe and it’s warm
In the eye of the storm

Wrap me tight in blankets
Shield my face from the sky
Cover me up with a thick bank of earth
Close my aching eyes
And the wolves howl
The nightmares growl
But it’s their tenderness I adore
In the eye of the storm

The lightening forks into the sky
I grasp its silken bow
Silver hair and violet eyes
Give an unearthly glow
And I howl
While he growls
Trapped in the eye of the storm

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Immaculate Conception

by ~PrettyThings9, Nov 8, 2010, 7:18:28 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

_{Why do I wear a corset, you ask
Well, to protect myself!
My corset is my armour.
My maquillage is my mask,
I endeavour to explain
It's a flawless barrier
Between you and me.

My eyes, my lips, are all my weapons
I wear my hair long and curling
To hide the mark
Where the devil placed his lips
Upon my neck.

Or so you would say, I'm sure.
Isn't that why you are here
                                                   My young Father.

Do I entice you?

Am I leading you down a path
Of pleasure and evil?

You claim you're here to save my soul
And how will you do that?
Are you offering my absolution whilst

                                              You fuck me?

Will I find heaven
With you between my legs?

Let's not call it 'making love'
Let us not debase that feeling
Reserved for good Christian souls

Not a heretic
                     And his whore.

I wear a corset
To stop you touching my naked waist
Digging your fingers into my breasts
Whilst in the throes of passion.

I wear my maquillage
Because it is as though you do these things
To someone else.
Whilst in the throes of passion.

You think you make me feel.
I feel nothing.
You think you mean something.
You mean nothing.
You think we are something.
We are nothing.

But
     two
           damned
                        souls.}

Immaculate Conceptionby ~PrettyThings9

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Mature Content

'does it offend you, yeah?'

i watched Black Death the other day, there was a relationship like this in it...only it seemed more consential. who knows? self-delusions a fascinating thing

sorry to anyone i did actually offend...but life isn't all butterflies and sparrows.

comments?

Daily Deviation

Given 2012-10-28

Immaculate Conception by ~PrettyThings9 The suggester writes, "It's really raw and abrasive, but that's why I love it." ( Suggested by =EmmyIsAZebra and Featured by `thorns )

love 5 5

joy 1 1

wow 2 2

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~IyraEMM Nov 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

As I read this I noticed my face moving upwards in a very dignified manner, haha. This is really very good, and there are some magnificent lines which are worded beautifully.
"My eyes, my lips, are all my weapons
I wear my hair long and curling
To hide the mark
Where the devil placed his lips
Upon my neck." - I love this stanza. Well done & congrats on the DD!

~PrettyThings9 Nov 19, 2012

hahaha dignity is paramount

thank you! i'm so glad you think so and like it

thanks again!

~IyraEMM Nov 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Ah you're very welcome

*toxic-nebulae Nov 5, 2012 Student Writer

Emilie Autumn quotes?

~PrettyThings9 Nov 6, 2012

deffo inspired by her! yes, i guess the maquillage bit is...plus it's a beautiful word

*TouchedBy-AnAngel Nov 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I like this. It is very raw, and I like it that way.

+ fave

~PrettyThings9 Nov 5, 2012

thanks! yes, i was kinda hard to write, but worth it

*TouchedBy-AnAngel Nov 5, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You're welcome.

Yes, very worth it.

*missq1959 Nov 3, 2012

I really love this its so cool ahh to write like this would be a dream. Wonderful wonderful well done a thousand times

~PrettyThings9 Nov 5, 2012

hahaha seriously, just keep working at it

i'm sure you're great

thsnk youuuu!

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