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I Cannot Forget.I am a modern girl;
I debate complexities.
I get migraines.
I don't know, either way I'm used to the cold sterile
of doctor's waiting rooms
and the bitter bite of medication.
There was a time, about a year ago, now
when even the thought of a germ
made me scrub my hands raw.
I have no qualms about describing myself as such;
this is who I am, I cannot pretend to be my sister
with her proud, broad, sunburnt fisherwoman's face
or my father, and his hands that can soothe panicking horses
and create order out of metal chaos, make something
that moves out of piles of bolts and puddles of black
sticky oil on t
chipped off nail polishTell me what to do, boy;
my nail polish is chipped off
and I know I am not perfect.
Tell me what to do, please
it's hard to swallow
and I cannot breathe
because you're out there somewhere in the world.
(Where the hell does someone like you come from?)
My lips are bitten
and my heart is sore.
People say that strong emotion is good
that it means you're alive and sensitive
that it's better than the numbing lethargy
And it's true, I've never felt this present
on this blue-and-green marble world of ours.
But oh god, I cannot take it any more.
My shoulders are thin and I am pale and sick
and I do not know if
Epithalamium.Tighten the high collar of your wedding dress
try not to think of it as a noose.
Restrained, restrained, quiet,
bursting at the seams of a thin, defenseless little figure.
Your hair is arranged in perfect
little curling ringlets of sandpaper blonde.
Smile now, dear, who wants to look like a corpse on their wedding day?
Hands run over the slight curve of waist and hips
you've always been your own until now.
dark night thoughts slide insidiously
Slick on the lipstick
red like blood and not appropriate
for pure virginal wedding white
but when has he ever treated you like something pure?
If he's going to t
wantsI want to kiss the breath out of you
until I own you
until your life is mine
and mine is yours
and we could kill each other
just like that.
Endings Are a Chance to Begin.you are the sea
full of secrets
i am that weary river
your nautical miles
i want to
i want to be
motion sickness pt. 2i am a kinetic thing,
in and out of thought,
out and never in
i hang on by a
thread of stretched
i cannot be expected
to hold on
i'm holding onto
a gun with a
pointing at me.
i am my own death sentence.
if the world is a lethal injection,
then i am the substance inside,
the poison, and you are the
infected needle, slipping into
my vein to become a part of me,
merged with my DNA.
we are inseparable.
the only way to silence
a gun shot is to make sure
there are as many
bodies in the bullet's
trajectory as possible to
muffle the sou
(does that sound weird,
saying we, grouping us together
instead of keeping us apart?)
you and I
need something more
than this world has to offer
we know the
and our eyes
will never completely adjust
to the darkness
and our minds
will never fully heal
after years of lashing
as deep as time
as wide as the universe
equivalent to the volume of love;
never break the loop
and the cycle continues for so long
it wears grooves into the face of the clock
our valuable moments away
making it impossible to live
without dying first
we could not find
1+1=1 Part I: This Waste(of a )landPart I: This Waste(of a )land
the universe divided
into cardinal directions
each of us lost
each of us found
out of balance
flesh to flame
heart to break
love to meaninglessness
aboard this orb
in a sea
of 7 billion
but never completely
unsure of our destinations
not caring enough to find out
who, what, when, where, why, and how
we hold on so
to the things we
hope are real
at any chance
to see the light
any branch or stone
we can use to
close your eyestongues slide over abrasive skin
tiny cuts bleed tiny drops of blood
cracked bifocals blind so-called eyes
from the real world i'd rather hate
because all we are is dirt
all our words turn hearts to dust
all we do is hurt
eyes that lie are the last to trust
closed doors calm my racing mind
therapeutic coma between cold sheets
wrapped in a limp, long embrace
everything is much too dead
to care anymore
close your eyes
it'll be over soon
a small but scaring sting
a tiny cut drips tiny drops
of the things that mattered most
but not anymore
because this is not a healthy world
the one i left behind
seems so much brighter
statical wind-up toys
litter the floor
piercing bare feet
in the nursery (home)
spooks all the old folk
"You nearly made my heart give out"
can't help but die
slowly, but surely
plastic toy soldiers
hold the power of symbolism
as cataract eyes
grow milky and sweet
smelling so faintly
of a chemical scent
the redolence of livelihood
out of their hands
they remember fleetingly
through the TV
of the days when imprisonment
sound in the mind
do they really remember
or is it a sick little trick?
wheelchairs and pills
in a bitter
like a well-read
MOTIONthis is the journal of an
because even when i do
slip between the thin layers of my
my mind keeps
my mind was a defective model
someone forgot to throw away
i can't seem to find the off switch
and the bells ring, riiiiiiiiiinggg
and i travel
on and on
until my feet bleed
and my socks can absorb no more
and i just roll
in the wind
and in the waves
that keep crashing
such is life
not a single wave
lives two lives
no single particle of water
touches the same shore
of the inconsistent
in this world
gives me an
bleachedillumination is not just the act of shedding light
but also the act of blinding a mind
when you see eyes that are pale and glossy
then you know these eyes belong
to one of the many
they sought the answers
they thought they saw
eminating from the heart of the sun
the soul of the stars
but they were caught staring
too long and now
white is all there is
moonchilda child was born to the Night,
and the stars kissed her cold
new face as she fell through
the clouds toward the newborn planet
a million lives stretched from end to end below.
she landed underneath a lofty fig tree.
by a river she lay and cried.
she cried, but there were no ears
to hear her, only the darkness to keep her company.
she was the only thing
besides the tree.
so she closed her eyes and remembered
her life before her birth.
and warmth again,
but this time closer.
she opened her eyes
and saw a light unseen before.
her nuewfound landscape was on fire.
everything burned an
don't fall in love with a poetHello, all you gentlefellows and ladies;
I have a piece of advice for you.
Nothing harsh, nothing meant to hurt.
But here it is:
Don't fall in love with a poet.
I'm not saying it won't be brilliant.
Because it most likely will be.
(While it's happening.)
It will be lovely, to fall into the iambic pentameter
of her heartbeat.
And you will adore the collision
of her mouth, and the obscure verse it whispers
against your skin.
She will love you;
or not love you
in whatever way suits her at that present time.
It might be like fireworks.
Or it might be like gentle moving honey.
Either way, it will end.
Heartbreak at Coogee BeachCoogee Beach, Perth.
I stand on the dunes, bare-footed
in swelling, gritty sand
amongst the spiky explosions of coastal vegetation.
I am childishly happy about the thought of becoming an adult
the air moves differently over my skin up here and
the future might be bright.
A toddler reels up to me, unsteady and tottering on chubby legs;
one of the many little ones of our brood.
"Aunty Meggy. Aunty Meggy."
She reaches out tiny pleading arms to me,
blue eyes wincing against the harsh Australian sun
and the tears that collect in their corners.
She has had a fight with her cousin
a similarly round three-year-old who's
A Collection Of Emotions.Horror: Spiders crawling up and down the spine, burrowing into the spinal cord.
Depression: Something weighing down the limbs and numbing the brain. This something is unidentified as yet. Guilt and other assorted secondary emotions swirling in a thick mixture, sometimes located in the gut.
Love: Clinical insanity. Symptoms can include the disproportionate swelling of the heart, and a surprisingly pleasant sensation of nausea.
Heartbreak: Glass that has shattered inside the chest. A single memory, sight, reflection or comment may cause these shatters of glass to shift and aggravate already present wounds.
Shame: Hatred of one's self, loc
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More