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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 the floor.
But even so
there was a child once;
a little bob-haired girl, and that girl was part of the dust.
Her hair was tangled and she wore truly atrocious clothes
and even at the age of six she knew that
knotted trees and soaring stripes of ocean over hill
were her - they were owners of something that she owned too.
I cannot ever forget the heat of t
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 trap you
might as well kick and scratch a little.
Or maybe more than a little.
Kitten teeth flash in the mirror.
He won't know what's coming to him.
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.
With a bang!
and loud words (So passionate, these young ones.)
Or then again it might just tail off.
And then you're in real trouble, mate;
She'll pick you apart.
She'll pull you into words, she'll arrange you on a computer screen
perfectly, just how she wants.
She'll wrap you up in metaphors, encircle you in similes.
She'll stab you with razor-sha
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 I can survive
any more of this feeling.
Tell me what to do.
complicated mechanismsthe disjointed pounding wide-eyed
wonder that you are,
i'll always remember how it twisted my heart
when i realized you had dimples.
i pull up the straps of my dress as
we play cat-and-mouse on the floor
it doesn't fit me quite right
oh, please don't call me by my name
the sound of it on your voice
a little raspy from the sleep you didn't get -
will dilute my blood and thin it out with happiness
and hum inside my brain
i don't think i'll ever know you;
you have gears inside your head
and they are not visible to me.
i would pry inside but it's so delicate
and you don't mess around with complicated
mechanisms that you don't understand.
i am just a sick little girl
weakened by myself
and you and your mysteries hurt me
and of course i cry, do i ever do anything else?
don't let it go to your head.
i will dance
whether you are beside me or not.
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.
can you tell me, dearest?can you tell me, friend
why my hand reaches for yours?
at the most inappropriate of moments, i might mention
can you tell me why you make me hurt inside?
i actually think you might have taken up residence there
pressing up against my ribcage,
travelling through my veins
and plucking at my heartstrings
(it's a sad melody, but a little bit cheeky;
then again, you do like to tease me)
can you tell me why i'm scared of you?
even though you're the goddamn sweetest thing?
i think i'm scared of your smile
and maybe your eyes too
they're poems that i just can't grasp
because darling, there's no words for you.
can you tell me why we move towards each other
a quiet touch that's oh so platonic
just knees and fingertips and sometimes the brush of your hair
on my cheek
i don't know if you notice it like i do
but hell, my heart bursts every time
i think it's killing me
(but don't move away)
can you tell me, dearest, why my hand reaches for yours?
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, located between shoulderblades.
Ecstasy: Fizzy bubbling of the blood, an effervescence akin to champagne.
Life: A combination of all these and many others. Incurable.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More