Submissions by DearPoetry
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
My veins drip poetry and my brain is racked with havoc from words I have yet to say.
SELF POEM
Published
12th Jun 2013 3:34am
12th Jun 2013 3:34am
Show me what the stars look like tonight.
I’ve fallen in love with wars & darkness.
The kind of darkness said to have made
shadow monsters of seen-too-much eyes
& the kind of war lands made of
desecrated, dandelion wrists.
I am the wind, the morphine pump
& I’ve carved my bones into stars.
I wear them around my neck
like outward sun marrow
warming my carotid pulse.
These little glow-in-the-dark blankets
aren’t enough to stifle the sounds;
but my anatomy never seemed to fit
together the right way anyway.
The kind of darkness said to have made
shadow monsters of seen-too-much eyes
& the kind of war lands made of
desecrated, dandelion wrists.
I am the wind, the morphine pump
& I’ve carved my bones into stars.
I wear them around my neck
like outward sun marrow
warming my carotid pulse.
These little glow-in-the-dark blankets
aren’t enough to stifle the sounds;
but my anatomy never seemed to fit
together the right way anyway.
99 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
12th Jun 2013 3:32am
12th Jun 2013 3:32am
I am trying to be honest,
but I write so fucking flowery
it makes me sick,
rose scented stars & love.
No.
Her: helpless as a lamb,
I want raw, aching
bone against bone
exploring the exposed, naked
poetry of her universe-
( warm, celestial hands
forging sandcastle ribs. )
Southern earth beneath her feet,
wanderlust burned like Apollo's touch
into her spinal cord, please awaken
the empty space between her skin
& mine.
it makes me sick,
rose scented stars & love.
No.
Her: helpless as a lamb,
I want raw, aching
bone against bone
exploring the exposed, naked
poetry of her universe-
( warm, celestial hands
forging sandcastle ribs. )
Southern earth beneath her feet,
wanderlust burned like Apollo's touch
into her spinal cord, please awaken
the empty space between her skin
& mine.
88 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
17th Jan 2013 7:02am
17th Jan 2013 7:02am
I think you left a piece of you in me.
This tangled mess you call a heart,
daisy veins & sin;
She's bringing me down.
& you were merely shivering
kite-string clavicles.
Nothing,
pressing winter bones
against my sun-stricken mouth,
darkness searching for a home
buried in my lungs.
You whispered breathe me
lovely in the inhale/exhale
of carbon dioxide suicide.
She speaks only of you now,
lonely & mourning beats-
Crack open this damn ribcage;
set me
free.
daisy veins & sin;
She's bringing me down.
& you were merely shivering
kite-string clavicles.
Nothing,
pressing winter bones
against my sun-stricken mouth,
darkness searching for a home
buried in my lungs.
You whispered breathe me
lovely in the inhale/exhale
of carbon dioxide suicide.
She speaks only of you now,
lonely & mourning beats-
Crack open this damn ribcage;
set me
free.
136 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
17th Jan 2013 6:57am
17th Jan 2013 6:57am
She knows her paper cuts by name.
Rose blood
on her tongue
reminds her of yesterday's.
Lonely bones.
A heart's hoarded secrets,
love me pretties, &
scarlet letter dreams.
But
do these boys know
of the bitter winter
churning,
like a blizzard
in her veins?
The sharp edges
of half-empty
kisses,
or the crisscross
folding
of origami limbs?
Her eyes,
as deep &
unfeeling
as the ocean;
she knows her paper cuts by name.
on her tongue
reminds her of yesterday's.
Lonely bones.
A heart's hoarded secrets,
love me pretties, &
scarlet letter dreams.
But
do these boys know
of the bitter winter
churning,
like a blizzard
in her veins?
The sharp edges
of half-empty
kisses,
or the crisscross
folding
of origami limbs?
Her eyes,
as deep &
unfeeling
as the ocean;
she knows her paper cuts by name.
89 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
2nd Jan 2013 11:15pm
2nd Jan 2013 11:15pm
Dear Poetry,
I might be dangerously on the verge of being poetic, but-
Sometimes I don't feel me in my own skin.
I am too many breaks between pulses,
& a heart still living in the autumn of 99.
I'm telling stories about a girl.
A soul made of ink & godly metaphors,
too much for a non-homeostatic body.
There were once fireflies in her smile,
alight between the gaps in her teeth.
A rebel,
love letters carved into wrists
she never sent.
Poetry,
She is Porphyria, & you are her lover.
Sometimes I don't feel me in my own skin.
I am too many breaks between pulses,
& a heart still living in the autumn of 99.
I'm telling stories about a girl.
A soul made of ink & godly metaphors,
too much for a non-homeostatic body.
There were once fireflies in her smile,
alight between the gaps in her teeth.
A rebel,
love letters carved into wrists
she never sent.
Poetry,
She is Porphyria, & you are her lover.
101 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
19th Dec 2012 3:35pm
19th Dec 2012 3:35pm
fly.
this is hard for the world around us to grasp:
these wildfires raging in our retinas
& the sins we wear like demonic similes
on our tongues- they are not enough.
& i am so fucking sorry for saying i'm sorry.
but, tell me,
what is a young poet(ess) to do
with veins made of kite strings?
these wildfires raging in our retinas
& the sins we wear like demonic similes
on our tongues- they are not enough.
& i am so fucking sorry for saying i'm sorry.
but, tell me,
what is a young poet(ess) to do
with veins made of kite strings?
187 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
19th Dec 2012 3:32pm
19th Dec 2012 3:32pm
dust.
I'm choking
on the ink-dipped fingers
of verbs & metaphors
still lodged in this bruised,
paper crane throat;
the starving,
dead-flower scent
of your words,
still kissing my ribs.
How can you judge me-
when you don't bother
to read the naked poetry
beneath the temple of my flesh?
How long can butterfly
ankles hold up a
star-soaked frame?
Don't bother whispering
your secrets to nebulae,
not even the dust in my veins
will listen anymore.
on the ink-dipped fingers
of verbs & metaphors
still lodged in this bruised,
paper crane throat;
the starving,
dead-flower scent
of your words,
still kissing my ribs.
How can you judge me-
when you don't bother
to read the naked poetry
beneath the temple of my flesh?
How long can butterfly
ankles hold up a
star-soaked frame?
Don't bother whispering
your secrets to nebulae,
not even the dust in my veins
will listen anymore.
133 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Dec 2012 2:59am
19th Dec 2012 2:59am
Shy Moon;
i've got love carved into honeysuckle wrists,
a murder of crows in my throat,
& a pack of wolves at my back.
i want to know truths behind these myth eyes, &
the distant galaxies under your fingertips.
but, love me. love me, Love.
show me what's beyond Grimm fairy tales
& scars.
spare me your ribs;
this skyscraper heart
needs a place to go.
a murder of crows in my throat,
& a pack of wolves at my back.
i want to know truths behind these myth eyes, &
the distant galaxies under your fingertips.
but, love me. love me, Love.
show me what's beyond Grimm fairy tales
& scars.
spare me your ribs;
this skyscraper heart
needs a place to go.
148 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Dec 2012 2:56am
19th Dec 2012 2:56am
Autumn Lover,
I want to wrap myself in your air,
hold your secrets between my
ribcage-embrace & just
breathe.
hold your secrets between my
ribcage-embrace & just
breathe.
145 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
11th Dec 2012 2:29am
11th Dec 2012 2:29am
astrological.
i. On some nights,
street lights guide
this lonely heart
to her lonely bed.
ii. In this universe of twilight skin
& mismatched bones,
I wonder just how many poems sleep
beneath the inkwell of her eyes.
iii. My body is a house of stars,
and her palms are black holes
sucking ( me ) into their vortex of
nothing.
iv. She says, "Please—my moon,
please—give these bones a reason
to stay."
& I am whispering lovelies
into...
street lights guide
this lonely heart
to her lonely bed.
ii. In this universe of twilight skin
& mismatched bones,
I wonder just how many poems sleep
beneath the inkwell of her eyes.
iii. My body is a house of stars,
and her palms are black holes
sucking ( me ) into their vortex of
nothing.
iv. She says, "Please—my moon,
please—give these bones a reason
to stay."
& I am whispering lovelies
into...
134 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Dec 2012 5:25pm
9th Dec 2012 5:25pm
respiration.
i am shipwrecked fever;
kerosene sleep,
& she is denied oxygen.
i taste sirens on the shore
of her collarbones,
& salt-licked sea limbs.
but, it's the natural disaster
wrapped around her coral spine
that really has my lungs
s
p
i
n
n
i
n
g.
kerosene sleep,
& she is denied oxygen.
i taste sirens on the shore
of her collarbones,
& salt-licked sea limbs.
but, it's the natural disaster
wrapped around her coral spine
that really has my lungs
s
p
i
n
n
i
n
g.
86 reads
2 Comments
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