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midnights always last longer than they should.i spend sleepless nights in my room
staring at your picture on my mirror
and wondering why on earth someone as beautiful as you
would ever love someone like me,
but then i remember
where do you fall when you fall in love?i see my voice curl toward the sky in crystal breaths
as i stand beneath the stars and ask the gods
"where do you fall when you fall in love?"
and in the distant thunder roars as zeus clears his throat.
lightening strikes to start a fire
and in anticipation i sit by the flames as he begins his story.
"love," he says, "is the beautiful medication
that we drink to still our pain,
but often it is overdosed
and we always end up crashing
like a star falling from my sky."
as i watch the shadows dance about his face
aphrodite proudly walks to us
with her golden grace and emerald eyes.
"there's a kingdom," she says with ivory verse, "just below the sea
and it awaits young lovers there
where they drown for all eternity."
at the mention of the sea, poseidon falls down to us
from his chariot atop the cliff and in his booming voice he declares;
"and in that cavern the butterflies are drenched
and with heavy wings they cannot fly
so they suffocate the lovers."
with the quietest gait of a clumsy fox
i think most people would call you a regret.you're the mistake i'd gladly make
for the rest of my life.
but i'm just a few saturday nights
back in november.
rain.i still have buckets in my room
from when you poured your heart out.
plastic pails full of pain and love
and lust and tears and names and smiles.
i don't know why i keep them...
maybe i hope one day you'll come back
to claim them.
or when i'm being really dumb
i let myself hope that you'll come back anyway
meadows.you only ever picked dead flowers
because you wanted to leave the living ones
for others to admire...
i guess that's why you chose me
over everyone else.
you're so blind.here i am drowning
and you have no idea what to do,
you're so lost
why don't you take your hands
off my shoulders?
felt.somewhere in these tangled sheets
i know you still breathe
and somewhere in your heart
i hope my name still beats.
my body's slave is my mind.it's barely summer
but i've forgotten how to breathe;
i fall in love with strangers
before they even speak.
it's like i'm
within the pulsating crowd
like a fly trapped in a spider's web;
questions are spun
inferiority screams in my ear
& consumes all thoughts
until i can't hear
all the questions that are caught
between threads of my insecurities,
the fabric of my being -
tightening its grip
with everyone seeing
it's barely summer
but i can feel
each pump of my left ventricle
is an exertion against will,
& leaves me cripple
& frozen, still -
but feeling like i could run
before you could catch me.
i watch the moon
trade places with the sun,
racing against time,
but my day
has still not yet
2. YouI have fallen in love with a poem
the red roses blooming over your
knees, the blue violets threading
and coursing through your veins
I have fallen in love with the haiku
of your fingertips tapping syllables
down my vertebrae five, seven, five
I have pressed my heart like a bookmark
between the curled pages of your body,
free-verse freckles scattered across the
line-break nestled in the gorge between
your clavicle protrusions, stanzas faintly
whistling in the gaps amidst your shaped
ivory teeth, two eyes rhyming with mine;
I have memorised the stream of consciousness
murmured into my mouth as we kiss, as you
whisper spoken word lullabies into the crook
of my arms, hands bracketed around my hips
as if I am the metaphor crafted by your simile
smiling lips; the image ghosting behind words
I start to think we are the closing couplet of a sonnet
but darling if you were a word, god you’d be purple-
love, you are a poem,
etched in an alphabet
that I don’t understand,
that I can
Lost and foundI used to fall for boys who were lost,
wandering aimlessly between the mountain-folds of reality.
nomads, they spent the days counting stars and the nights
looking for the sun. their eyes roamed and their hands travelled,
staying in my heart for days or weeks, before continuing to
search for the way to their various destinations,
to the clouds or to the ground
leaving me in place, in a city I could traverse with my eyes
Until I met a boy who was found,
had the universe tattooed on the back of his hand.
he read me like a survey map, knew his way around
my tangled forest of a mind, could trace paths through
my bramble eyes and he could follow the blue
rivers of my veins, would not fall into the railway
tracks scissored across my elbows,
but he was a city I could not traverse with my eyes
I went from being found to being lost,
swimming in his mouth unaware of which way was up
which way was down and I pitched my tent in his heart
one night when he was telling me the way to rome
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More