[x]

UndeservedI don't deserve to be an artist.
 I don't know how to hold deep meaningful conversations with strangers.
 I don't lament at night about a lover I have lost. 
I don't watch the white smoke ebb into darkness.
 I don't spend lonely nights admiring the true beauty of the world.
 I don't sleep restlessly from the truth of suffering within this world. 
I don't lie through my smiles or struggle to create them.

But I do think I am a writer.
 I am completely, irreparably damaged.
 I cry all night over old words and emotional baggage.
 I weep over my lost innocence. 
I spend nights

Bones"There are good days and there are bad days," you would say to me as you would try and explain away why the whiskey bottle was empty again this morning, why you smelled like her and why you thought it was best to let me know what you had done. At least that way, you were absolved of the gift of lying; the one your bones were too light to lift and just couldn't take, by bestowing me with betrayal.

My mother would bring me an encouraging cup of tea in a giant pink mug instead of a cup and explain, "There are good days and there are bad days." Her eyes were always full of positive energy and strength and good will. I look back to those days and

Worthlessthe worst part about being nothing
is knowing nothing is commonplace
and, even though I thought I was so
special
I was exactly the same

     I'll never say your name
     because then this would feel real
     and I would have to accept
     that giving all I had
     never meant a thing

     does a wooden heart still beat,
     or does it only leave splinters?
     did you ever even think of me-
     the wea

Stephanie -Collab(I wrote us in free verse over every inch

               of your tattered surface ).

you were the beatific grin

of a kindergartener high off oxygen,

mouth stretched wide as the entrance to hell,

black tongue bleeding virtuous sin like ichor.

(You taught me praying was for the weak

      as I fell for your gypsum nails,

               white teeth scrabbling over my chalkboard frame).

You call it Judgement, We call it SinEmily needs the words to understand that she isn't being unreasonable. She just wants them to mean something and not be a string of words which flows into itself over and over again.

She doesn't like her name either. Not because Emily isn't a pretty name but because she would rather be called something she feels like. (She has never quite forgiven her parents for choosing her name for her.) If she could, she would call herself Glass, because that is what she wakes up feeling like every morning. As if crystallised pieces of glass are edible and her insides tingle as she swallows them whole.

Emily lets the words call her names sometimes. She

FeverI like pretending I mean something to the ghosts
who wreak havoc on my bones-
impaling these masochistic butterfly wings
on railroad spikes
between heartbeats and bedsheets,
immortalized.

I got a heart in New Orleans,
palms engraving names like
Juliet, Alexandria, & Christine
on the seats of greyhound buses.

& I'm offering up 102 degrees of skin to a godless moon
as I breathe in her night scent.

Floodgate EyesPlease promise me something better,
even if it is a lie-- sometimes believing
is enough. (sometimes knowing is too
much. tomorrow I will wake up
and travel a little farther down the road
to my own self-destruction. You are
my crutch.)

I won't look back, I'm already wrapped up
in my fears of the moment. An intricate
web of justifications and anxiety is
tethering me to these uncertain feelings.

Would you finally cut me free
if I caved into you? Because
I think I'm getting close.

And I think I read the world all wrong,
but I can still play along.
because selling yourself short never did
anyone harm, and besides, I

Fervid AwakeningThere's a fire beneath my feet,
but not the kind that burns
mountains and ruins girls
made of papier-mâché—no,

these are the sparks that
drive the insane to dance in
the rain; the flames that
gave birth to a million voices
itching to be heard, too.

It's spreading, settling, somewhere deep
beneath my sternum, like an anticipatory
story, waiting to be told, giving
my heart the ardor to beat.
-
No one ever says happiness
is like a butterfly: beautiful,
flighty, and fleeting.

If you let it slip through your
fingers—you are left
alone, palms full of feathery dust
which soon fades and leads to the scary

Moving On"It all seems to be in order. Let me just read your last file."

"Thank you."

"It says here you used to have a girlfriend who was raped whilst you were with her?"

"Er…yes."

"Did she love you?"

"Yes. More than I could handle, I suppose."

"According to your file you told her she wasn't the one, and that her overfamiliarity with men led her to be in this situation?"

"Er…yes? But it's not like I told her she deserved to be raped, it was more-"

"Just yes or no answers would do. Did you do anything prior to this incident to make this girl feel loved?"

"Yes… I didn't cheat. I think that's enough for any relationship."

"It als

yo howe are on a ship of fools,
bent toward self-destruction
(backs breaking, knees
trembling), carrying the world
on our shoulders like shrieking toddlers
(pudgy little hands
covering our faces,
smiles are all the rage)
we are sailing in a black,
black sea riddled with impossible creatures
things with mouths clamped
shut with age, grotesque eyes wild
with mania, webbed fingers, feet
scarred like a pirate's right hook.
i am the captain and
i am tossed overboard,
the captain is overboard,
all lost souls get left behind.
infinity is a really long time
(especially towards the end)

A Snowfall CandlelitMy version of winter has always been flawed. It is controlled by the fall of snow and the exact amount of the ground it covers. It never ever covers the tiny little patch in the garden, right near the broken tin roofed shed. I suppose that is why I just like the idea of snow. But I do not love it.

(Realisation: I suppose that little corner represents the only part of me that even I cannot love.)

I met a man with candle lit wolf eyes and a strong, warm lion heart, who tells me Sea God stories before disappearing into a cold, cold winter's morning, fog cloaking his very essence.

(Addendum: Sometimes I think of five a.m. coffee, and wonder if

City of LightYou are my city.

Your eyes are the gates,
Your soul is my transport
Your veins the roads I must travel.

You should never ever be afraid
of my knowing you too well.
Or of my being too close to you.

 After all,
 Can you ever,
Even after living your whole life in it, 
Know a city too well?

ContradictionsThese things seem to rule my life,
Some people hate me and cause me strife,
Others think me a hero, ready to sacrifice myself.
Many think me noble, but you can decide that yourself.

Contradictions, they rule my life, "Why did she break up with you?"
A complete and utter list of contradictions, all of which I tell you,
"Does she love you?" I answer she says so, and I love her too.
A contradiction follows, "But then why did she break-up with you?"

That's the mystery, the greatest contradiction of all, to all of you,
But no, I leave out one thing, the thing that kills me inside too.
"I'm just... I'm not happy." What she said, word for word,
And I cry now, because what she said did not go unheard.

Crayon SoulmatesDear Stars,

I have a bone to pick with you. You see, when I was six, I called myself the nowhere girl... and I coloured myself a soulmate. I made him on crumpled sheets, with broken pieces of crayon, on a playground that was too busy wondering whether growing up entailed stealing your mother's cigarettes and your father's dirty magazines (I suppose I was already wise enough to know that growing up meant choosing one of the many ways of breaking yourself in two.)

I hope you remember him, stars...he was important to me (My mother threw that drawing away on my seventh birthday and told me that girls are not supposed to have such dreams.).

He

Her Musethese words are not poetry

swimming liquid fire through ashes

of dead phoenix veins.

no, they are rough and callused

with over use, their own faithless artists

spewing black tar from their lungs

in the hopes to one day breathe again.

nothing moves her.

she would rather scribble her heart out

on physical manifestations of her own reality-

on skin and bones she worships like a temple.

"Write of me," he says, "right here."-

planting sun-stricken kisses

along the hollow of her burning throat.

"I want to be where your heart sleeps."

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Faith

by *UntamedUnwanted, Sep 12, 2012, 3:56:54 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

I love your belief in God.
 Not because it matches mine.  
Because it makes you even more beautiful to me.

  You are the dream I always wanted, but never had.  

(God likes to surprise me. Well, consider me surprised.)

It makes me want to sleep every single night by your side.
 I want to wrap my prayers around you.
 I want to press my lips to the segments of your body.  
If you asked, I would rest my head besides yours
 and dream your nightmares for you.

 

(You shudder in your sleep. I don't think you know.)

In faith, I'll be your dreamcatcher.
In dreams, let me wish all your nightmares away

Faithby *UntamedUnwanted

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

K,

You make this, meeting the parents, studying, job hunting, memories, broken hearts, happiness, sadness...all of this, easy. And on top of it all, you are my good luck charm too.

Love you from the very bottom of my heart,

N.

[link] - Facebook Page

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

*edge-of-psychosis Feb 13, 2013 Student Writer

_{This reminds me so much of all the things my boyfriend says to me. Lovely and perfect.}

~NotenSMSK Nov 18, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Just beautiful! I love the work as a whole but the singly sentence:

"If you asked, I would rest my head besides yours
 and dream your nightmares for you."

Made it a lot more brilliant for me. No critique over this; just very well written and good start, good end

~Violet-Minds Sep 30, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Making all these webs meet at the perfect time, it's astonishing still to see such love.

All the more becoming.

~mosoly Sep 29, 2012

This really spoke to me, very intimate, very beautiful. Enjoying your work, thank you for the favourite on Inscrutable.

~Herb2Risu Sep 29, 2012

Such a wonderful peace of art.

~xBrokenRecordx Sep 22, 2012 Student Writer

God loves to surprise me, too. So many things in my life that He has done that I seriously thought would never happen.

(For example: I kept the relationship with my boyfriend a secret from his parents and mine for six months because we'd thought they would completely drop dead from heart attacks. They found out in the most ridiculous of ways. They all laughed and told us that yeah, it was okay.

Surprise, surprise. God, I asked You to help me with it....You helped me with it >.>)

Anyways, this poem was beautiful. Brilliant job.

~NianLauri Sep 20, 2012

I realy envy you xD. Aniway i realy don't know wich is more beautifull, the poem or the description...Both I gues^^.

~13th-ZodiaK Sep 19, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

It's beautiful

_{Everyone in my family twitches in their sleep to some degree or another. My sister, for example, will give an almighty shudder just as you begin to drift off.}

~CupcakeQueen09 Sep 17, 2012

Haha.....of course....there would be an error in my post. Must have been to long. All well........I guess it's fine........

~Kaleidoscopic365 Sep 14, 2012

Dou you mind if i favorite a second of your works?

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Faith

(God likes to surprise me. Well, consider me surprised.)

(You shudder in your sleep. I don't think you know.)

Faithby *UntamedUnwanted

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