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Silver Rose

When Your Best is Not Good EnoughDon't speak.
Don't move.
Don't think.
Don't dream.
Don't hold yourself together.
Don't fall apart.
Don't pretend it is all going to be okay.
Don't act like it won't be all right.
Don't touch me.
Don't look away from me.
Don't be so needy.
Don't be so grateful.
Don't act silly.
Don't be so serious.
Don't have so much fun.
Don't be so sullen.
Don't cry.
Don't laugh.
Don't smile.
Don't frown.
Don't love anyone too much.
Don't be so selfish.
Don't ignore me.
Don't love me too much.
Don't breathe.
Don't exist....

And hope? Hope is just a lie you tell yourself so that tomorrow, you can do it all over again.When Your Best is Not Good Enough

Seventeen (In Phases)1.

It was because her parents had named her for the grandmother who had broken her mother’s heart. The grandmother whose heart was supposed to have melted from her birth and hadn’t.

That was why her mother barely looked at her. That was why she called her ‘girl’.

That was why she liked to pretend she was the quiet woman in the background of an old black and white movie. Because everything here was like an old black and white movie.

[And if she really looked back, her mother had never appreciated the elegance of the 1950s enough.]

2.

It was because she hated surprises. The surprise she got on her sixth birthday whSeventeen (In Phases)

A Tiny Key for a BIG Tea Party

ApplesSweet and sensual,
The feel of your fingers on my skin.
Slow and longing,
The trail of your hands on my curves.
Languid and helpless,
The pulsing of my veins under your masterful strokes.

My love for you is like my love for apples.
Juicy, crunchy, delicious...
And as dark as a sinner's heart.Apples

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 Crayon Soulmates

The Wizard and I

Disney Magic

Cup of Tea and a Story Maybe?

Constructive Criticism"Tell me what you think."

"Of the poem?"

"No, of my face. Yes, the poem."

"I was going to say, because your face is just stupid."

"Very funny. Read."

"..."

"What did you think?"

"Why did you write this?"

"I wrote it for you."

"For me?"

"Yes."

"You make me self conscious when you say things like that."

"I know."

"I'm not worth this you know."

"What does that mean?"

"I am half a girl, and I deserve half a poem."

"That is not true, and you still haven't told me what you really thought about it."

"It's as broken and complex and half hearted as a sad song about the way you feel ink trail between your fingers like it's blood. ThereConstructive Criticism

I Count the Moments

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 ifA Snowfall Candlelit

The Docks of Hope

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 Undeserved

FaithI 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 wisFaith

LustHis hands have a habit of finding my hip bones,
trailing his river like fingers along my stone smooth skin,
his lips do not move, his mouth tells me stories.

Mine spend their time
tracing the length and breadth
of his back in kisses*

We travel through lands that never existed
before we touched them
At temperatures far exceeding in Fahrenheit

If only we could understand
how lust and geography
make such divinely sinful bedmates.

____________________
* One hundred and sixteenLust

GluttonHis caramel covered fingers caress my coffee skin
An epiphany aged in its own beautiful winery,  
A honeyed breath drawn in a moment so heated,
Its oven like intensity roasting any kind of chastity.  

Irreverently juicy, pleasingly sinful,
Succulently divine in its every form
Lovemaking at its most beautiful…
Moans that echo sheer gluttony.

I never knew passion was edible,
nor lust so delicious in its impassioned call 
Until he showed me why chocolate
is the most deadly sin of them all.Glutton

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 andBones

I'm Not the Marrying KindI'm not the marrying kind. 
I have stones in my hair instead of flowers,
And a rosebush of thorns is more poignant to me.  

I'm not the marrying kind. 
My words aren't pretty or wise,
And I can't sing about anything but a broken heart.

  I'm not the marrying kind. 
I am the sort of damaged you see in an old recorder,
And the kind of old in an instrument that breaks into a billion pieces at a touch.  

I'm not the marrying kind. 
Neither neat, nor tidy, nor correct in my behavior,
And yes, I did in fact tell you to fuck yourself.  

I'm not the marrying kind.RI'm Not the Marrying Kind

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?City of Light

For All the Ink Wristed Girls

Your Body is An Ocean: Love and Other Experiments

Body Speak, Mouth Don't."I need a favour. You got a minute?"

No. No I don't.
My heart feels ripped out of my chest and trampled on too often.
My ears open to screams in the morning.
My eyes close crying every night.
My mind always turns dreams into nightmares.
My lungs contract too soon for me to catch my breath.
My worries far outweigh my years.
My brain feels overworked, overwrought, so tired.
My stomach cramps every night and I curl up in pain.
My knees weaken often but I'm still standing.
My mouth goes dry and I can't speak.
My hands dampen because I have too much to think about.
My bones feel weaker than they ever have before.

But I don't think itBody Speak, Mouth Don't.

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Comments

*g-heide Jan 23, 2013

Beautiful gallery!

Reply

~Halcyal Dec 8, 2012

You have a very strong gift. Keep on. Use it well.

My regards.

Reply

~blackdahlia911 Aug 7, 2012

The more I read your writing, the more I love it. It is so passionate and raw and completely took me out of this world. It's like I forgot everything and just got taken over by your words. You are wonderful.

Reply

~LovelyDearyYou Aug 4, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Everything you post is beautiful, and you are beautiful ^-^ I'm very inspired by your literature, thank you for the honesty that you craft into lovely words.

Reply

Mood: Love

~mar0uk Jul 25, 2012 Student General Artist

you have amazing gallery.
I really love your picture

Reply

*PeppermentPanda Jul 18, 2012

Beautiful Gallery~

Reply

~Obsess-Confess Mar 26, 2012 Student General Artist

I love your poetry/writing. I'm not always the biggest poetry fan, but I'm hooked. You have a fantastic, modern, honest style. Thanks for sharing.

Reply

~MMAERA Mar 25, 2012

You're amazing!!!

i haven't ever read anything better than your writing describing the real me,
and i'm so happy to have a friend like you.

Reply

~tytina Mar 12, 2012

some say words can't express the heart but i guess that's not true in ur case. u shape the mere letters in such an elegant way that speaks true and is true to the heart and reading such memories bursting with emotions and feelings opens up this beautiful world of human passions and emotions......which is simply subtle and beautiful. thank you dear for arousing such beautiful feelings which are difficult to find in mere words and letters and also inspiring me.i really hope that u have a joyous and merry life.
love
jyothi

Reply

Mood: Love

~CupcakePony15 Feb 24, 2012 Student Writer

I LOVE your work. It conveys so much pain, and yet each piece is beautiful in its own way. When I read your work, I feel like I can get through each day, no matter how tough it may be.
I want you to know that you have become a person hero of mine. Your words inspire me to keep writing. I dream of one day being able to weave words together as beautifully as you do.

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