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Scarecrow Green W. Body ImageSCARECROW
the trees are still green.
ive got a boy in each ear screaming in a strained falsetto, "find god, then fuck, rub war paint over your collar and choke those dreams of adolescent fancy!"
maybe not in that order.
i feel that those might be reasonable demands.
if not, ill stay a virgin forever and stop posting my barely lucid projections on cross walk buttons so the world can join me in confusion.
ive decided to marry myself to this moment, a rubber band ring on my finger and everything.
i cant tell if theyre asking for a fire or a union.
all i can hear is sex and murder, a whisper of masturbation.
the feral cry signifies a busted climax so maybe these boys are in love and the songs merely rut against each other.
its a valid enough theory.
a part of me hopes that they become beautiful monsters when the lights go out.
for them my heart goes.
today ive decided not to believe in love.
its a silly little thing, not suitable for children my age
"just jealous 'cause we're young and in love."
im jotting this down overlooking stairs to the concrete people playing evergreen games until the grass hits and feet sink against the movement.
my fear is the position to topple into bodily harm, she told me because my statements were laced, hardly contrary to the truth. and my knees are buckling, body sways forward and panic spray paints my senses 'til they're all bright yellow. i fall backwards on my ass, knees pressed tight to my chest so i can breathe normal again.
luckily no ones noticed that its happened for the third time tonight.
it might be a bit cliche to proclaim myself toeing the edges of our small existence 63 percent of the time.
eyes closed and learning how to meditate, recite the best poem ever written to the better half of my memory that sits in the dark until special moments when i wish to remember how to make decisions based on my mistakes.
this is different.
im listening to someone else's favorite song, strike to my ski
Sunglassesi look down and my hands are clasped, the light washing over them in broken stretches, intervals like broken clockwork. fingers interlocked atop the plaid fabric draped down and around my hips.
for the past hour or so ive been writing in my head.
about boys and girls.
those who i have, haven't, should've and desperately want to kiss. im 16, so honestly, theres nothing else for me to write about.
i wanted to start this with a sentence in my mental draft that would state, more or less, 'i tell him i love him but im not sure by what definition i hold it, perhaps whichever he feels it to be.'
something like that.
its about a boy who ive kissed despite knowing just how much i should not have. because my decision making skills are just about as flawed as my parents' are.
i guess i wouldve gotten all poetic about it too. about the songs hes sang to me and how hes just a stepping stone that i paused at, knowing it was merely 'til i truly get what i want (sniff, i say, 'what i had'), but no mat
Blackbirdthe sound of breathing over labored guitar chords.
he says 'rooftop', i think E minor, maybe binary code.
its just that simple.
with an arpeggio inhale and the positioning of awkward fingertips.
now hes humming something i cant discern and the song is supposed to be about lonliness, he says, a thin mouth tilted up in the corner.
'lovely melancholy' i say to myself.
but i hear moonlight and silver glinting off earlobes, hollowed in the dark.
dont believe theyre lonely, more but reaching out from the edges.
scribbles in the corner of papers with outstretched arms, to use figurative language.
a tendency to ask what i am writing, always thinking it be about himself (8th grade memories floating like notebook paper, i remember, small smile and bright eyes.)
right now the sound is repetition, shifting soft and to a feeling--green grass like comforters and arena seating.
and i can hear what this is asking for, a mirror imaged and a sideways glance through crowds.
to break his concentration, th
Counter Topi need to make that night seem more poetic when i write it down.
inject some sorry romanticism into those few moments.
felt like i had no face and even with the lilt of eyebrows, creases in the corners of my forced smile, the expression wouldnt have mattered anyway.
they dont explain it to you in those middle school classes.
the overwhelming sense of power found in sometimes hazel eyes, bright in dimly-lit rooms.
yet crippled in knowing how these things tend to mean nothing.
how my knees give out and quiver.
how in the minutes before, my lips mirrored the action, trying not to weep for the need of piteous decisions.
and voices are obsolete.
but breathing means everything.
i might actually call that my own, unless imagination runs wild and my skin goes blank for an open canvas---close your eyes and see anyone else you want to hold.
theres nothing at all beautiful to see when i let myself be picked apart for the sake of wanting someone i cant have, even when hes looping his perfect finge
Criss-Cross Designthe light has then adjusted
some twenty times since
weve been staring
with hair caught behind cold ears
and the irises expanding
for there is no way
to go blind in these rooms
with white-washed vision
blotting out dark figures
as they might rise slowly
in some distance
but you might switch these lines
to different angles
looking out windows
see the dull drone
of brown eyes
against brick walls
im writing your movement
as i stare at this pen
conjuring some demon
kill you dead
with the unrelenting desire
of this swirling madness
out the tip and over the page
so i could draw the distance
of just where you migh
be looking and write
those lines back to my eyes
and my mouth
because they are both open, staring
as you look anywhere but for me
Adenei've got a safety pin fastened through a collar and a name i dont know fit under the swollen rasp of my dry tongue.
the name like peril, little girls in sunday dresses, celestial in the songs they sing.
as if i knew that definition.
maybe stringing descriptions along branches and stuck with metal points, rusting red through the sides.
spelling out letters with stick tips in teh dirt and memorizing lines on her knees, with her hands upon the ground.
with hair threaded through like loops about her fingertips, passed through pink tinged lips and breathin in her air through filters, left there speechless.
reflecting the sun and leaving their sketches on tree trunks.
the countours gold, eyes closed and blind to the moment.
spit at her feet and found mud squished through toes, causing dissension among the ranks.
and she speaks quietly to the pins in her shoulders that whatever youre seeing, its not happening.
i say Adene, you draw a picture and the lines overlap.
running like water.
We Can See Thisive found out that these lives are like movies and the voices set are scripted pieces of beauty.
my gaze, taciturn, green grass in graveyards.
lifting his chin with the tips of my fingers.
as if holding the pose, fighting breath under water.
and walking away, found an exit through hanging branches of willows wilting in the heat of some lost summer.
the glances then fashioned are disguised 'round my fingers in trying to remember why i could not look away as he tread over flowers, skipping over their stories held in the words chipped into cold stone.
unless laying on the park bench and closing my eyes, finding letters encrypted in the stones thrown at my feet.
if set to the chorus of the soundtracks so celluloid, you could find our names up in the lights of grocery store tabloids.
because we are stars.
pretending out way through the moment of fake love, shielding faces from sunlight in late afternoons.
Hair Clip in Those Bedroomsdarling
i can hear the quirk in your voice
so i know its not okay
and im not gonna tell you i approve
but hes gone on an ego trip
and it extends beyond the hours of jet lag
that pulls you into his arms
from whence he might throw you upon the ground
to hear his drunken hero stories
the fatigue breathes alcohol into his thoughts
and theres that girl that we know
the one that i love more than the world
who whispers two names into everyones ear
and plays off the repercussions as her innocence
so lets all nod and call this okay
i remember the summer
when we smiled
as they played out the night in the comfort of bedrooms
it was okay wasnt it
the dialogue of deception
and hes lining your ears with it
its not the soar of piano concertos
and sonnets spoken with the bow of stringed instruments
if he looks you in the eyes with sunflowers in your vision
know to stare away
because is it not preconceived in the hours that he travels back in time
back to you
to whisper that hes not sure of what you ar
GrayscaleWhen our young eyes were bright with life,
We saw the world in black and white,
But our naïveté faded away,
And now we see the shades of gray.
What am I to youWhat am I to you?
Am I brother a son a friend?
Am I a demon full of sin?
Wandering this planet
Spreading my blasphemy
That states that life is sacred
And should not be taken lightly
What am I to you?
Am I a sinner or saint?
Am I ridding this world of taint?
Healing the sick and feeding the poor
Stopping the hate and saving the whores
Do I seem more holy than any man before?
What am I to you?
Am I a monkey or ape?
Pounding my chest as soon as I wake
Eating bananas and bugs
Like ants flea ticks and slugs
Do I look primitive?
Fighting and pissing where I sleep and live
What am I to you?
Am I a human flawed but not evil
Not a god nor a devil
Am I beautiful in your eyes?
Or do you look at me and despise
The way I am
Cruz when I look at you
You’re on candid cam
Hating and judging who I am
But what I am is a man who still loves you
Even though you don't love me too
I ruined myself for relationshipsYou all remember
a time when you were sixteen
and a little insecure ;
we watched them,
kissing passionately in the middle of the street,
mushing their faces in the train station,
licking each other out on the dance floor.
And we were jealous.
We all want to be held tight
touched like we're more tempting
than a double chocolate cake.
I don't know if I do,
What I liked most about us,
were the way we kissed,
closed-lipped, soft and innocent
and the way you touched me
like I'm more precious
than my body weight in gold
could ever be.
FriendsA friend may come or go;
they may not be the person you know,
but a best friend will stay
and help you through the hard times each day.
Learned EarSit up on shore
bring up a barrel
take heed with learned ear
and set the hour to the sand
Mark the candle
with tick and tock
load the barrel
fit and stock
Mingle in the crowd
and stand upon a box
give ye a listen
to simple words, err filled with truth
The whirl of sand
the sun parched rock
do tell the story
upon which we dance upon amuck
To ponder the fate
invites ill boons
for marketh the hour
upon which thy eye lay awake
Birthed and screaming
small and bright pink
Laid now to rest
upon a mothers silken breast
Fed and clothed
sought and well kept
The bones did grow
The mind did soon awaken
From sight did etch
with mem’ries help
Adorned with tomes
That the Father covets still
Bold and upright
Sought this Earthly light
Plant the foot out the door
and wave goodbye, innocent no more
Among the people, footsteps taken
From bounties best, did pluck good fair
And from kingdoms woman
Did share the Moon
Gone awry with madness and power
Took to the fields
where thieves make their fortune b
Poem 31: Avoiding TruthPhilosophers
The Spirit of Our KindThere is God and a bright spring.
A shallow, a small climb, and the rest is ours
We mark each day with today
There is a music to it
We are short, we don’t see far
Not far yet, we skipped and spilled our pales of wit
Then, when we were clean, bathed in dirt and worms
Then we went where we made our own nests
Tiny feet pushing us towards bewilderment
Of all we are told and all we behold
And our feet swell, we grow old, and we slow
To walk an unfamiliar path until it is familiar
Or chase a trail of quick little feet
To wash away with wit which we could not
We wish we could have, now
And they begin to stumble, dwindle, and fall
For us this will always be and this is all
God is there. God only watches.
I have hated every moment of this
In wandering we begin with differences
Far now, we scrape our knees and stray away
As we play in dangers and speak to close to serpents
We begin to see ourselves
And that was enough to see ourselves as something else
Feet begin to drag
To push us i
Garden of the LostIt's midnight and the clock is ticking.
You only have a few hours left.
What will you do?
But you don't know this.
You hide in your ignorant, sheltered, NORMAL shell.
Nothing is wrong.
Anything that is wrong DID NOT HAPPEN.
You think that life is perfect.
But it isn't.
It's dirty and flawed and filthy and twisted
It's a revelation of your soul a turning point in nonexistance
It's a macabre menagerie of souls caught in the web of fate
Stuck their filthy sticky fingers through the bars and touched reality
Sampled the forbidden fruit of freedom licked the juice dripping off the bodies of others
A cocktail that you've never sampled but sends your mind to that place where all is blood and madness
A river that coats you in sin an overindulgence of ecstasy
A drug that sends to the place where your fears talk
Over whiskey and dry jokes
Where the father that you never had sits laughing in the corner
Where the mother that didn't know existed stares at the wall
Secrets trapped in paper a thousand
I Wanted To Be The Soundits raining as i write as i listen to
a song and my life is consumed by
perfection whilst i ignore its
faults and the moment weighs
upon my eyes and overtaken i
begin i want to cry but its
my nature to soak up the outer
layer of every small and lonely pain
just as im not tired
I COULD STAY HERE
BECOME SOMEONE DIFFERENT
BECOME SOMEONE BETTER
i want nothing more than to drown
what i am in my love
for the drops of rain down and
through our drain pipes
because i cant remember the last
moment i felt whole all
encompassing grip of night
and cool air doesnt feel as cold
KEEP ME ALIVE
the sound is dwindling
this song imagined every
moment passing through
the day because im prone to
the obsession settling in fingertips
the rain is falling but i do not
pray and i cant step outside my
legs frozen to the air
hitting the ground, soft sound
through the window i breathe in
i could never be as beautiful.
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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