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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
your namethree months from now, i'll look back on this and think
"i can't believe i ever wrote your name on my desk."
but until then, i'll keep scratching it in,
over and over,
until it makes a dent,
in my heart.
018. LovePaper planes
onto my desk
from across the room.
to a smiling face
that blooms like flowers.
You can call it chemistry,
but I'd like to call it love.
The Mutual ExchangeHer body was like stone,
Her heart like ice,
Yet She oozed a sticky red warmth.
His body was like ice,
His heart; an untamed flame,
Yet no one noticed how brightly He shone.
When He crossed Her path, all She could see was His light;
Guiding Her through Her day.
When She crossed His path, all He could feel was Her frost;
Cooling the blaze inside.
When their hands brushed, nothing else mattered
Accept the mutual exchange of energy between
Heat and Cold.
Brown Eyes Aren't BoringThe cigarette fog is clearing out
And all I see are unhappy people
So many unhappy people.
This weight is pulling me down.
Rest my head.
Baby all I see are those brown eyes.
Twinkling in this sunlight.
I never seen such beautiful eyes.
Break the Mold09-12-14
Break the mold,
I want to be told,
"I'll be the one that you'll hold,"
For I no longer want to be cold...
Mermaid's Monologue For LoveI'm floating over where I should be standing
Fins are what I have, no feet for demanding
I dream about being touched upon my shoulders
As you let me know you are there
Why do I dream of love at such a young age?
Blush marks appear on my face
As I daydream about what you would provide for me
Embracing myself with arms crossing my waist
If only I could have a taste
Of the possible good things you may offer
For our relationship~
My hair tosses about in the oceans waves
The wind the earth would receive is different
Underneath the dirt and trees
My brown eyes filled with enthusiastic hope
My heart beats as if you've already arrived
Yet that is not so unto my eyes
As I hug myself, I picture you near me
My eyes close for sleepiness and wanting you
Wanting my love near my side
Before the Earth collects the ocean's tide
Blush marks redden more than usual
I open my eyes as I gaze at the moon
Before I drift off to sleep
To ease my high school conscience
Are you there to kiss my troubles each
Love with TimeIf love is not shown, is it lost forever and never to be obtained again?
Or does it remain with the one that you loved for all eternity and possibly be returned to you by the one you loved?
The only thing that has the answer is Time.
So forever there will always be hope for Love.
The Dirk To My RoxyHis name is-
Well, that's not what matters.
It's his heart,
which, yeah it's hard to see - with the robotic way he speaks
and his seemingly careless nature,
but it's there.
His heart is the terrain I trek on in my wistful dreams,
and I can only hope
I leave my mark.
The land of his soul
strains for another person;
can't you see me?
Can't you love me?
It's too much
to expect him to change his entire being,
his entire soul,
just for my own pleasure.
I want him badly, and
I don't know if this is just lust or
a harmless infatuation,
but I want him to love me.
We talk daily, about many things,
I thought he was heartless but it turns out I was
I'm the heartless one here.
So I'll keep waiting,
cause he's a Prince and I'm a rogue.
Why can't his heart be mine?
Why can't I appearify it from nothingness,
from this void,
and feel it with my own two hands,
imprinting on it eternally?
I can't help ho
Things No One Else Notices Are What I Love MostI love your eyes,
dark and focused
when you’re concentrating
on whatever it is
And your smile
That looks so silly sometimes
when you’re waiting
for a kiss
and how you get annoyed
when I just want to be close
and hold hands
and that’s all
I’m amused by
the way you sound
when I’ve surprised you
by saying something I shouldn’t have
or before you leave,
when I kiss your nose
and you don’t think it’s as cute
as I think it is,
but I can tell
that you probably still love it.
Treat Her Kindlystorybook
bright blue eyes
and stuttered glances
long blonde hair
laying on the floor
they know where the water ends
press of lips
everyones supposed to know
when the door walks in
the clock dripping
its a painting on the wall
in a circle
word of mouth
nothing makes more sense
than the things that people hide
one day well live together
hes says life will be better
and thats the way love goes
for one or two
three or four
and they give
because thats what lovers do
outstretch a hand
with the world
theyll be vindicated
who exactly knows what from
everything from everyone
but theyre still singing spinning dying
her blue eyes are crying
and the world stops to a still
lies make more sense
finger there to a cheek
and the stars are falling
with a word
Keep in Touch!
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