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WantsI want the time to write about
the beauty, the newness in nature
I want to share with you. I want to
catch each individual snowflake
with shutter snaps and take them home
to decorate the windows. I want to watch
the river don its icy finger-gloves, to consider
lines and angles shifting, indifferent, softening
under winter's lofty load. I want to snowshoe
on some not-too-frigid night with a full moon
illuminating night to noon-like with blue-
white light or when there is no moon, only
innumerable stars, impeccably brilliant,
impossibly far away against the ebony
of New England midnights- I want to know you
see these things that bring me to my knees.
TrickoletThe ambiguities he hides
between the ever-changing lines
of poetry; our romance rides
the ambiguities. He hides
emotion he creates decides
the meaning but never defines
the ambiguities he hides
between the ever-changing lines.
To My Biology TextbookOn page 159 of my biology textbook, it reads,
“...cancer is the uncontrolled growth of cells”
as though that could explain everything,
and I thought it did for a time.
But my textbook never warned me
that his skin would pale
to a point where I could see
the blue freight trains
carrying eighteen pills
throughout his frail body.
My textbook never warned me
that his watery irises would freeze over,
that he would hurl insults like knives,
and that he would clench his jaw
as tightly as his fist clenched his wine glass
because the only person to blame is himself,
and he can’t swallow that as easily
as he can the olives in his martinis.
And my textbook never warned me
that it would be this difficult to breathe
because of my acute awareness
that his breaths are limited,
and that there would be nothing I could do
but soldier on searching for that silver lining
clinging to these foreboding thunderheads.
Her Hysteric Obsessioni've ripped off my scars &
plastered them amongst the sky
because you didn't believe i was
insane enough to love you.
ConfessionI couldn't keep up the pace
when the accusations leaked into
so I retreated
inside closed eyes
where the darkness showed me
while my losses won the war
filling the deficit with their valour.
Now my shoulders bear the burdens
and the scars prove an
yet only remembered when I
drown my sorrows,
feeling tears appear only to fall down
and escape the obligation to share in the guilt,
of the grand old scheme of things written in the sand
with bullets, from a pen
onto paper made from heroes.
FiniteI sometimes wish you were small—
so small you could sail this little model ship
into the clouds and never have
to look at a bowl full of put-out cigarettes again,
or make those oh-so-obvious
black paper hearts that you tear
down the center only to
band-aid back together
when I assure you, once again,
that you’re not worthless.
Remember the license plate you had
on that old blue car—
the one that said DANCE?
I wish you’d do that again;
I wish you’d do it in the middle of that abandoned attic
with its weathered beams and emptiness
like we did as children, without shame
and without purpose.
You once said that everywhere you went
places looked desolate, as though the desolation
shadowed you, clinging to your heals,
encasing you like an egg you were
trying to break free of, your arm reaching
for the immensity of the sky—
for a butterfly of hope.
“I feel as big as the world.” You said this
one morning as you purposely spilled that cup
the moon and boyspretty boys with
moonlit teeth and tangled
hair that shines perpetually in
the aftermath of your first
remind you that not all things
The BeachIf my grandfather’s brother hadn’t been murdered
then maybe he wouldn’t have hit you so hard,
seeing bare feet and hard times and
the violence that repeats itself over and over
because tragedy sends shockwaves
that still echo when you’re grown.
I know now that when you scream at me
you’re not really my mother.
You’re fourteen again
being punished for a crime that happened years before you were ever born
mourning for a life that vanished like footprints on the beach
and left a lonely child
trailing through the sand and never finding someone older,
never finding the right way home.
I know I have it lucky –
kids in those decades used to disappear like air
I know I have it lucky
one bruise is better than three or ten or thirty
I know I have it lucky,
it’s better to be sad and scared and still alive.
I know I have it lucky here.
Out on the beach there are only bones.
12:16 amisn't it a great chance,
us taking it all and
running with the colors;
our skin windy and
our thoughts dry,
me wanting to kiss you and you
wanted to seize the
we are nothing more
than our desires
in the end; i will be
locked between dusty pages
will be tossing stones with
we live inside a metaphor.
the way your skin felt
stand for so much more
than a passing of
solipsismi am the prince of
phantom pains & mediocrity -
a carbon copy, chlorinated
grey matter deity
of flickering cities &
burning mercury into my wrists
linguistics of silence 101don’t drop your ellipses
on your freckled-with-pity
walk out of our sentence. I
have only been taming
your paragraphs into stanzas. don’t
let your rosy chest-wings quit
breathe, my love,
find a sinus rhythm in your
sporadic juxtaposed days;
there is a typo error
in your impulsive ways and i’m
afraid that is more
editing than i’m used to.
let’s uncapitalize those articles, it all
starts from there
breathe, you must
page break, turn it over,
skim a reading, halt that anger and
filter those strong
am trying too.
let your grown-out hair lay
free for once instead of your
tongue. punctuate your eyes with
sleep, with peace;
breathe. it all
when you forget to see.
but you’re still here hoping
to correct me.
pace yourself when you
braid your patience. don’t
curve too fast like the sharp turns
in your purge-swollen colon.
is your punctuation, darling?
where is your grey,
calming hyphen? have you
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More