[x]

i sometimes think.my face is a little like my
heart, beautiful pieces that
add up to an ugly whole

stolen lips still cry thief.dear you,

i’d like you to know what it feels like to have my words stripped away:

its like i’m standing in the middle of the street and you’ve peeled off my skin and it’s pouring rain and i’m steaming but i’m still not warm. it’s like you’ve cut my legs off at the knees and i’m hobbled and lurching haphazardly after you but i can’t catch you because you now have your limbs and mine. it feels a little like that.

and it’s like having my soul put on display for everyone to see and having you step all over it. it’s like you’re rubbing your toe down and cracking the spine of my dr

i'm running out of excuses.i am shaking with broken bones and trembling fingers.

i’m digging myself into holes until i’m ten feet from the surface and gasping for air. and you’re standing at the top with half-crescent smiles and gilded lies falling from between your teeth. you’re breathing in carbon dioxide while you sip on gasoline, saying the things that are worst for us are sometimes exactly what we need. i don’t know what you mean but i’d like to imagine if i could touch you, you’d go up in smoke.

this is when you call me painfully beautiful and kick down a rock, wait until you hear it hit the bottom before you giggle like a chi

can't you hear me?xx.

you are beautiful even if you can’t see it. you are flesh pulled-tight over needles-and-thread ribs and eyes fogged over with your latest drug. you are a drunk tongue and a loose smile, butterfly fingers thrumming on your thigh because you’re too medicated for them to not be doing something. you are waterlogged from drowning in your insecurities for so long, moth-eaten from rotting in the back of the closet of your addictions.

but you are beautiful. because under the fog you are flickering like a single firefly. because you’re just trying to hide his acidic criticism under your translucent skin. and i know you can open ch

it's not what you think.this is just a bruise, don’t you understand? i drank too many diet cokes too quickly, i stood up when i should have been lying down, i stared at the sun for too long. i ran too long with my lungs begging to collapse, i fell down the stairs and swallowed my kidney. i just tripped. it was just a mistake. it’s not what you think it is.

and this, this is just heart burn, don’t worry yourself over it. i swallowed too many peppers without a glass of milk to coat my throat, i let the knife slip when i was cutting up the apple. i bit my tongue when i was running to catch the bus, i stayed under the bathwater too long until i was blue-

this one's for you.because you are keeping my legs from folding.

because when i am tired, i am leaning on you, when i am sad, i am crawling into your comfort. because you are hooking my lips and pulling them into a smile, building a fire in the belly of my soul and warming me from the inside out.

because when i am lost, you are pointing in the right direction, when i am shaking, you’re holding my hand and whispering it will be alright.

and because when i’m incoherent you’re closing your eyes and saying my rambling sounds a little like a creek. because when i’m jumping from thought to thought without leaving a trail, you’re laughing a

can't wait forever.because, boy, you know i’m looking for you, but i’m not sure i’ll ever find you.

i’m spending my days watching the different eyes that go by but they all have the wrong angle or the wrong shape or they’re a little too gray instead of the blue that i know you’ll have. there are too many creases where they’ve frowned too many times and are a touch too red from too much alcohol when i know you’ll have at least some idea of moderation. they’re all wrong because they’re not yours.

and i’m spending my nights listening to the different laughs riding the airwaves but they’re all the wrong

i know i'm reckless.i know it’s not easy loving a tumbleweed of a woman.
[but you’re still hot on my trail when the rebel stars shine.]
i know your fingers sting from snagging them on wild-rose-thorns.
[but you’re still holding my hand and ignoring the trickling blood.]
i know it bruises when you get tangled in barbed-wire-smiles.
[but you’re still kissing my lips and calling me beautiful.]
i know you get tired chasing my vagabond-heart.
[but you aren’t trying to hobble my nomad-feet.]
i know you blame yourself when i crackle and explode.
[but you aren’t letting me see you cry when you piece me back together.]
and i know

i'm sorry.i am sorry if i am not what you expected.

i am sorry if i am not slender or cunning or sticking to the schedule or falling into the precision of appointments and the rules of poetry. i am sorry if i am wringing my fingers dry and running out of paper and bleeding ink through my eyelids. i am sorry if i am butchering words and stitching their bleeding pieces into something i can lie and call beautiful. i am sorry that i can’t stick to your grammar, your syntax, your expectations, your rules. i am sorry, i tried.

i can’t help that i am running barefoot through the grocery store because i forgot my shoes or that i am driving through

if i'm not living with youmy eyelashes are tied into knots and my lips are stapled together. i’m laying in the middle of the floor and i’m realizing that my hips are disintegrating from lack of use. my knees are knocking together and melting, my shoulder blades are flying towards one another but never touching. and my throat is simply rusting over from all the sea air i’ve been gulping trying to keep my lungs from suicide jumping.

{i cannot live without you, my body can’t stand the abuse of neglect}

my eyes are turning to salt and dissolving down my cheeks, burning the cracks in my chapped lips, leaving white traces along my jaw. my hair is snarl

my thoughts are fear biters.my heart is too wild
for me to cage it in a
meaningful haiku.

i'm choking.i am sitting with smoking nerves and
frayed circuit wires, everything i don't
know knotting together for me to choke
on.

if there is a door, i can't find it.
if there is an answer, i'm unaware.

instead i am falling to my knees and
crawling under the smoke, eyes watering
and knuckles bleeding. no closer to the end
than when i had begun.

if i had the courage, i'd crack open your ribs
and get the answer for myself. if i was brave,
i'd simply reach over and pinch the truth from
your tongue.

or i'd just tie my heart to the railroad tracks
and wait for you to save it. wait for you
to cradle it and whisper that the time for

are you willing to risk it?you think you'll survive
without loving me, but what
happens if you're wrong

we're chasing sounds_cdear derek,

you are beautiful in the way of parked cars with frosted windows and statues with moss trailing up the leg. you are fascinating but unattainable, with blank-shot eyes and lips that are made to smile but never do. like having a monet turned towards the wall. i think if you’d let me i could tug those lips up in the corner, i could warm you from the inside out, i could chip away the ice and turn you belly-side up in the sunlight. i think about it when you’re rubbing your hard-angled cheeks or staring at the clock like it means something more than the warm-flesh bodies around you. i don’t expect you to let me, but i

i'm the girl.you want to know who i am?

i am the girl falling asleep headfirst on top of the covers to the clackclackclacking of the rain against the windowpane. i am dreaming in tarnished poetry and rotting hopes, birdbone-wrists locking together, fingers plucking the strings along guitar-ribs. i am loving myself even as i pull apart wishbone-veins, stringing myself out across the carpet to pick out the parts i like best.

and i am the girl wandering the aisles of the book store. i am curling in corners with hemmingway, touching the pages like a lover, smelling the ink because i’m the girl who thinks books smell like faith. i’m tucking myself

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 179 bytes more ▶

More from =corina90

mixing metaphors.If I close my eyes, I imagine that you are the breath that rocks the boat. I can hear the sea breeze whistling between your lover’s teeth and liar’s lips, so that I can smell your every indiscretion tangled with your every promise.

[Has anyone told you that you smell like orchids when they’ve died and fresh bread when it’s burned?]

And I am smiling even when I’m not, my eyes crinkling in the right spot and my lips folding like a prayer, but even I can smell that sickly sweet smell of rotting love crunching beneath my feet. It’s breaking and cracking, damn near sobbing, but I just smile that not-smil

Reverie.I resent waking up when I’ve been dreaming of you.

In the early haze of the morning, I can still draw the angles of your cheeks, can still remember the spice of your scent. With eyes closed, it is easy to recall drowning in your eyes and finding salvation anchored against your chest.

It is so easy when I’m still caught in the grips of sleep.

It is only when the violets and corals fade that I begin to forget about the way your hair framed your face. I can feel the pitterpatter of my heart bumping off course as I try to hold on to the way your pulse had stuttered into place with mine.

When the sun begins to burn too bright, I can

I can still hear you here.             I am drowning in the reverberation of the fissures
                                     tearing through my heart.
                     I am surrounded by the echo

Broken Reflections.My toes are curling inside out.

And my skin is falling like peeling wallpaper, pulling away from me as if I am the disease and it is searching for salvation at the roots that grow and branch out from my feet.

I am kneeling at the feet of ancient towers, blind hands running along the weathered cracks and I can feel the scales on my eyes pressing together so that I know nothing except that I am not alive.

[Not yet.]

As I sit, I am gurgling prayers along the naked length of my songs, so that the hallelujahs and the choruses are blending together and I am plummeting between each line.

If I could, I would lose myself in each rising word, craw

Runaway. ( A p r i l )

She’s running on devil wings and angel feet,
leaving nothing but skid marks on her hell bent
way out of town. She swears she has a
wanderlust heart and there never was anything
heavy enough in this town to anchor her to
reality.

( J u n e )

The road is a tar-dark, unforgiving lover, but she
has somehow fallen into lust with the way the black
smears against the calloused palms of her hands and
how when she falls asleep she doesn’t see anything
but flashing headlights and doesn’t smell anything but
exhaust.

( A u g u s t )

Sweltering nights lead to humid mornings, her skin
dewed wit

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: September 23, 2009
File Size: 179 bytes

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 130
Favourites: 381 [who?]
Views: 4,705 (1 today)
Downloads: 54 (0 today)

[x]

i wish i could.

by =corina90, Sep 23, 2009, 11:48:03 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

i wish i was a cliche
so my paper heart wouldn't
bleed anything but ink

i wish i could.by =corina90

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2009-2013 =corina90

_{{why does it feel like this world is just not for us
why does it feel like this world's all they've got for us
why does it feel like nobody's watching us"
--theory of a deadman

full title: i wish i could just tape it back together again}

~~mad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~Hatter-Maddington Jul 3, 2010 Traditional Artist

Hi. I really like this, and I drew something with this written across the top. Please have a look it you do not want me to have it posted on this site please tell me so, and I will remove it. Your work is lovely. ^^

[link]

Reply

~The-Tabby-Cat Nov 9, 2009

Also, paper cuts are skin deep.
I wouldn't hurt others as much.

Reply

=corina90 Nov 9, 2009

that's veryvery true

Reply

~kakanina Nov 4, 2009

I keep searching words that i'm feeling at that moment, and your pieces keep coming up

And I'm glad they do, another beautiful piece ^^

Reply

=corina90 Nov 4, 2009

thank you so much
:]

Reply

~kakanina Nov 4, 2009

You're very welcome ^^

Reply

!wakiagaru Oct 19, 2009

Mine doesn't ^^

Blood hasn't any more value than the words you write~ right?

Reply

=corina90 Oct 19, 2009

it depends. in a way, they both keep me alive.

Reply

!wakiagaru Oct 20, 2009

sure does.

can't write if you're not alive, and can't live without writing.

Reply

*Cibbwin Oct 19, 2009 Hobbyist Writer

So full of vitriol, and yet... I feel like you really mean this. Sad and sweet.

Reply