[x]

pretty words, dead flowers CLBi want a boy that makes me weak in the elbows.

i want him to drive a red camaro and put pens behind his ear because he’s scared he’ll think of something he needs to say when there’s no one around. i want him to never hesitate to hug me from behind or throw me over his shoulder and spin me until i swallow my spine. i want him to mess up my hair and pinch my cheek and then kiss me until my teeth are shaking and my nerves are smoking. i don’t know where he is yet, but i know i’ll find him.

--

well, i won't make you weak in the elbows, but i can make you weak in your ribcage; i can tame the struggling butterflies and t

then again, maybe.maybe i am the reason this bed is emptyemptyempty but for one.

maybe i am the explanation for the way the tires are peeling out or the way you’ve already changed your voicemail to ‘me’ instead of ‘we.’ maybe i am the excuse for the way our love has a white flag and is curled in the corner, calling mercymercymercy.

maybe i am the poison-tongue and killing-hands that you tell me i am, maybe you deserve someone who doesn’t unravel like yarn in the afternoon, click their tongue against their mouth and expect you to help gather the pieces and put them back together in the evening.

maybe i am toomuchtoomuchtoomuch f

hearts are for rebuilding_ci.
when i remember you, i remember the way you laughed when i mixed up teaspoons and tablespoons.

i remember the way you refused to eat the cake because you said it was too salty and the way i stood crying over the sink when i shoved it down the disposal. i remember how you left me standing in the middle of the floured, sugared, baked-on-mess kitchen to finish the tivo-game, patting me on the back and saying ‘nice try.’

it was when i was wiping my tears with the back of my hand that i best remember holding my heart close, telling it ‘nice try.’ maybe next time we’d fall in love with someone who saw us when they loo

losing myself.it’s the morning and i’m lying on my bed.

i’m listening to the sun raining through my window, the birds chirping, the sound of me losing my feet and finding my dreamer’s bone.

my pillow smells like you, like lust, like finding something worth dreaming about.

in a few minutes i’ll get up, pour myself a cup of coffee, dance in socks around the kitchen, take this new feeling blossoming in my chest and hold it tight.

but for now, i’ll smile, kiss you awake, trace the angles of your chest. but for now, i’ll bask in you.

+

it’s the afternoon and i’m sitting at my desk.

i’m staring at a blank

can't promise what you want.“i think we can make this work.”

“i think we can too.”

“but you have to promise me something.”

“within limits.”

“promise me you’ll never leave the hand soap empty. promise me that when you see the faucet accidently leaking on the counter, you’ll take a towel and mop it up instead of just shrugging and walking away. promise me you won’t leave your jeans rumpled in the hall because they ‘didn’t make it’ all the way into the room.”

“i can’t lie, i can’t promise that. but i will promise to never leave your hands empty. i will promise that when your

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

try to understand.“so, i guess that’s that.”

“i guess it is.”

“i want you to know that i’m going to think about you. every night.”

“i imagine i’ll think about you too.”

“i’ll probably cry in my pillow when our song comes on my shuffle and i’ll dig up that picture i buried in the back of my closet when i threw away the rest.”

“why will you keep it?”

“because we look happy and somewhere down the road i’ll be happier for having kept it. not at first, because at first it’s going to sting like hell. which is why i’ll bury it. but in the middle of the night

and i'm learning.if we could be together: i think i’d like to press my lips to the hollow of your neck. i think i’d like to linger, breathing in the sweat and salt and soap that smells just so inexplicably like you.

if we could be together: i think i’d like to close my eyes and run my fingers over your face, memorize the dips and angles and the full curve of your lips. i think i’d like to be able to brand each separate feature on my fingertips.

if we could be together: i think i’d like to sit in your lap, let your arms hold me close. i think i’d like to curl against you, bring the sensation of protection in as close as our bodi

confessions of lostwithoutyou.i'm not a liar. but i never told you that you always looked best in black. i liked how your skin would fade to a paler shade of perfection and your perfect teeth would glint a little brighter. and i could pretend for an evening that you were my black and white dream come true. and with you there would be no shades of inbetweens and no grays for us to get lost. i never told you but it's true.  

+

i was never able to tell you, but i hate the way you cook your 'specialty' eggs. you always laughed over your shoulder and told me that they are the best food i’ll ever eat, that i was blessed to get the chance to taste them melting

truth flavoured lies_cthe lie about me:
i am beautiful like freshly-cut grass and popsicles in the middle of the day. i am summer-lips and winter-teeth, laughing my way through autumn-leaves. i am branding laughter against the back of my throat so i can feel it with every breath i draw in, soaking in your words as i stick them under my tongue and save them for a while. i am living for the moment and dancing without caring who’s watching. i am loving recklessly and throwing my heart into the wind with wild abandon. i am calling each scar a beauty mark and opening my arms wide to catch the wind. you are calling me ‘love’ and i am answering.

the trut

if you keep getting under.i saw you today and said ‘hey’
but what i meant was:

‘holyhell, you’re beautiful. you look like sunshine trapped in mason jars and fireflies stuck in moonbeams. you have a smile that punches straight to the spinal cord, did you know that? i just spent the last five seconds rebooting my heart, training my lungs how to breathe again. exhale, inhale. it should be simple but you’ve snarled it all in a giant mess. i’m unwinding the ball of yarn into a straight jacket and you’re as unaffected as the sea. i’d say i’m a boat but i’m hardly as sturdy. i’m a feather. it’s almost funny how li

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

i'll come home.dear holly,

the plane is rolling away and i can still see you waving. you are so beautiful, do you know that? your hair is fluttering at the temples and i can see you’re crying, but don’t worry, baby, i’ll be home soon. i know how this looks, the way the door shutting me off is so final, but it’ll open again and you’ll be running down the airport terminal and i’ll be there to catch you.

count the days until i come home, i’ll be counting them with you.

love,
me

+

dear charlie,

i’m home and the house is empty without you. it feels like the walls are exhaling in regret and it’s a bitter feeling

love fell upside downbreathe; just breathe.

he is just a boy made of cells and nerves wrapped around normal bone. he is standing there on two feet with two legs and pants hugging a waist made of flesh and blood. he is human. his nose is a little crooked and his teeth not perfectly straight. one could even say he is a flawed human.

look; look there.

his eyebrows arch out in odd angles, like bird wings taking flight off of his face. and that scar that runs down his jaw? certainly that, dear, certainly that makes him flawed.

look, his eyes are blue but not the blue of the ocean deep or the sky before the storm. they are just blue. no one could look in those eyes

paper bridges_cdear jamie,  
i’m looking out my window and watching the world come down in icy slivers and it’s making me think of that time when we ran down the road with nothing on but our swimsuits and laughter. we used to share everything. our clothes, our make-up, our books, our stories, our weaknesses, our time. now we just share memories and folded paper. but don’t worry, four years and we’ll be back on the same street and these letters will bridge the gap that distance tried to carve. we’re stronger than that.   

oh, i almost forgot to tell you! this morning i saw a guy that looked just like that ac

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a dog and his girl.he was one of those rare creatures that didn't lend themselves easily to the eye. it wasn't that he was harsh or ragged or even beastly, but there was a certain darkness to the eye, a sharpness to the tooth that made it easy for the first impression to one of fear and the second to be that of panic. it wasn't until the third impression, until the seconds had settled and the dust gathered around the soles - when breath suspended and the pulse began to languidly fall into rhythmic waves instead of war drums - that the truth revealed.

and the truth was not one of stigma or myth - it wasn't vicious nor was it cruel. the truth was a heart bigger

silver-threaded battle song.i sang to the moon, but it just fell to the ground
and the whole world lit up, but not from the sound.
 it wasn't my words or the fluctuation of my throat;
 if my mouth is a capsule, then my tongue is a boat.   

the words didn't form by free will or carve out of thin air, 
they rather spilled and they drained off the edge of a prayer.
that night,  my lips didn't press against the pulse of luxurious truth,
 they were rather scarred, shredded and torn by raw, fervent youth.

you see, the wind whispers ancient tales of love's true reality
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way back when.back then, i thought i knew it all. i thought i could sit on the cliff edge, jump and call it flying. i thought i could kiss sea air with chapped lips and call it love. there was a beautiful pain that i associated with life, an aching burn that i was foolish enough to embrace. my bones would light on fire and i would dance, dance, dance until my feet were dissolving on the shoreline and i was throwing the remnants of my words like breadcrumbs into the wind.

it was fast and dangerous and loud. it was like cracking your bones to know the sound of heartache along with the splintering marrow. it was like touching your tongue to acid just to feel

we love - i dreamwe are swimming in the ocean and our lungs are turned inside out. we are creating black holes with the tips of our fingers and pushing in our doubts into the center of the void. we know that truth isn't a truth so much as a guess and we are therefore given the liberty to create our own. we are the truth. love is the truth. we can stand in fields and hold the falling sky on our shoulders and call spring our truth. because  

love is a spear and it is bracing my spine from yielding. my mouth is stumbling on the words i have always known and i am teaching the phrases to my lips once more. your palms are resting on the skulls of resti

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pretty words, dead flowers_c

by =corina90, Aug 29, 2009, 12:47:02 AM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives

i want a boy that makes me weak in the elbows.

i want him to drive a red camaro and put pens behind his ear because he’s scared he’ll think of something he needs to say when there’s no one around. i want him to never hesitate to hug me from behind or throw me over his shoulder and spin me until i swallow my spine. i want him to mess up my hair and pinch my cheek and then kiss me until my teeth are shaking and my nerves are smoking. i don’t know where he is yet, but i know i’ll find him.

-

well, i won't make you weak in the elbows, but i can make you weak in your ribcage; i can tame the struggling butterflies and terminate your bloodflow. i don't have a car, but i'd rather take long walks with you across the vivace boardwalk, holding hands or locking lips. there's no pen behind my ears, but there's an eraser in my chest that can erase all your problems if you listen closely. i won't hug you when you cry; i'd save them for beating up the bastard who stole your tears. your hair is too lovely to mess up, your cheeks too delicate.

i do promise, however, to take you camping in the heart of my heart and sing you lovesongs on my acoustic guitar. by day, we'll count the powder stratus clouds, squinting our magnetic eyes until they transform into living flowers i could pick or pretty rings i could buy; by night, we'll connect the diamond stars until the constellations spell our names in the moonlit sky like a permanent marker. i promise to pack the tent if you promise to be by my side.

-

i don’t want to be too delicate, i want a boy that holds me tight.

i don’t want him to be scared to grab me close, i want him to push me against the wall and kiss me until my breath leaks out the back of my skull. i want his touch to ice over my skin and his lips to melt it. i want him to look at me in a way that makes my heart puddle on my tongue so that when he smiles i can swallow and lose it all over again.

and i want him to know that when i’m wrapping my arms around my waist it means i’m five seconds away from falling apart and i need him to take two less than that to hold me together. i want him to not worry about the bastard that made me cry but be there comforting me instead. the bastard can wait, i can’t. i want him to know the stars are beautiful but his eyes are better, so stop looking for our names up there and start finding me right here.

-

i can't hold you tight because my muscles go weak when i see you. it's not that i'm scared to grab you, but my timesnewroman tongue is dry from all this chasing after you and honestly i have nothing to give you -- nothing but lovelovelove and pretty words you don't want to hear.

it would take me less than three seconds to save you, but with you three seconds feels like an eternity -- an eternity i would spend with no other than you. my arms may not be that strong, and my vision may be blurred, but my cardiovascular pumps eighteen gallons whenever i'm with you; my treadmill heart shoots arrowlike bloodcells through treadmill veins, and i get all my exercise from breathing too hard because you've stolen my breath and replaced it with carbon dioxide. i don't need lungs when i have yours, and i don't need sight when i have your head in my lap.

-

i don’t want to make him weak, i want to make him strong.

i want him to catch me when i fall and not try to build me a trampoline with pretty words. pretty words won’t protect my skull from shattering and painting the sidewalk with the violent colors of my wishes. i want his arms to be there when my bones melt and his spine to strengthen mine when the world weighs too much and my knees buckle under it all.

and i can’t be his extra set of lungs because i’m already using mine and still running out of air. i can’t break him down when i’m already eroding at five centimeters a minute. i want to lean on him and let him lean on me so that we’re sturdy together and not losing our feet and breath and hearts without thinking. i don’t expect him to pump the blood in my veins because i can’t push the air through his lips. i just want him to hold my fingers and tell me it’ll be okay.

-

well, i want a girl who refers to "me" instead of "him", or a girl who doesn't need pronouns at all, but instead calls me by my name; when she means 'we', she'd roll our names off the tip of her tongue. i guess me and you aren't so compatible after all. all we are is pretty words with an abundance of pronouns; no emotion, just flowery rhetoric that would die in a vase because...

a) i'm too lazy to remember to water it, and
b) you're too picky to care, so you'll watch them die because you much prefer tulips to pansies. and while i may have two lips, the conveyor-belt-garden of my ribcage grows too many pansies.

and you've always had an allergy to them, haven't you ?

pretty words, dead flowers_cby =corina90

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives

_{{"we're the new face of failure
prettier and younger but not any better off
bullet proof loneliness at best, at best"
--fall out boy

and we're such a pretty puzzle, we're just missing all the pieces.

so this collab is the amazing, incredible *ChloroformBoy
seriously, seriously check him out. he'll blow your mind.
his version -- > [link]

[i wrote italics, he wrote the amazing parts.]}

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!JuneAlien Jun 16, 2011

This is so sad but so true. I must admit I love it.

~MekaMouse Apr 12, 2010 Student Writer

I love the way you two fell into rhythm.
It was like watching a dance and the two of you simultaneously breaking your legs and seeing you crumble down because both of you always hated dancing.

=corina90 Apr 12, 2010

thank you, beautiful

~MekaMouse Apr 13, 2010 Student Writer

welcome, amazing

~oxcrushhed Jan 27, 2010 Photographer

eek!

i love this.
haha a collab from my 2 favourite writers on dA `

=corina90 Jan 27, 2010

i love writing with devin :]

~oxcrushhed Jan 28, 2010 Photographer

i hope you both will collab again!

~InSilentNoise Jan 19, 2010

This one really brought me to tears! U're so captivating! U amuse me soo much and it frightens me because u write exactly what i've been feeling for a while now...

=corina90 Jan 20, 2010

thank you soso much

[and don't be frightened.]

~xskittyx Dec 14, 2009

I am literally speechless. This is beyond amazing.

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pretty words, dead flowers_cby =corina90

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