[x]

x marks my heart.i am lying in the field of wheat, dappled with sunlight, drunk with acceptance.

i am holding my fishnet-fingers wide to catch the dreams leaking out my pores. all my wishes are exploding from behind the rib-dams too archaic and tired to stand any longer. i am smiling for the first time in months and digging my hipbones and angelblades in the soil like seeds. i am a sunflower, i am an orchid, i am pushing the petals away to reveal myself to the waiting world. i am wrapped in the warmth, gently coaxing the tangles from my thoughts, my vulnerabilities uncurling slowly to reveal their belly to the persuasion of the heat.

i am blind, but with ey

paint with love.close your eyes, darling, cross
your heart with my lips and listen
to me. play your favorite hymn
on the tapered flutes of my bones
until i'm an instrument fitted

to your devoted artist's hands.
draw maps of the constellations
on the raised edge of my scars,
translate directions to faded love,
before putting an 'x' on my left breast,

sealing the treasure with a prayer.
mold my hips like wet clay, sculpt
my pulse so i'm breathless with tension,
serene with knowing i'll wake again
tomorrow with cello-curves pulled

into the tide of your ocean-chest. sing
faith into my hungry arms, chisel hope
into my cynical skeleton, paint

bleeding confessions.dear boy-with-a-solar-heart,

love songs are never enough, poems are empty carcasses of emotion when it comes to you. i've spent entire evenings rummaging through the backlit crevices of my thief's mind, trying to drag the proper words from the shadows, but they all flee. the words all hiss and spit and claw: words that describe emotions that have never once been exposed to daylight. words that have slumbered for decades in the hope they would never be touched. words with seeping wounds and open bruises and complications a mile-wide. words that lived in little fear until your warmth shone through the slats of my reality-prison. words that are

reality is a grave.the walls are too clean.

it's wrong how clean the walls are, how even the air is sterile. it seems almost cruel to make such a place so hollow and vacant only to have you realize it's just making room. room for muffled sobs and choked-on tears and emotions so thick that if they were to allow any dust there wouldn't be room to breathe at all. it's allowing room for stifled emotional breakdowns shuddering down your spine and smiles quivering precariously on the tip of your lips.

it's not cruel, it's just practical.

and you're looking down on wax-paper skin and glassy eyes and a voice so chipper it hurts to hear. a voice that rambles like som

fractured clocks.Anxiety is a hummingbird in the throat of those who wait.

Palms wring oceans and pulses flood plains until time chokes on itself to leave the minutes battling on the brink of insanity. Each second is an entity that stands on its own, a demon to be fought and conquered. Each breath is a challenge, the air tangled in lungs before clacking teeth drag it forward to throw it shuddering into the wind. Heavy footprints echo fears on the walls, possibilities birthing and maturing and turning from fledgling shadows into heavy-handed fiends.

The door remains closed. Time ticks on.

Thunder coughs in comparison to the heart roaring across the deserted

second-chance renewal.i can't guarantee i'll be what you want.

you see, i can only offer you the remaining fractures of a weathered, storm-bruised heart in trembling palms; can only pour the relics into the crevices of your chest. i can only offer you the ruins: tangled and mismatched and soggy from salt-rain. can only give you the junk drawer, the elbows and broken bits no one wanted: the jealousy and anxiety and selfishness and impatience and insecurity. i can only give you these, wrapped in newspaper-covered cardboard boxes, no satin ribbon dressing them up as something they're not.

oh, and you deserve so much more! what i have left rotting isn't enough and i

play for keeps.spin around twice, count to ten and come to find me. listen to the wind twisting around the forest and the break of sun dappling the foliage. hold your breath and hear the misplaced air from where i was, where i've been, where i am no longer. break the twisted limbs of young saplings and duck the looming arms of the aging ark. use sonic radars to locate me curled sleepily in the elms' embrace. i'll be dust-covered and cobwebbed, my arms wrapped around the dam of my ribcage. climb the bark ladder and wake me with hesitant, wanting fingers. whisper truths in the maple-vault where i've lay dormant, lace your fingers through mine and pull me into

dear t, love m_cDear M, I used to wonder if the collision of our skin would be the ignition of rapidfire passions, the birth of brilliant starlight in the cold of loneliness, of suffocating space. I used to imagine that the heat of your breath would spill across my tongue, and reignite the cold ashes in my lungs. I used to hope that the sway of my skeleton and the clacking of my bones could be a rhythm you would stay around and dance to. I used to dream of us on moonlit beaches, sleeping on the waves and swimming through the sand. I used to do a lot of things, but your shiver-up-my-spine smile tends to drag my thoughts out to quieter seas.

+

Dear T, I used

born in flames.if we don't start fires, then we'll breathe forth floods.

beneath our poetic simplicity is a raging monster with gnashing teeth and complications snarled all around its bloodied tongue. we're earthquake-palms hovering over the equator, sending continents careening into one another, their haphazard edges crumpling like damp paper. we're gaping ocean mouths gasping as life and death and the mess in between is sucked dry with a terrifyingly efficient gulp.

we're emaciated and starving and clawing at the lock to get to the feast on the other side. we're clumsy and awkward and knocking knees trying to finish a race on four feet and two hearts an

show me the meaning.staple my eyes closed and promise me that's the best way to see.

press your mouth to mine and breathe poison down my throat, bite my tongue until the blood is dripdripdripping a steady path down to my waiting lungs. backhand me when i choke, call me ungrateful when i try to cough it up again. rip reality from behind my lungs and tell me not to bother with it, tell me i'm mistaken and the world is a lie and the only map i'll ever be able to trust is the rotting directions spewing forth from your gilded tongue.

ignore me when i question. get angry when i keep pushing. shove me into the wall and pull the moral fibers from my heart until i forg

collapse of the shoreline_c1. Winter
She'd be the perfect girl if her skin didn't break so easily, all pretty lips and splintered legs and peachstone eyes. She might reach out and touch you, but her fingers bend and twist like she's made of cold winters and auburn leaves freezing and rotting under brittle snow. 

She bought the idea of old age from a peddler and then let it settle, let it crack its gnarled joints beside the hearth-side of her heart and settle comfortably into her intercostal muscles. But when she presses up against him, her early visitor pounds feeble protestations against her fragile ribs. 

He mistook this for butterflies and excitement

stuck in transit.Time bends and snaps the spine of reality between its hands.

Desires bleed like the ink you've left smudged and faded on my hips. The room is empty without your breath to swell the walls; my bed is cold without the warmth filtering through your pores. The clock is manipulated and broken, the ticks becoming distorted screams, the silences becoming gasping moans. Sleep flutters behind eyelids and drags at the exhausted mind until I am writhing under the sheets that smell like you, nails biting my scalp, body contorted against the pressure you kept at bay.

My memory sinks and anchors on the same parts:

The honey of your tongue and the heat of

selfish desires.this isn't right, but it's true; this isn't fair, but it's honest.

i'll tell you "i love you" when suns are exploding in our fingertips and the last of the nectar is dripping down the wells of our throats. i'll whisper it under the covers when our breath is mingling and our skin is a tapestry we've been painting all night long.

i'll find a hundred different ways to let you know. whether it be scrawled on fogged-glass shower walls or sung across hushed, golden car cabins or whispered reverently into your curls late at night. i'll warm you from the inside out, until fires are burning in your intercostal muscles and galaxies are caught in the

faded words, smudged ink.i'm writing it down.

i'm taking it all and putting it on paper so you can hear the words between the silences because words are the only things that last and the only thing i have left. i'm trying to make something ugly into something beautiful so you might want to keep it a while. trying to find the right words to say what i've been feeling in the only way i know how. so don't throw it away yet, darling, if you look it's all right here for you to find:

you should know, i think i'm weak and i'm scared of time and the smell of leaving is the worst one in the world. i'm afraid absence makes the heart grow apathetic and quirky just means insan

one more step.it's nights like this that make me wish i could gnash mountains between my teeth and drain the stars from the sky. it's nights like this that leave my limbs cold and my hands crackling so i'm on the floor trying to pick up all the pieces littered in the corners. theoretically, if i decompose, i'll find a way to compose myself before morning, but such a composition would never be music to the bleeding composite tongue binding around me.

[i'm wailing on the airwaves, trying find the right frequency, but it's hard to hear my thoughts around all the static.]

the wind is too cold for june and my heart is too frosted for the heat of this love cha

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 1.3 KB more ▶

More from =corina90

castles and hearts.you once told me
  that i was beautiful
     in the way of plastic castles
        and paper hearts.

(it's such a shame that paper tears
and plastic melts, is it not, love?)

unbeautiful.01.
I am so sorry, my dear, but I seem to have
forgotten the way you’ve taught me to pray.
My hands are fumbling and lips are
pressing together but the words are empty
and I just can’t find the grace to make them
as beautiful as you did with your angel-teeth
clicking against that devil-mouth.

02.
You once told me that if you could find a
way to hold on to a wish and fashion it into
reality that it would have my eyes but you
confessed you’ve always loved that Mona Lisa
smile. So I woke up this morning and did my
best to practice, but I am no Mona Lisa, and
to be frank, darling, you are no da Vinci.

03.
There

painting you in desert storms.It’s hard to imagine that I am alone on this flat
land, the desert stretching out around my cotton
dressed form to illustrate the erased point I’ve
been trying to make. I’ve managed to lose my
head, my heart, my air, my sight; I’d try to find
you, but my blind eyes still can’t manage somehow.

(Oh, but I can see enough to know that you still
aren’t here. I know enough to know nothing.)

And as the wind begins to whisper, it’s
so easy to open my arms and close down
my heart, pretend that I am a tumbleweed.
I can lie so well and tell myself that this
breeze is just coming to drag me home.

(If

simplistic love ballad.dawn.
I’m running a river of music on your xylophone-ribs and breathing a flute along our hellogoodmorninglover kisses. It is such an easy pattern that we fall into when the sun slants through morning windows. You sigh and I laugh, faintly under our breath as if we are afraid to disturb the faint iridescent dust fluttering through the room. When you run a finger down my jawline, I can practically hear the golden arrow of our happiness whistle through the air. You whisper “beautiful,” into the spot w

the firefly liberation.Dear you,
You told me today that you would be my sun if I would
be your stars. We’d light up the day and illuminate the night
with our love. I didn’t tell you when you kissed me goodbye
that the stars never get to touch the sun. You just made it
sound so beautiful. I hope you’re bathing in the starglow
tonight; I have my light on high just for you.

-

Dear you,
I know we swore up and down that the distance was too much
and our hearts just weren’t strong enough to fly over state lines,
but sometimes I think just missing you is making my heart
more exhausted than all the travel would. If I was to FedEx
you

counting myself away from you.[Day1]
I sang you a song today that evaporated from the heat
of my longing. I could practically feel you through the
bubble wrap of my memory, but when I closed my eyes
all I could smell was the bitter scent of distance and a
brittle knowledge that this story never really had a beginning
so how can I logically expect an ending? Sometimes,
I have learned to hate logic. Almost more than I hate you.

[Day5]
If I turned off my brain and turned on my hands, I could
mold your cheekbones out of wet sand and coral.
I once told you that you had the cheekbones of an angel
and a nose that was nothing short of a tragedy but you
laughe

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: April 18, 2010
File Size: 1.3 KB

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 112
Favourites: 217 [who?]
Views: 3,964 (0 today)
Downloads: 68 (0 today)

[x]

singing dreams to life.

by =corina90, Apr 18, 2010, 9:51:42 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

i'm waiting for you where dreams kiss
reality. where sweet mornings are spent
with the currency of light, salted breezes,
fluttering linen curtains and heartroots
sinking as they touch, greet, bind.

where you rest your sleepy head
in my lap so i might lose my fingers
in your mad curls, lose my sanity
in the peatbog of your eyes, lose
myself just in time for you to find it.

where my breath brushes the scar
on your jagged nose and my lips
brush, trace, linger on the border
of the wicked temptation, fatal
destination that is your mouth.

where my rusted tongue loosens
to find the rhythm of songs i've never
heard, the ancient hymns birthing
on my nerves. where i won't be a lark
or a nightingale, but a songbird nonetheless.

where i'll stumble through the chorus
until i get it right. where i'll wring my heart
dry on my swollen tongue, offering the nectar
to you in hushed reverence. where i'll sing
soft, gentle lover, in the golden husk of dawn.

[until the reality of my clumsy voice sweetens
to the dream of my emotions, for you, i will sing.]

singing dreams to life.by =corina90

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2010-2013 =corina90

_{{"like an apple on a tree, hiding out behind the leaves
I was difficult to reach, but you picked me
like a shell upon a beach, just another pretty piece
I was difficult to see, but you picked me"
--a fine frenzy

i would apologize for the frequent uploads, but apologizing is the last thing i feel like doing}

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~jessicaconk Jun 25, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

You've been featured here! [link]

Reply

~SailorIchigo Jun 15, 2010

"i'm waiting for you where dreams kiss reality" is one of the best opening lines ever!

Reply

~Kassi-Kamira May 1, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

_{#dALinkSystem'd here: Make-Believe Monochrome Beauty.

_{ps: it's not me, it's you. although you get more coverage, so it's fairly pointless.}}

Reply

=corina90 May 3, 2010

aww, thank you!

Reply

~Kassi-Kamira May 3, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

_{You're welcome.}

Reply

~IndigoSkyes Apr 24, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

Love that song!

Reply

=corina90 Apr 26, 2010

isn't it faaaantastic?!

Reply

~Mayonaka-Hoshi Apr 23, 2010

You. Are. Brilliant.

Reply

=corina90 Apr 23, 2010

Reply

~BlaireAllegrio Apr 23, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

You happy is a beautiful thing. You deserve it, honey

This is beautiful, as usual. I especially like the first stanza.

Reply