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in these words, i will live.this world spins fast, and still, i wonder at how i spin faster.

i wonder at how i dredge words up recycled from my lungs and unravel them into the air without care for the final product. i wonder at my love for the act of spinning, for the exhilarating, light-headed feeling i get when exposing every hidden flaw and every not-so-secret desire. you see, i am constantly coughing up my heartache and i have to wonder at the addicted high; the need to tell every sting and every warmth. the need to break open my ribcage and spill out these emotions onto canvas and paper, smearing the colors with dirtied fingertips before moving on.

yet, i do not
loosely applied.it is finding yourself in the miles that stretch between yourself and the end of time. it is in the spitting up of blood at three in the morning, spelling out their name and passing out in the gore. it is  in trying to find beauty in the uglies that follow you from shadow to shadow, their claws reaching out to swipe against the curve of your back, the width of your shoulders, the dip near your waist. you are breathing, but the term is loosely applied and it would be more proper to calling it gasping.

you are gasping. you are waking up without air and desperately wishing that you had it. you are waking up and touching the cold bed sheets and
try to know me.if you want to know me, you have to read my words.

you have to let yourself slip into the sometimes boiling water of my ideas and let them blister and scar your skin. you have to touch the angry wounds and understand the serrated edges that placed them there. you see, i am more than syllables and more than vowels, but to understand the cracking of my spine, you have to decipher the noise that it makes on the way down. you have to close your eyes and listen to my soft-throated whine and listen to my blood-vessel-popping scream and understand the howls of joy that spiral up my chest from the shrapnel of my very stomach.

you must take the time
secondhand inspiration.i am more than a girl with dirty hair and burned fingertips.

i am more than the insecurities that pile up and fog my mirror, and more than the cowardice i write about so lovingly on my fractured clavicle. i am not just this freckled skin and i am not these cramping feet that twitch under mahogany desks. i am not the girl that sits in the corner and allows the world to draw a box around me, and i am not the girl to sit and allow the world to thieve my words and plant them in their own private gardens.

i have my poems in a headlock and i am holding them under water until they breathe inspiration again. i am chasing down shadows and demanding
things they say_c.they say time runs wells dry and that passion simply cannot stand through years without bearing the wounds of the weight. they say that flames are diminished by the winds that create barriers amongst far-spread lovers. they say that hearts cannot settle in one place and needs cannot be met by single souls. they say a lot of things, a lot of doubts. they speak through chapped lips and they whisper fear into my bones. they tell me that love cannot last and that life cannot love. they speak a lot, but the way you are looking at me and the way my bones are setting on fire is telling me something different. I look your way and the only thing I hea
pointless.the point is:
there has never been a point
i am drinking from an empty cup
i am wondering why i am still thirsty
i am writing with an inkless pen
i am angry at my hollow words.
my car is rumbling under its breath
i turned it off five minutes ago
it sounds alive even though it is not

the truth is:
there is actually no truth
my tongue is ripped from falsehoods
it is dipped in sin like a candle string into wax
my bones are black and white, but mostly grey
i am muted even though i am howling
i believe myself even when i shouldn't
i don't believe in truth anymore
none of this is true.

the beauty of it is:
the world actually
the art of waiting.goodnight moon, sing sweetly to me tonight. the curtains are drawn and your light is spilling under heavy cotton. i am lying with the windows open, and the shutters are drawn. the world is revolving around me and i am not moving an inch. i am still. i am the pinnacle upon which everything turns. with every breath i fear avalanches of mountains upon unsuspecting villages. you are too far away. i can't feel you, but i see you illuminating wooden floors. sleep hides from me in the back corner of abandoned closets. i am a statue and my heart is breaking down the concrete in my palms. i am fearless, yet i am carved from fear itself.

i am asleep i
seaside gifts.this is what i would give to you:

i would give you sea castles during high tide. i would give you an empty beach and a storm rolling in, the sea flagging the danger and the sky rolling in anxiety. the ocean was deepen to sleet gray and i would be waiting in it, the cotton of my dress soaked to my ankles. we could find release in the storm, slipping the silent killers from our bones to wash out with the dregs of the hurricane. the rain would come in with a crack across the sky and we could hold each other through it. our clothes could be sopping wet and flapping in the wind, but we would be rocks. screaming, kissing, unlocking our chests and
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
hurricane eloise.Eloise's parents named her after a hurricane that destroyed their house in 1975.

She, however, had never destroyed anything (a friendship, a home, a heart) beyond the crystal vase she had dropped when her cousin jumped from behind the table and spooked her when she was twelve. This made her feel uncomfortable - as if she was a peasant wearing Cinderella's shoe or a woman squeezing into a girl's sweater. She once tried to tell her parents this, how her name was like a false second skin stretched too tight, but couldn't find the words and ended up sighing instead.

When she told them never mind, they smiled briefly before returning to the war-
the time it takes.a second.

a single breath - the time it takes for your tongue to catch between your teeth, the phone to crack the floorboard, the bullet to pierce the flesh. a second. it doesn't take much longer than that. for life to become death, for centuries of grooves to washout in the flash flood, for a name, a face, a memory to become nothing but two sentences in black ink on the back page of the thrown away paper. for today's tragedy to become yesterday's news.

a second.

the first emitted noise of the scream - the time it takes for your lips to peel apart, the noise to uncork in your belly, the grief to be unleashed from where it had been laying i
dear apollo.your skin is hot enough to ignite this entire world and yet you sleep curled against my frostbitten shoulder blades. you burn in your slumber and i spend my night beating the sparking, smoldering edges of our cotton sheets. myths written on linen and stone describe you as golden with dawn-skin and honey-eyes, but lover, i know you for the truth. you are the charcoal of where the sun has pressed too close, the passion of the wildfire's wake. you are the olive branches of peace and the violence of the charred leaves. you are staining my forearms with the feral licks of your ink-hair and are painting my sides with the soot of your fingertips.

w
sheep-wool covered lies.i ate your heart and reveled in the way it smashed between my molars like ripe grapes, the way i could feel the pulse beating between my clenched jaw, the life squirming in and out to stain my lips. i swallowed it whole and felt it beating like a drummer boy in the pit of my belly, your sorrow the beat i danced my day to. your misery was a lullaby i sang to myself at night, the sheep i counted when my eyes were closed. i could feel it in the way it seeped into my veins and tangled around my bones like weeds growing too fast to contain. i gloried in the power it gave me, the way i could pull your strings and make you dance, the way i could blo
find me in the hidden life.i have this feeling in my bones that some call weakness and other call fire.

it's a driving need and a crippling desire, and it wakes me in the middle of the night with cramping calves and feet running among cotton though they reach nothing but the great beyond of the side of the bed. it's a burning that pushes me into the middle of rainstorms to dance among the cracking weather kissing the earth, and it's a spark lit under the gasoline pooled under my heart. some call me crazy and others call me sane, but if you look for me in the heart of winter, you will often find me curled under the dead oak touching the bark because i like the way life
intercontinental.when the world is quiet and the dawn is breaking, it's your hands that i'm taking. the world is caught in the moment our lips part, a dreamcatcher hung from the eyelashes resting like moons on our cheeks. we are capturing the globe in the spaces between our teeth and exchanging it on twisting tongues, tasting the continents on individual tastebuds. when we kiss, european flavors are mingling with asian accents and south american highlights; our mouths together are a world market of billowing fabric and exotic flavor that we could spend all afternoon exploring.  

we are breathing in spice and the heady scent of bazaars and when we c
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promethean hearts_collab.I reached out with unworthy fingertips and stole
fire from heaven to create a heart beneath these
shuddering ribs so that I could make music in time
with your golden heartbeat. Your fingertips are

blessed with the touch of a thousand eternities that 

I want to spend lost in these velvet touches with you. 


You are the pitterpatter of my pulse, the floor dropping
out during the pauses between my breaths and no
matter how many times I turn shooting-star-words into
ropes to hold myself together, they always burn away
and I fall to pieces at your feet. I would pick myself up,
but my comet-dust-bones have finall
caroline dreams in technicolorcaroline is the type of girl to keep her eyes open when she kisses.

she is the type of girl who has an ‘open-twenty-four-seven’ heart. she draws swirls in empty spaces because she says all the white on the page makes her feel lonely, as if she might fall between the lines and never get up again.

she is the type of girl who thinks the idea of sitting under trees is more beautiful than actually doing it, because no matter how poetic you think you look, at the end of the day you’re still itching, covered in ants and hot.

but she’ll still do it, because looking poetic is all she has.
[sometimes, caroline thinks falling in
dreamers never dieWe’re sitting under black-lace clouds and kerosene-stars when you first say you love me.

I grab your hand, I press two lies against the palm, I touch your cheek, I say you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Except grass growing under my fingers. I say that’s more beautiful than you.

Your eyes warm, you wrap an arm around my waist, you tell me I am oxygen bouncing against your lung-walls, sunshine pooling in your smile.

I don’t have the heart to tell you I am black-infested-smoker’s-lungs.
I don’t have the heart to tell you I am smiling without teeth.
I don’t have the heart, I don’t ha
shut wide open.i believe in flying hearts and praying lips. i believe that magic can overcome evil and love can become magic and that when the world stops turning, we will be shaken out like the last penny from the piggy bank and turn to stars before we hit the ground.

-

i sleep when the sun comes up and laugh when the mountains swallow it. i play catch-and-release with the fireflies and butterfly-nets-won’t-hold-me with my dreams. i choke fears into silence and slap inhibitions into the spotlight. i let it all go and watch it ride the wind like a river leaf, counting the things i thought mattered right before they fall off the edge.

-

i twist word
changing love's definition.8:00 a.m.

I woke up this morning to last night’s whispering sighs and a message from you:
“Good morning the love of my life.
Do you still smell like alcohol-kisses and have those shh-it’s-okay-hold-still-hickeys?
I dreamt about you; talk to you soon, love you forever.”
I held it close and smiled, carved your words into my memory so I might always know how we got started and how the first night of eternity was on a beach with a bottle of Jose Cuervo and how my sandals ripped when we ran down the pavement. I traced each moment through my mind as I took the shower to wash off the sand, but I kept the bruises to remind
we were natural disasters.we played hopscotch with four-leaf clovers and
tempted fate with every step towards the hurricane
that we made. you grabbed me by the waist and
whispered into my ear that we are the exception to
every rule; that we have to live fast, die young and
love more than anyone ever has before us.
and when you swung me into the arms of the twister,
i danced in step with it, arms over my head and stars
belted around my waist. my skin was alive with your
touch, iridescent, so that when you dipped me under
the milky way, you ran a finger down my spine,
told me that i was the moon that never waned.
i once told you that you looked like a

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singing of beauty.

:iconcorina90:

some sing that there is beauty in the breakdown, but i have learned in the heat of your palms that the true beauty is in the rebuilding after the fall. you found me a city burned to the ground and you exhaustively rebuilt all of my fallen skyscrapers. you did not mind the singing and the stinging eyes. you never faltered at the quakes that ran up the base of my spine to the tip of the city limits. you just moved with meticulous, tenacious, loving grace.  you found me a forest cleared on a whim, an ocean polluted with the lies of the selfish, a sky darkened with the ache of a thousand breaks.

you found me ugly, and still, you found me.

so, i do not sing of beauty in the falling, though i have seen the poetry in cracking ribs and bleeding knees. i do not sing of the beauty of salt-encrusted cheeks and nail-bitten lips. i stand in the heat of your embrace and sing of the sun that rises on each war-demolished countryside. i sing of the light that washes over every blood-soaked battlefield. i sing of the way the soldiers rise and trudge on, of the way even the most lashed shoulders straighten to bear the load of life. i sing of the water that touches their chapped lips and the cool hand that soothes their brow.

i sing of their relief.

i sing, and i learn that beauty does not mean the untouched arts of virgin snow. i learn that beauty does not lie solely in the unscathed, unharmed, and unmoved. i learn that beauty is in the scars. i learn that beauty is in gentle morning kisses when you have felt the bruising touch of those who do not truly love. beauty is not in the falling, but it is in the fallen.

so, i will not despair that i have indeed fallen and scarred my knees. i will not be ashamed of my battered and weathered heart. it has felt the sting of the blade's edge and it has felt the sear of lonely nights, but it feels them no longer. i will wake each morning and bask in the knowledge that even when i cannot see your face, i can feel your heat and the radiating warmth of your heart. i will open my eyes and i will know that beauty is in living in your dream.

so take these words and take this love and hold them close.
and know, i will be there soon to sing to you of us.
:iconcorina90:
{"you're a falling star, you're the get away car
you're the line in the sand when I go too far
you're the swimming pool, on an August day
and you're the perfect thing to say"
--michael buble

i wrote this on a piece of paper and mailed it to him this week.
i decided to share it with all you too. :heart:

[i love you, *tramirez89]
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:iconoseltamivir:
*Oseltamivir Apr 6, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
you certainly have a way with words =)
Reply
:iconabominablecake1:
~abominablecake1 Jan 22, 2013  Student General Artist
It's like you've been inside of my head all of my life. Your writing is wonderful <3
Reply
:iconseabats:
~seabats Feb 6, 2011
"beauty is not in the falling, but it is in the fallen." :heart:
Reply
:icontifa-amy-lockheart:
~Tifa-Amy-Lockheart Jan 20, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
There's a beautiful sort of dark fantasy hiding here...
it's captivating :heart:
Reply
:iconstoryofmylife054:
~storyofmylife054 Jan 7, 2011
it reminds me a bit of Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself"
Reply
:iconsiouxperior:
~siouxperior Dec 14, 2010
love ,love, love! :) amazing as always :) "you found me ugly, and still, you found me" sighhhh....*insert another synonym for amazing*
Reply
:iconwolf-moon14:
~Wolf-Moon14 Nov 30, 2010  Student Writer
Its so true...so true...and beautiful...
Reply
:iconpauseplay:
~pauseplay Nov 27, 2010  Hobbyist Photographer
these are raw emotions and they keep me longing to hear more of your words.
amazingly devastatingly beautiful :heart:
Reply
:iconarchelyxs:
*archelyxs Nov 26, 2010
I think your heart is beautiful the way it is.
:heart:
Reply
:iconmeghamuffin22:
~meghamuffin22 Nov 20, 2010
i can honestly say i believe every word. and have found someone who makes me feel the exact same way! this is absolutely beautiful. and truly written from the heart. astounding writing. :heart::heart::heart:
Reply
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