[x]

Waiting for a coach
and four
that never came,
she realized
a ball gown
won't bloom
out of sackloth;
glass slippers
are not dependable
and mice
are best left
to their own devices.
Midnight was never a friend,
and under that suit
he is the same as any other
man.

IcarusSun girl,

the whispering stars
& feathered clouds dance
for you tonight.

Do not let anyone
clip your wings;

you were made for the skies.

Definition of a Writerwrit•er

noun /rītər/

A writer is a person
Who sees the world differently
From a high perspective of understanding
To an easily balanced imagery

They stand at the edge of the cliff
And run that extra mile
To gain what a normal person cannot see
And to obtain the hope that they wish to cherish

A writer is a person
Who buries their ego and places boulders upon it
They learn the rules, follow the rules, and will break the rules
And make writing their own

They lay upon the dusty old ground of a graveyard
And do an annual ritual to free the inspiration that has been pinned down
They want to show their abnormality to everyone

Red DressDon’t put on your red dress
for he doesn’t know the meaning
he doesn’t want the commitment
he doesn’t care for the color.

The red dress you love to wear
that’s stained from wine and beer
but still carries so much meaning
for who could find a second red dress

Don’t go out on your red dress
for the man who wants nothing more
to screw around and doesn’t understand
the meaning behind a simple red dress.

A red dress for when you dance.
A red dress for when you cry.
A red dress for when you need it.
A red dress for when you care too much.

Don’t put on your red dress for him darling
he doesn&rsqu

i got flowers oncei am lonely.
i received flowers once
and i placed them
in a vase til
the petals all browned
desiccated
and turned to dust
on the glass of my bureau.

i have never gotten flowers since.

i spend my days
with a boy
a man
whom i love far beyond reason
and he holds me in his arms
and holds me together.

i bite my nails
and pull my hair
over the moment when he
inevitably
feels the disenchantment
fall over his body,
all clean lines
and smooth shapes,
and realises that leaving
the worst thing
would be
the best thing.

i am lonely
and even with a hand to hold,
and even with a cloak of security
bunching around my shoulders
and hiding my thighs,
i feel

moonshines in georgiaman on the moon:

giddy with lumps of north georgia seas
greased on the crease of my lips
gravity drips from couch-cavities
when tides belch from below --

burst on the water's edge,
earth's bourbon sailors retch in moonshined ripples
trickled blue murder on their crinkled crimes;
raking water wrinkles like a wayward drunk
stuck on sunken bootleggin' dreams.

it's been a long, long time
since I've drowned your hemisphere
for fishing like a moonraker,
swishing my bait-lines like tobacco's
squished in your shallow gums
before you dare to down my air
breathing in this sincere georgia night.

L.E.S.B.I.A.N.Living on the
Edge of life
Saving myself
Being who
I truly am
As it is all i can be
Never forget that

Blame The ParentsI won't be able to keep a relationship in the future because I'm scared
I'm scared it'll turn out like theirs

I'm a pacifist because I hate watching it
I hate watching them fight

I have PTSD because of their fights
Their fights almost broke up this family

I self harm because they are pushing me over the edge
I was already close to jumping, but they gave me an extra push

I'm always in my room because that's how I run away
I guess that's called "Like father, like daughter"

I only eat one meal a day because he constantly puts me down
Even though he's joking, I can tell he means every bit of what he says

I can't trust anyone because they do

Missing piecesMissing pieces

There are wounds
that never heal; silences
so loud they thunder - I stopped
breathing years ago, that night
the ice took my chest. Since then
I walk in pieces, howling
around my heart.

-SophieCT, 2012, 2013

field notesi read some poetry
just for the sound--for the words lilting up and down
and the thick, honeysepia
polaroids unmisting in my head.
those are the poems i never understand
and the only conclusion i can draw is:
there is apparently
some supernova poetic awakening that comes
with the loss of virginity
and basically i need to get laid.

MorningA black cat sleeps in a ray of sun
My coffee is lousy
Another cardboard morning
The day isn't a blank canvas
Waiting to be painted
Its already scrawled with
Yesterday's mad crayon drawings

Smoke drifts up and out of the window
I drink the coffee

Broken Birds and Stark PhrasesWe slip and slide and fall
down curves and carrow places.
We cursive at the wall
in our undefinéd spaces.

Disjointed limbs extend
to strumpet our arrival,
to warn who are not friends
we will kill to survive all.

Hung upside-down haunters
hug branches in the Forrest.
Merry nightmare monsters,
Cheery snarling chorus,

Arachnic children know;
you can run but you can't hide
from this disparic truth,
darkness waits for you inside.

Although you seek the sun,
as all creaky spinsters might,
the night can't be out done
and it has you in its sight.

van houten must be godi. you know how in embroidered cloth,
from the bottom under the design,
all you see are knots? her honey-like,
crying
voice lulls me to sleep,
that's what we see of God's plan.
just the knots. when in reality,
it's the design on top;
beautiful and flawless that He
has in store for us.
bullshit.
i learnt that word
when i was three
but every time i said it,
my face hurt and mom's hand fell.
God will put you
in hell.
do you want that?
i knew better than to say it again.
ii. you're an estimated
fallacy, the perfect
misconception.
you don't need to exist
for people to believe.
they make you real with
dancing tongues behind
a crowd
of murmuring lips of
god's will.
iii. of the rain,
i sang songs, whispering
prayers only you
could hear.
if you truly are
what they say for you to be,
then there are no secrets
between you and me.
mother still sings
the same songs
in the rain, hoping
you'll hear her the way
i thought you would.
but she doesn't know you died long ago
with chiv

blood-red wine and skeleton jazz i.
the day you left,
your cobweb dress clung to you in ways
that i would dream about for years,
in hot, fevered nights
when the moon thought it might burst
in the sky,
and even the wind wailed your name.

ii.
i remember how you called make-up war paint,
and you drew it across your face like a message
i could never decipher;
i remember how i got goosebumps when i heard
your heels clicking across the floor at 3am
when you finally got home and slipped into bed;
i remember longing for you with every fiber of my being,
feeling separate from you even when our clothes lay on the floor
and your fingernails dug into my shoulders
and your toes curled

thieves of nocturne skiesPaper lanterns are midnight requiems
That tell me to look beyond the
light and have &

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Bennett, may you rest in peace.

He was small, wet,
And breathing as if he was trying to hide from me
He was seeable though
The little white spots made him very seeable
Oh, Bennett, Bennett
Where is your mother?
It's dark now, she should be here…
The sun has risen, and he is hungry
His stomach hurts and he feel so cold
He felt so weak, and collapsed
Soon passing out
The innocent little soul, being ripped away from his body
And he began to die
His life being ripped away from the small and new body he had
The innocent little life
Barely, or not even a day old
I hope you rest in peace Bennett
Rest in peace

IndividualityThat town's got no individuality
Not one person has a unique quality
Without choices their lives are boring and bare
They do not have feelings and they don't really care
They're they same, but they don't know another way
They're bound to a routine, and they can't stray away

The GiverGiver of memories
Is in solitude in his work
Valuable to the community
Enable to hear and see beyond
Retains the memories for the citizens

AsherThere once was a boy named Asher
He was a major word clasher
He mixed up "snack"
And then had said "smack"
Then the word he said made laughter

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The Paddock Boots

by ~bluegumibear, Sep 16, 2012, 7:12:14 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

My paddock boots lay outside the door
They had been torn, banged, and dirtied
And the scent of a farm came with them too;
The smelly sweat and animals followed me around like I was their leader

I'd only wear them at the barn
A clop clop clop came from underneath them with every step I'd take
And a small trail of mud grew as I walked

From riding horses to cleaning stalls,
I have never washed them
Every particle of dust and dirt had a meaning,
All the things I've don't in these have been caked onto them for me to recall
My boots were my scrapbook

After thinking to myself for some time, I went to the door and pulled them in,
Gripping the dirty leather in between my fingers
Rubbing it into my palms and the memories were coming in,
And I remembered the good days

The Paddock Bootsby ~bluegumibear

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

So in L.A. our teach told us to write a poem about 1 or more pair of shoes that express out personality. I wrote mine about my paddock boots. I was going to try to write about my colorful converse. But I couldn't get much off of those. Even after staring at them for a long time

And yes, they are terribly dirty. Dirty as heck. Like crap. But I've had them since I began to ride, and they are worn so soft. They soles have molded to my feet. They do have a lot of meaning to me. All the tears in them were from when my favorite horses have crushed my feet

I don't know how I'm going to throw them out. They're getting to small D8

I'm still awaiting my grade for this - I'm hoping I got an A ;D

EDIT: Yay! (: I got a 100% on this!

~maram10996 Sep 18, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I know exactly what you mean! I still have my first pair of boots but now they're too small

It's really depressing!

~bluegumibear Sep 18, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I know

~BeautifulAdmiration Sep 17, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

That's good, I like it. I like the "and a small trail of mug grew as I walked" line.

~bluegumibear Sep 18, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Thank you

~BeautifulAdmiration Sep 18, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Your welcome.

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