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Therapists, I don't like their taste.i.
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.
she stole my rings
and left me hollow.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
Please,don’t make me
fall in love with you,
I don’t want to remember you,
those Sunday morning
or the way your
lost boy eyes always,
always found a way
to find mine.
There are only so many times
I can allow you to slice
through my scar tissue
before I finally
lion boyi knew a boy with
eyes of gold & fire
in his footsteps.
he would roar to the
stars, declaring himself
as fearless as a king
& as regal as a lion.
he would announce
every night when leo
would coax the virgin
from her radiant
five times around the
sun & loyal fangs bared
to shield his kingdom,
my lion boy
dances with flames.
I Am FlawedFrom body to soul and in between,
They blotch the parchment that is me;
I know of worse flaws I have seen,
I am flawed.
I sometimes lose my temper,
Use my mouth before my mind;
I ponder things I could do better,
And regret them for a time.
I can be harsh, I can be blunt,
I tend to hide my thoughts;
But this is far from what I want:
To be in someone's heart.
Comparisons are hard to make
Since we are all unique.
But half the time my words are fake;
The real me is a freak.
These flaws define me, describe me—
They make me what I am.
In that light, I'm proud to say that
Confessionsthere’s a lot I never told you
one. I have a habit of lying, about
the simple things (like, yes I
forgot to remember and I swear by
soul mates and I’m in love
with your susurrus voice
and no, I’m really doing fine).
It was not an act of infidelity because
I believed it, too.
two. I’m infatuated with the concept
that I am more or less fictional, the
delusive beauty a million men will
dedicate novels to: I am fragile,
a dust angel sent to save the world
from commonalities and
three. Since I’m not allowed
to remember your name
I will commemorate you
in acts of escapism,
killing off the pieces
ExposureThe wind invites itself
from underneath my door,
it reaches under
it pulls open-
the leaves come in.
A bird hops over the
threshold and tilts its
head in quick, informative
The rains follow in
after the wind and
now I have to reason with
both the animals and the storm.
Those abandoned wooden barns
with one wall collapsed,
overgrown with vines and ferns.
The epitome of giving in.
I close the door
and all the windows,
leave it to the glass
to challenge the rain.
That little bird,
somewhere in here,
is searching for where
the wind has gone.
I imagine lying
on the hood of a car
beneath the desert su
i shouldn't write when i'm stonedpeople say you're
an asshole. but that's
okay because people say
i'm an asshole, too. maybe
that's one of the reasons
you love me and i love you.
but i think more than that,
i think the biggest reason
we're drawn to each other is
that neither of us fit anywhere.
we are both lonely. and we are sad.
but we don't care, and we love it.
we are good at being
alone. we are good at
being together. if i could,
i would paint a picture
of two souls tethered close
but sitting in separate rooms
and i would point to it. then you
would understand why we will
never come apart.
String TheoryThis is determination,
existential numbness in which
I drown from the paranoid spittle
of that dreary-eyed girl
lost in the mirror.
what would you do
if you saw me now, all grown in
to my predetermined curves and
the nihilistic fabrications knotted in my skin.
Maybe you still want to be
a brain surgeon. Maybe you still
weep when you’re happy and stop
when you’re lonely, drooping over like
the puppet no one remembered. Maybe
you still smoke like it’s a defiance, and love
like it’s a war; maybe time preserved you
like a corpse in formaldehyde, and maybe
you still think of me,
ExperimentalistShe always said she was
I knew otherwise.
This girl was raised to
Believe that the ability of
Counting the bones in your
Rib cage is beautiful.
Sixteen years old
With sand in her blood
And shoulder blades
As sharp as knives
As long as wings.
That day I knew
Her smiles were painful
And her laughs were just
Recorded in her throat
From so much practice
In a life that was once
A little punk rocker with a gift for singing songsGirl with the rock and roll smirk curled behind her teeth
Burning her insides for fun because there wasn’t much else to do
Aside from skipping stones across car parks
And sipping the last dregs of forbidden liquor
Behind broken trees to keep up the act of normality
Late at night when the moon is asleep
She lies on dismantled bed frames
Counting stars because lambs are too often sent to the slaughter
Lucky star heartbeats and posy veins
Hides broken windows behind her pupils
Ceiling lights tracing patterns on her cheekbones
As late night contemplation's lead back to Rome
Atlas limbs curled into her ribs
With a sense of obligation she
Love LettersWith their condescending ink
They wrote patterns of gold
Upon parchment leather paper
Within letters of words foretold
Perhaps with this envelope
And its rose tainted scent
I can find peace in myself
In the summer days spent
Where I took in the musky smell
Of your heart.
As I held it against my chest
I picked up a pen and began to start
Dear love, oh love
How I wish to see your lovely face
These days, these mornings are
What keep me hoping in sovereign grace...
this habiti have this habit of thinking without thinking.
my mind will be walking down a road
while i am plugging away at the factory,
while i am putting groceries away.
if someone were to ask me what i was thinking,
i wouldn’t know what to say.
i would have to wait hours,
long after they’ve gone,
until my mind comes through the door,
tracking all manner of shit onto the floor,
and explains himself.
Sea sonnet for the girl with ocean eyesShe was southern Californian storms
On a good day
When the skies nursed the shoreline like a wound
And the rain tasted like two scoops of mint chip ice cream
She held the nebula in her palms
And poured it out onto the sidewalk
So that the gutters would have something
To talk about at night
She swallowed the ocean
And held it in her eyes
Of mountain rock blue straining against the sky
The bluest eyes I’d ever seen
Sparrow girl with the breathless wings
Embellished in vinyl’s and cassette tapes
Gramophone gilded lashes and half-moon wrists made up
Paper tapestries taped together with Shakespeare and Green
AdultsI envy those people
who leave home
and live like twenty-five year olds,
looking out for themselves
like folks did in the good ol’ days,
drinking whiskey straight,
driving all night with no limits,
loving and fucking without apology,
never having to remind someone
that they’re old enough—
Goddamnit, they’re old enough
and if they’re not cut loose
they’ll suffocate to death
without ever having breathed
on their own.
Alaska is hiding behind her eyesA girl caught up in the same game
Where circus tricks and trapeze artists
Are nothing compared to the burning of lungs
Where insomnia stains the people’s smiles
In a pale wash of sea foam angst bottled up and thrown
Into the horizon where the sky meets the earth
In a disjointed seam
She had hurricane rage eyes
And wishbone sleeves pulled tightly across her chest
To suppress her Medusa heart from cracking
The stars open and drinking their flames
Ocean funeral where Chaconne
Is played to sirens and sea urchins
Coiled beneath the oily depths of seascapes
Where her kite string spines push against the thin membrane
Of split grin skie
Our TreeI sit here with you,
Replaying our shared mistakes,
How much fun they were.
The seed we planted
Now winds its braches above
Bearing a bittersweet yield.
Fruit is meant to spoil,
Consume it while it is fresh
Or watch the mold grow.
The BirthdayIt was little Timmy's fifth birthday party, and it was a torrent of excitement. His entire class had shown up. The enormous pile of presents on the adjacent table was proof of that. The yard was decorated with countless balloons and streamers. The remains of a dissected piñata were strewn across the lawn. Timmy had been running around with his friends for some time now, and was looking forward to a break and possibly some birthday cake. His ears perked at the sound of his mother's attempt to corral the party around several tables lined up end-to-end, covered in multi-colored paper, plates, and confetti.
"Okay everybody settle down," his
The SecretDeep below the surface of the Pacific Ocean, miles away from the nearest landmark, a small society bustles with the day's endeavors. Undiscovered by humanity, this secret realm can be located only by those that can survive close enough to hear the hum of soft music echoing through the deep traverse. No surface light can permeate the depths.
The fine sand of the seabed that makes up the terrain of Nereus is blanketed by an abundant growth of deep-sea plants and flowers, inhabited by all forms of life. It is said that even the microscopic organisms sing to the tune of the city's dominant species. Large, pressurized towers allow citizens to sur
The DecisionThe sky broke with an astounding crack and thousands of tiny droplets descended upon the earth in complete unison. Arms outstretched, eyes closed and pointed towards the heavens, Peter attempted to cleanse his conscience as the rain cleansed his tattered clothing. He knew what had to be done, and yet still doubted he possessed the willpower to go through with it.
He felt the breath of his conundrum down the back of his neck, helpless as it slowly sucked from his life force. His indecision alone would surely kill him he thought, let alone the mob that he was certain still tailed him. Witnessing a murder was, he surmised with a morbid attempt
AbeIt was the third night without power and hurricane Abe, strong as ever, still tore through the neighborhood. The two sat in silence, a storm raging on either side of their window. A slight whimper from the front doorway echoes through the other wise silent house. The forced, confined quarters exacerbates the already present tension.
"What was I supposed to do Tyler, leave him out in the rain?" Julie spoke, facing her partner's back, eager for resolution.
"If I talk about it, that dog is going to end up outside. You really weren't thinking this time." He responded, refusing to adjust is gaze.
"You would have done the same thing," Julie
My PorchSitting in a black wire chair, made of a metal that still feels cool despite the damp, warm weather, I watch as my neighbors, fellow students or small families, carry out their daily dance. In fact, at night one is likely to catch a young man doing just that, dancing in the streets, as he often does. They walk or drive past and I can smell the fumes of the exhaust pipes, stereos blaring, the sound of old breaks as they slow for the speed bump, giving me a chance to glimpse into the lives travelling below me.
At my eye level, I can peer through the transparent top of my screen enclosure and see other self-contained worlds such as my own. Eac
ParalyzedManic action crippled by indecision
Over saturation of option
I could run a marathon
Scream loud and long
Pick a fight
Destroy an opportunity
Do something drastic and irrational
To equalize the pressure between
And the treacherous ocean.
And I do.
Fidgeting in my chair,
It all happens within me.
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`ChewedKandi has certainly gone out of her way to keep the vector community on the right path. Always making sure that her talents are infinitely scalable, Sharon has put her bezier curves to excellent use, and firmly anchored herself as an inspirational leader. We're absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for June 2013 to `ChewedKandi. Congratulations, Sharon! Read More