[x]

no one is ever going to want memaybe once
this would've been
poetic
but i'm crying &
there's nothing
pretty
or wonderful
here

i think
my face is scrunched
like a red rag
in the sink
slumped beneath a leaky
faucet &
my hands are shaking

maybe i could make
it
sound nice--
high
buzzed
lustful
but what i have
you won't like

memories
and do you want them too?
stealing & paying
pressing bottles and
pictures to my sternum
the heat
the cold

maybe it's the silence
that hurts
the stumbling
the tumult of words down
the sink and
across the floor
the empty heads
&

i was pretty then
bird-legs and stilted poems
so nice
numbering stars and
crushing books between
my teet

wanderlusti was all sex and stitches
with every color on a TV screen;

(and between me and you)
your teeth, your tongue,
your ferret-hands and knowledgeable mind--
they scared me.

the foreign worlds beneath your skin:
the contortions of your spine and
organs;

you wanted to conquer; to claim
and plant a flag--

and i--i wanted cancer

the long way hometoday i threw half my
fridge away
and waited for 25'000
to starve

people like you
jump off roofs and
stick their heads
in ovens

smile-face stickers
don't frown
(even when you put them
wrong-side-up)

life's already hard enough
without trying to
find
what all your curtains
mean

i am guilty
of forgetting about
my tea
the kettle boils
like my head on a pillow

you will never
see them again
or the fears that wonder
about you

i just wanted to make you something beautifulyour goodbye
tasted like cold
toast
rather bitter, really

kind of poetic--&
a bit absurd
while waltzing
around your bedroom

(hitting my shin
on the nightstand)

a goose dabbing
its beak in
lyrical genuis

a little less than
brillance
& every law of thermodynamics
pressed against
my inspiration

it only lasts a little whileat the bottom
there is
love
little hands
dissolving themselves

in the desperate
sunlight & waves
cut by ships
and continents

open
suspended
trembling as the water
passes through

hollow bodies restless
& agile
waiting for the sun

hungry ghostsswallowing the morning glow and
quiet pills:
fawn-eyed and rabbit-eared to
watch the warmth of limbo
touch the
city

going down down down
to where nothing alive
can see
the palls of grey hanging
from streetlights

and i try to find a metaphor

1. (hide your eyes from
penny candy and laughter--
white caravans and
dirt)
2. something less complex than nonsense;
simpler than art and noble habits
purging in the alleyways all the
virgin snow and eyelights
3. maybe it was meant to be this way:
the cold wakes the neighbors
as fate meets destiny to conspire
a way out

a religion
a brothel
a murder that wasn't meant to complete
me or the mani

we will never grow old togetherwe will never grow old
muscles loose
beneath holy jeans
divine and baptised a thousand
times

when did the nerves
grow soft?
rain fallen on the hair
of cleopatra &
tennyson

i didn't think about it
with ears pressed to the trees
the universe expanding
& pulling my life
in every direction

that 103 and dying
on my birthday
sounded so romantic
but less than
32 promised an eternity

feed the masses (starve the girl)'eat
there are starving
children in africa'

'so being fat will help
them?'

give the dog some bones
that's all she has
left

zero-zero and your
concern
tasted like cold toast
(rather bitter, really)

she told her
secrets
to porcelin & water
(she keeps the
sink on
to drown out the noise)

one day:
stretch your fingers around
your thigh
fingernails-to-palm

& the heater goes on
higher
(the coats are good
anyways--
no one can see the
fat)

but she's chilled to the
bone
& everyone sees

'i'll never be beautiful'

give me my shadow, put on my crown.i.
I knew you well enough
to know your birthday
and middle name
[even the shampoo you wore
on my pillow that really needs to be cleaned anways.]

Your bow-arms and thin shoulders;
pretences always daring me to
look away.

A symphony of laughing bones;
a thousand "what if's"
without their "nevers"
and a silly pet name that gave you blond hair.

ii.

What could you ever know
about those little secrets
and apples in your eyes?

Nothing.
Nothing.

No mirrors;
until you sat with your hands
grabbing cold-shell ears--
over and over and over
until you believed

That if I did--I would remember
because it didn't happen of course;
no never, never.

N

lilith's childthe grass in eden is
trampled

& never grows

he is a stranger
to the wet warm seasons
& jackal nights

she is an animal
bitten
& sucking the venom

Thinking of Youmy virginity was
sacred

the holiest of altars
with a hundred religions'
blessing

my father's gun
a sentiel
to a breathing temple

so i took it myself

a prayer so long
forgotten
& innocence taken by the
right hand of god

Pride of a Nationfear coalesced with doubt, crystallizing in the pit of her
stomach—intestines rotting with hatred, she prayed as
the men passed by, eyes tightened against winter winds
while drums beat to a somber march…her heart dropped,
cerulean blood pooling around the soles of her feet, hidden
from the oxygen filled air none of them could help but breathe
as the torches’ fire filled the sky and knapsacks overran with
precious goods…flee the city, they all did, with the pride of Russia
behind them, their homes lay as ashes and towns known only by
their wooden signs…snow shrouded the land and covered the people
born in a wi

Life Is An Intravenous DripLife is an intravenous drip
With no transfusion of blood
Instead it slowly relieves me
Of a mind that once was good

Administering paranoia
Directly from the drip chamber
Suffocating me with terror
When there is no imminent danger

Life is an intravenous drip
I am fascinated by my veins
And curious as to which one
Carries the blood to my brain

Which causes the unwanted impulse
For me to question every answer
Tourniquet that varicose vessel
Curiosity is my cancer

Life is an intravenous drip
Of that I am A positive
My blood remains optimistic
So why am I so negative

I see no saline solution
Just diminishing vital signs
As my sanity transfuse

Summer's Secret: The Vampire Sickness

I'm sitting in a hot bed delirious with a cold. If I could see my throat it would be burgundy red like a summer's sunset around 8 o'clock. I'm too sick to to play today.

A summer breeze is my sweet dream
when the season's shower is a monsoon bath
and I'd rather burn in nature's wrath than be dirty
so scorch me tan yeah I can live with that.

Got some breezers but this is getting worse. Anything on TV?

Find a cool anime reason,
this test is just a machine,
so skip the bad news season like
Dracula teasing a girl to eat her,
or maybe me hopefully
Hey I'd like to be that bat & an live eternally.

I can't even tell what movie this is? Ma

Dying for youSweet blood all over my body,
I feel like floating, down and down,
Wish this feeling would be steady,
I wanna fly, I wanna drown.
Someone opens the door,
They try to save me
But as I'm lying on the floor,
I try to get free.
I don't want to be helped,
I don't want to be strong,
I just want to be held
by my beloved one.

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More from ~tubefed

will you ever learn to love yourselfshe was dead
before she hit the ground
a cell
frazzled & 60 percent water

her friends
or whatever you call them
‘seedy backwater
girl
brimming on the bus & never
wants to
haven’t you ever seen clouds before?’

she threw a handful of stones
pinched
sinking like balloons

a hungry ghost
tracing the outline
of a breaking surface

passion is a sinA faith-healer
A sermon
A misunderstanding

A bastard child--no father, no son, no holy spirit

No virgin mother
just passion as a god
lets the writers get it wrong

i can make you love mewriters,
what thoughts
do you bend in
these cathedral-ribs
shaking with leaves?
(self-conscious,
headache)

shopping neon
for
a sinner's devotion
or that boy
in the other aisle

(i hold your books
and stroke the pages,
suddenly frightened)

'excuse me'
they haven't arrived:
(that was forty-five
minutes ago)

blushing and
hoping no one notices
that i've read this
before
as i watch him
slip behind the counter

(i devised a plan to
volunteer on fridays
and trap him)

as i read
sentence three
for the fifteenth
time

because i have toimpaled
& wreaking havoc on these
young bones

more than endorphins &
planes out of control

pretending that if
not-so-masochistically

i--

p

a

r

a

l

y

z

e

d:

a manifestation
instilled in bedsheets
& ghosts

i'm not an artistwe do not belong in boxes
and bags and books or
words,
and we do not sit contently
in wordsworth and shakespeare
and blake, burns, and brownings
or in the cold stiff bones
of raleigh's of long ago;

no--

we infect,
detect, and re-select
a virus--a disease,
a germ in every verse and line;
the first signs of
foolish waitings under
bridges and scolding parents
and melodrama
and nothing to signify at all

yet--

we are the blood of nations
and the heart of men
and the love of every
rhetorist and sentimist
to come;
we dance through the ballrooms of
the age and chat with
higher minds
we shake hands with heros
and the homeless, dirty
type

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[x]

you make me write bad poetry

by ~tubefed, Feb 14, 2013, 10:22:45 AM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

i made you up
from pillows and comforters
and anything that stuck
its tongue out from
my drawers

and slept in

next year i will shy away
like a child
when you touch me--
which
if you know me
(and you probably do)
seems very in-character
anyways--

but it's not like what
happened in the bookstore when
you
put your teeth against my ear
and everything felt
like it did last week
in the treehouse
except
backwards

it all seems so out of
context
like i am a little girl again
playing house
and pretending i know what those
funny words that taste
like soap and dirt
mean
and what we are

you make me write bad poetryby ~tubefed

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

God I hate it.

~~love 0 0~~

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~Relic-Angel Mar 5, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I think I understand what this is about... yet I might be WAY off here. xD

To put it in words, when I was a child, little innocent me was abruptly thrust into a bigger, more vast reality of this world we live in... Now as the adult me is sitting here at my desk writing this comment... My perception of the world I used to know has gone into reverse, and the my child-like innocence has never left my shell in the first place.

Kinda sucks considering my outer shell has grown yet the real me never changed.

~tubefed Mar 5, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

It's a horrible thing--that when your childhood is taken, you live it out again...only there's not always somewhere there to protect you from the monsters in your closet, so to speak.

For me, this poem was that situation, only it was added to a romance. Although one may not be emotionally mature enough to feel those complex emotions, they're too old to be a child, innocent and lost. But s/he may still feel like one, due to that stunted, repressed childhood where you were thrown into the adult world. (Yes, I just three or so different pronouns. XD)