[x]

WelcomeI'm ready for a romance to ravage my heart and tear apart my
dusty limbs, I'm waiting for someone to take my breath and
never give it back; I'm prepared to sell all I was for a trip
somewhere new - beyond the paper mistakes I sailed away
down the river long ago. (even rocks and leaden thoughts
won't let the truth sink.)

I left my being somewhere under a waning summer sun
when the trees hummed melodies of moving on;
my soul still stays there, porous and pining and
lost. Dying stars don't lead home.

I suppose
it's more than just losing
your words, it's losing
you

too.

I am someone who mourns Sunday morning for another lost
w

Ashes to Asheswhen they peel back her skin they
find a feeble layer of stringent
exigency saved up for the people who
would lend her a light on her path
to gossamer fabrications, she's

lost herself in fairytales like
the crumbs that don't lead home
and the girl who needs to sleep off
a few decades before things can
fall into place-

she dug her own grave but
it turned out to be a rabbit hole,
she's sea sick- she lulls
it's
a little disarming when the waves reflect
your mirrored malignance and the
only way out is
down
(her siren song sounds like
a martyr's last motive)

she sighs and p

Keepers of My Hearti.
you are in love with being in love
like you're caught on the train tracks,
tied down by want, waiting for that
insistent collision to
steal you away into the land
of concussions and self-medication
and hearts that barely heal

ii.
and stories confessing the notches
in your bedpost, the lines in
your smile. the sour note in your
liberally dissonant melody.

iii.
you did not want tangibility

cotton trees cascading and butterfly
innards, serenading clouds and
fluorescent lips
(until the sky came crashing down
and you reoriented the earth)

iv.
you did not want me

v.
I am solid and as notable as
the ghosts sleeping in y

admittance is defeatthey called you beautiful

with porcelain eyes about to crack
and cigarette skin crumbling
away, a knotted spine and
jagged smile:

you were never gracious.

you're slipping underneath, this
virulent smog masks a paper sky that
never allowed a dream and

you're afraid because it's soaking in
your pores again, unattainable and unoriginal;
the meaning of life never meant enough-

you were never hopeful.

there's a getaway map on the underside
of your pillow, and a lifetime of secrets
on the underside of your bones

you're a walking travesty:
your chest ticks, dull
your wrist beats, dying
time is keeping you but

you were never pa

Poets Always Lieambrosial fabrications are
easier to swallow down when
incandescence is a blessing bestowed
only upon those with silky tongues.

deceptions are beautiful
in the right words

because they are salvation, like a
rapture, they save the sickly,
self-indulgent souls from those
tragedies they used to write on the insides
of childhood notebooks about who
they could never be [themselves]

they rescue them from tremulous
corners and closets, hideaways
where they've grown too akin to
the demons they nurse; and drag
them into a land beautiful enough
to wear light as a second skin

(where lies are never discussed
but always shared)

cl

Nostalgiashe fell in love with the sound of
dying storms, and lost herself in
the blind spots accompanying her
every furtive glance

her downturned spine labeled her:
pitiful,
and her relentless divulging to
overcast skies defined her as
needy; but still she offered the
seeds of her pomegranate heart
to anyone willing to settle down
inside the breeze

and she was abandoned, long ago,
(once upon a time, no one cried)
by wolves with insipid fangs
and human eyes (her glittery irises
never quite belonged)
they discarded her when she asked if
self-delusions were a state of mind

and
she is poorly veiled, so see-through under
our cracke

myths and the things that really matterin a season of wavering will
and ripe regret, I was born
too old - into a fragile world
of butterfly feathers and
springtime secrets, tied tenderly
around hollow hallucinations and
carefully called a "dream"

they promise you things
when you are too young to
understand the monsters under
your bed are really fragments
of you, left to disintegrate
in the dark. they say: you
will touch the world, you will
know the stars by name, you
will be our deliverance from
all the things we were not

you will be strong.

but they don't know, no,
I am a yard sale:

I sold my heart to a boy
with lilting lies and eyes
that looked human

Amnesiacsmaybe you forgot how to
wake up without screaming.

she smiles like a broken dawn
and the meek will inherit the
earth, if they don't drown,
first. she's barely breathing;
trying to grow gills because
it's only in the state of dying
that we adapt.

and you won't see the colors
pouring out of her chest, you
won't hear the ebbing swansong
she hums so quietly.

you didn't come to be reminded.

you inject a little further, a little
closer to the heart. numb.

(she died the day she
was given a name)

she made you promise never
to be a number, or a majority;
she made your heart beat in a way
that made you think you were alive,

Spotlessone day you'll fly a little too close to the sun
and you'll remember the boy who told you
gas station trinkets were worth more than
the heart you wore on your sleeve.

disillusionment will take you home, and
it will not leave your bed in the morning.
(you will remember he called you loose, too.)

you are the one who believes in smoke
smiles and candid cadavers. no ones'
nose grows, so everyone must be
undeniably true (except

you lie to yourself, too)

a few lifetimes ago you fell in love
with your own reflection, but as you
stripped away layers of common mis-
conceptions, you realized you are not

virtuous and radiant and hung o

Idylliche always spoke of the romantic stance in a smoker
whose every gasp was like a suicidal swansong, he
wrapped himself up so tightly in unwarranted wishing, when
they stripped him free, he then stumbled into the sunlight
and burnt [out]

no one laced his pillows with lavender and moonbeams
and all the other things that call dreams out from
hiding; but he still prayed upside-down overdone
every evening for a falling star to find its way
back home.

instead, they surrounded him with [a grain of]
salt circles like curses to draw out the weaknesses
temptation had embedded in him, because
nothing beautiful was ever built atop a rotten

In Piecesrum-lust lips make gentle friends,
words slurred in hands blurred,
burning in between the lines to find
some
drunken concoction of wilted laughs
and heavy sighs, scented sultry
with desperation.

you are that
rasping in my throat when my voice
deteriorates and I am left breathless
and hopeless and raw, my
muscles ache in memory of the
motions to forget-
we do not let go.

and cold beds call, stability,
metal frames and sunken heads –
rest now, rest with
a prayer on your lips you don't
care to share, a dream in
your mind you'll never get back;
rest and the earth will lend you peace
and

you will stop. the rivers will cle

The Art of Detachmentdehumanized:
I am a stirring in the breath
of an unswept sky, an itch
in the throat, a tear in
the lining of the sleeve you
keep fingering- like reminiscence
will repair loose strands

(I woke up this morning
in a new carcass, trapped,
by fleshed out flaws and
dismal dreams and the
hush hush thrum ,steady,
[pulsations are riddled with
intent] of my veins)

I am the dents in the floorboard
where boxes of I-can-never-forgets
lay, I am the aching cold of walls
untouched, I am the callouses
of your fingers forgetting
how to work.

(my voice will melt the icecaps,
it will draw all salt from
the ocean and carve a careful
coffin

tense intentionsiv.
you lurk behind my sternum and
lace my uneasy breaths with
doubt and self-deprecation, I

can't breathe. I
guess I didn't need to sleep.

ii.
I am smudged in between the lies,
an asymmetric astrology chart
mapping misguided dreams

when you make a wish on me,
I sell away another piece

(I wish I were my own)

v.
it was always me, it was always
the blood clotting in my heart
and words coagulating on my
tongue – I swallow cyanide to
vomit up my narcissistic tendencies

iii.
it was nothing that ever mattered
when the dust settled and you
could finally remember my name

(and you settled down into my bones
deciding I was

crystal catastrophies bottled upv
her shaky hands couldn't hold a pen
or a promise
"my fingers have broken
trying to rewrite clichés-
believe me when I say, I'm special"
hollow laughs glossed over her
tempered smile

as she waited for the day
when that might actually mean
something

i
there was an eve long before dawn
ever tainted the starry night sky and
inflicted vision on those who preferred
to stay in the dark, where a girl
crooned quietly to herself
"what if when we meet,
I've run out of I love you's?"

this was before the sun whispered in her ears
that they'd never mattered, anyway

iv
hopelessness descends
on wearied souls
who couldn't lear

embeddeda sunset blister[pops] overhead, dripping
security. she kisses her lover and leaves
with splinters in lips. there are moments
when she swears she can hear a breath
rattling somewhere within his
reciprocating chest
she swears in vain

and sometimes it's like they recycled
an old day, it fits the same and that
is an alarming halt to progression-
she says, we have to move on

but she doesn't ever leave, feet buried
under years of promises and plans and
anxieties. she's had a bird cage by her bed
since she was a little girl (begging wounded
blue jays to escape)

the day won't break, he watches
her sleep uneasily, respiring
like

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More from *intricately-ordinary

Dreams of an AngelI.
"what do angels dream about?" Lindsay asked
I thought for a minute
"they dream to live like us."
"then why did Rachel want to die?"
"goodnight" I said, and turned out the light

Rachel used to sing to the birds
she said sometimes they just wanted someone to show they cared
and she serenaded them
until she was sure they felt important

II.
in the car, Lindsay broke down
the black veil she wore seemed to be more
than an article of mourning
"why do they make child-size coffins?"
"Lindsay—"
"did you see her?
even dead, her spindly fingers reached out
but… I couldn't grab her…"
I held her ha

When Words Escape You"sometimes we look so hard for answers,
we forget the questions.
I lost myself, again, today
swimming in your words...
Maybe this is just me?
Drowning in a steady stream
of undeserved emotions-
paralyzed,
watching my fall with open eyes
regretting every misspent word,
(because, as I just found out-
you're only allotted so many
and I've used all mine up
so I could mope and pout)
Somehow even though I tell myself
in steady hums
the wrongs you've done,
your words take it all away.
I guess I'm blessed
shock inhibits thoughts-
I've already shown myself a fool.
I used to wonder where you were
what you thought, why you left

Reverse Polarity and a Little Bit of FateHe believed in angels
She believed in lies

she was hummingbird-reminiscent
gifted with flight, she strayed from sight
and her secrets were hidden between her rapid wings

He counted his lucky stars
She cursed barren skies

her laugh resonated, hollow
it echoed off the walls she built
to keep intruders out

He fell for her, hopelessly
He dreamed only to make her smile

she pretended he didn't exist
still, he was drawn to her (like a moth,
to bad ideas)

She told him she was too far lost
(Though she was only in denial)

his eyes glinted, golden
bright enough to melt the frozen rock
she had called her

Within Your PalmsMy world exists in your vast hands
I'm under your control.
You make these deadening demands,
but I cannot withhold.
I feel so small in your cold glare
to question this, I couldn't dare...
I feel so small,
I feel so small
I'm breaking, do you even care?

I told myself I fell for your words-

My world exists in your vexed hands,
I'm at your beck and call.
You breed disaster in my lands
just to watch me fall.
It makes you god to act this way-
destroying, tempting, changing fate.
It makes you god,
it makes you god
(try not to break me in your play)

-because I couldn't stand that I fell for you.

My world exists in your cracked ha

A Sky of SmogI.
"what if every star out there, twinkling
is every dream that's ever come true?"
she asked me
"but what about the stars that burn out?"
I replied. She didn't respond.
she was too busy searching the night sky
hoping to catch a dream

II.
"what do you want in a guy?"
I asked one day
when our heads were empty,
but our mouths were full of words
we didn't quite know
"I want someone who can understand me"
and she sighed as though it were only a wish.
"Oh," I said
"I just want to fall in love
so all these stories I write
won't be lies"
and we laughed as though it were only a joke

III.
when she first fell in love,
she flew so

Synchronized HeartsWe weep for wounds not yet born
We predict the patterns of storms long gone
Only after it's concrete, do we mourn
We live life expecting the next dawn

We ask for truth yet prefer the lies
We pity the foolish and decry the wise
We sketch blueprints for mountains we can't make
We dismay over bad and think all good is fake

To each his own, we've our selfish desires
The beauty of destruction is all too sought out
We dream for the stars, but settle for fires
We louden cacophonies to silence any doubt

So caught up in answering questions not asked yet,
We die with only one lasting regret-
We know not of who we've become.
Our mirrors a

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Poetry Feeds Our Souls

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Arise and Breathe

by *intricately-ordinary, Dec 30, 2012, 8:54:57 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

little siren girl, held up by fishhooks
and lines - you'll only be free when
they cut you loose.

still, they tell you: you will not fall
victim to swelling tides, you
will float. (you are a dead weight.)

you are something incomplete
like the forgotten house on the
end of the row, eating itself,
dimming day by day:
paint chips and chapped lips
have nothing left to say.

there are monsters nursing
deep beneath your flesh, with
threadbare spines and trembling
hands, they are afraid of their own
shadows. (you are only weak when
your eyes are open)

a new year waits upon your doorstep,
promising to take all that was ever [you]
away.

the paper doll can finally sleep,
to see another day.

Arise and Breatheby *intricately-ordinary

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *intricately-ordinary

When the sun finally resurrects, you will, too.

(goodbye, 2012

)

*bloodawni Apr 30, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Hello, I wanted to let you know I've used your lovely title in my newest Title Poem, 'your teeth leave different scars'. If you wanted to read it, the link is [link] - but this comment is really just to let you know how I've made use of your gorgeous title.

Reply

*intricately-ordinary May 12, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

what a beautiful poem, I'm honored to be a part of it

Reply

*bloodawni May 13, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Bless, thank you!

Reply

~TheMoorMaiden Jan 7, 2013 Student Writer

there are monsters nursing
deep beneath your flesh, with
threadbare spines and trembling
hands

Guh. How do you do it? Your imagery is just beautiful.

This piece feels like a big breath of fresh air; it feels like a new year.

Reply

*intricately-ordinary Jan 7, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

What an honor!

Thank you!

Reply

~TheMoorMaiden Jan 8, 2013 Student Writer

You're welcome!

Reply

*Blacksand459 Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

I fear that if I completely gush over each of your poems, you'll think me addled or superfluous.

But the more I read your work, the more its like...serendipity defined. That special occurrence when you read a poem or hear a song that you didn't know you were looking for until you found it. That may be a cliché, but nevertheless it is true.

there are monsters nursing
deep beneath your flesh, with
threadbare spines and trembling
hands, they are afraid of their own
shadows.

Well done.

Reply

*intricately-ordinary Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

That's one of the kindest things anyone has ever said about my poetry. I'm absolutely honored it clicks with you in such a way, and thank you so much for making my day!

Reply

*Blacksand459 Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

You're most welcome.

I'm glad I made you happy; it was my pleasure.

Reply

*IAmPoetry Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Wonderful words placed nicely so.

Reply

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