[x]

I'll Be There When the Wind Blowsi
one day I'll be nothing but a whisper
in the swollen sky, which ebbs and flows
whenever you choose to open your eyes

this voice will be lost in the onslaught,
and I'll fade into my greatest fears

ii
my thoughts have been known to shatter
on occasion, into fine powder
that scatters in the face of execution

I always worried roots grown in unstable ground
and remembering the way my body was built
would free the catastrophes sighing within me

it's easier to succumb to future's inevitabilities
that welcome you with undefined arms

iii
sometimes I release pieces of myself
because I don't like the story they tell
about the history

Effortlessbreathe in
   you don't remember why you cry when you're happy,
   and smile when you're sad
breathe in
   you've begun to find answers
   in the calluses of your fingers
   and the cracks on the ground
   that we built our lives around
breathe out
   you're alive more than ever
breathe in
   you don't remember what it means
   when your eyes sting
   and you think you know it all
   until you see another day
breathe out
   you forgot the words

Worthlessthe worst part about being nothing
is knowing nothing is commonplace
and, even though I thought I was so
special
I was exactly the same

     I'll never say your name
     because then this would feel real
     and I would have to accept
     that giving all I had
     never meant a thing

     does a wooden heart still beat,
     or does it only leave splinters?
     did you ever even think of me-
     the wea

Walls Come Tumblingyou've a soul of gold,
a feat untold in our
lonely rusted world

you make clouds more
than a fable- you enable beaten down
dreams to finally soar

you have words like oxygen,
necessary to live, treasures
you would readily give

    we wish upon them all who try to stand so tall.
     in the end, why is it every person seems to fall?
     not you.

I imagine your chest sings
all answers, which your mouth then
tries to translate and share

does your heart grow weighted
or are you really free?
if you're truly so wonderful,
why stick around
with the lost and found?
t

Verifiedsometimes fear is a little black monster that waits in your closet
nursing all your skeletons back to health, tempting you
with tightly wound lies like bitter almond candies

and compliance is second only to believing that maybe, just maybe,
the words slithering out of its mouth (then around your throat,
choking you when you are finally alone enough to be convinced truth
is objective) are something real, something worth believing in

unlike all the other things that have forsaken you,
there's a certain comfort in knowing that fear is
a constant, it is a shadow, it is as concrete as the bags
you carry excess time in under your eyes;

Stitching Wounds with Stringent FeelingsYou breathe me in with desperate, shriveled lungs--
for I am a sordid necessity.
My words are like a salve for judgments hung
so selfishly upon your blatant needs.
And maybe you're a martyr in your eyes--
surprise, I see you lynched by your own thoughts.
Self pity and resentment are a guise
to hide the nothingness that starts to rot
your blackened insides. Take me into you,
feel whole from my magnetic pull towards those
robotic dialogues you think so true.
Just take me in, only the Lord could know
reflections meet you with a deadened stare.
You distant angels never really care.

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

Fervid AwakeningThere's a fire beneath my feet,
but not the kind that burns
mountains and ruins girls
made of papier-mâché—no,

these are the sparks that
drive the insane to dance in
the rain; the flames that
gave birth to a million voices
itching to be heard, too.

It's spreading, settling, somewhere deep
beneath my sternum, like an anticipatory
story, waiting to be told, giving
my heart the ardor to beat.
-
No one ever says happiness
is like a butterfly: beautiful,
flighty, and fleeting.

If you let it slip through your
fingers—you are left
alone, palms full of feathery dust
which soon fades and leads to the scary

appropriately appallingi
the flies are in the food, again.
festering, feeding- because i sewed
shut my lips when you warned me
they were a gaping wound.

silence is the best kind of infection;
you can't know what's kept inside

ii
i carry little girl dreams
of dying and coming back
diseased, depraved, an atrocity;
at least then I'd be something
worth writing home about

i deserve more than what
i am- i am selfish and
greedy, but not strong
enough
to steal a life worth living

(look at me now, mom
i'm growing into the
ugly thoughts i birthed.
i think this is what it must feel like
to finally follow through)

iii
there are things you never say:

Sleeping Souls Never Liethey buried you
with stars in your palms, because
they thought it was a crime
you'd never made a wish in your life

the dirt and darkness
was enough to extinguish
their dying lights

(it's okay, your silent skin
said, softly, I always wanted
the sky to bring me to sleep)

the priest begged, believing you
might rise from the hole
you'd dug for yourself

he wanted to let you know
there was something bigger than all of us,
someplace farther than 6 feet under

(I'm alright, your stony eyes
swore, sometimes falling
feels enough like flying)

their voices all filled with tears
even though you said you weren't worth
their worries, the

Sorry Then Safei
we like to play with fire.
as it eats away at our
insipid nature, and licks the
desolate consistency of our bones,
our inner cold is warmed.

you say that it reminds you
of my fevered eyes.

ii.
we make scarecrows into humans
into saviors, then tear them down again
for not cleansing out our wounds.
we forget they were only born
to keep the birds from
devouring us further.

and they watch, feebly, as we
fall face-first into our fate

iii.
you looked me dead in the eye
"we are all walking ghosts
waiting to die so we can live"

and your whitened hands became
a symbol of achievement

iv
we write our epitaphs the day we're c

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

Sleeping Behind the WheelI want you to sing me a song
to erase all my preconceived notions
about life, love, and (listless?) dreams.
I want your voice
to conquer all my past--
the beast that plagues me.
I want you to whisper words so sweet
the day may finally rest.
Because I've been awake for years, now--
and I need a little sleep.

take me away--
redeem me with your notes
like fables, like promises,
like wishes made a million times before

take me away--
to that place between my mind and heaven,
that doesn't exist.
because there, I can be comforted
into oblivion

but mostly,
ignore the life I've spent
trying to tally all I've done wrong

I want you

Coven of Vexed Heartsthere were four girls
who wore hearts on their arms
each with a different intent;
they wanted to see what they had in common,
and what their symbols meant.

the mousy girl, Penelope
was nothing more than a whisper
"I trace hearts on my arm in pen
and spray them with my mom's perfume
I used to worry no one cared,
I'd sit alone in my own gloom.
The hearts let me remember
I'll always have her
even alone, I can know
someone really loves me.
She's always there."
the breeze trickled through her hair
she brushed her bangs from her quiet face

and Nora outright laughed-
her soul was scarred
just like her arms, permanently marred

Clichei. true love

& you were that one famous line
of a love poem – 1863 sonnet
scripted down your spine, verses
of sternum & shuddering heartbeat.

i remember the sheets twisted blue
as the eventide, your eyes like thelassia,
that species of ocean grass. we swayed
to the music of galaxies colliding.
our song was the day the tides
finally curled round the moon's face.

ii. cancer

eventides, thelassia eyes, moon
great and heavy as that one lucky coin
that refused to land, to grant a wish
or let luck decide for us. there were
star crabs scuttling under your
oragami skin. & i never realized
all the ways that you folded
until t

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More from ~intricately-ordinary

zeroi swore
i would never number the poems
i wrote about myself because that
would be like ticking off the days
until my breakdown;

i was a moth, unapologetically throwing myself
at any gleam of hope; wasting my wings
on industrial promises

colors always felt much more
appropriate for the purple boiling
beneath my heart and the pallid
purposelessness of my head,

but i was born into a colorless world--

no one sees me behind the metallic scars
of my skin and iron grating of my voice against
the grain; no one sees me as more than
gray regret or monochrome mistakes,
no one sees me but

all i ever wanted was for a
fallen god with feathered he

Progressionshe fell to the earth in a stream of shrapnel
and stardust in holy proportions; born
of silence and unfulfillment, tumulting
through that narrow area between
expectations and reality where
the pink glaze marred her romantic,

(blurry: a photograph held by careless hands;
a memory outdated and forgotten
and beautiful, once, before
the future fell in pace)

she landed with a deafening crack--
ribcage split and spilling secrets,
gasping for air beneath the surface of a pond
so stagnant that even the lilies withered away:
bubbles rose slowly (she began the process
of forgetting to breathe)

and she was not made for
our atmosphere; the air po

Subliminalthere was something about the way his whispers
entwined around the vertebrae of her neck
and caught in her ragged throat
that was reminiscent of nights long ago:

a heavy sky incensed with fears
forgotten, and a boy with full moon
eyes. she blamed her starry stomach
when she gagged on innards, unaware that
she herself was actually

undigestible.
stale and forgotten,
lingering like a smoke cloud off the lips
of someone with nothing better to say.

Lovebirds' Sorrowshe was the girl with cat
eyes: broad and judging and
carnal; he was the doe
with a broken collarbone,
yet she found herself lost in
the warmth of his sighs and
asked simply for a set
of sweeter lies

[because it's only after you
sell yourself to the earth that
you learn love is not a
chemical reaction anticipating
every ignited glance and soured
word; no, it is a thing
of obligation that sleeps upon
your doorstep, knowing you
will always come back,
knowing you could never forget
its name]

he called to her on hollow
nights, and she found his
voice when she had nowhere
left to go

he was the cereal box savior;
she only needed a place
to bur

defeatheredand this is where we bury our hearts,
between self-defeating personality disorders
and burnt bridges and midnight ramblings
we promise ourselves aren’t true;
embedding our memories in forsaken homes
like it is a conscious decision to shed
our wings (reptiles don’t fly)

and maybe I am the monster of every
myth: wide-eyed and jagged toothed and
looking to regain a piece of myself the
world borrowed, many moons ago

as I falter and stumble over my own unaware
feet, wreaking havoc, reeking of self-acquittal--

all I ever wanted to do was belong.

dreams are flaws much like the hearts we
flaunt on our sleeves, and I seem to
have len

Storybook AddictionsI want you to love me as much as you do
the thorns in your side; seeds planted and
forgotten and bleeding cyclically.
when the swallowed night drowns and
drains darkness like a trickled lullaby, I want
to be the last thing in your dreams.

I want to be your mistake East of Eden, your lack
of redemption; when they tear apart your paper
flesh with metal claws, I want to be the one you
come crawling back to with bloodied knees.

[right now I am an empty vessel, unfulfilled
and metaphorically obsolete. I want to clear
my throat for once, without seeing the ashes
of my disease.]

I want to love you like a swansong;
breezes make your bones ach

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Floodgate Eyes

by ~intricately-ordinary, Sep 12, 2012, 5:45:03 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Please promise me something better,
even if it is a lie-- sometimes believing
is enough. (sometimes knowing is too
much. tomorrow I will wake up
and travel a little farther down the road
to my own self-destruction. You are
my crutch.)

I won't look back, I'm already wrapped up
in my fears of the moment.  An intricate
web of justifications and anxiety is
tethering me to these uncertain feelings.

Would you finally cut me free
if I caved into you? Because
I think I'm getting close.

And I think I read the world all wrong,
but I can still play along.
because selling yourself short never did
anyone harm, and besides, I'm already
pretty cheap. I think tears used to be
worth something-- I forget.
(Sometimes a pit forms in my stomach
just to prove I've done something wrong.
It spreads like cancer, morphing me into
something new.
These moments have never meant less.)

I promised myself I wouldn't die until
I was strong enough to leave something behind.
Until then, I'll just reinforce my battered
spine with people that don't mean a thing.

Burn my fingertips, please,
so I'll never leave a trace.
Who I've become is entirely surreal.
Depression was a phantom that lurked in my ribcage
for so long, but rational people don't believe
in ghosts.

I'm something else. I'm so special, I'm a
dying breed. Why won't you believe in me?
I know it's not fair to ask of you
something I can't do myself;
but the demons inside of me would like to know
what, exactly, I didn't do right.

   _{pluck away my feathers and leave
   me bare-- find out that you
   don't like my oppressive excess of skin
   and that I'm stripped away of all the things
   that made me worth it.
   Then leave; because that's what I've been
   waiting for. I guess the only thing
   worth betting on anymore is how much
   of myself I'll have to lose to make that happen.}

I only have myself to take
on this trip to the edge of the universe.
you'll never notice I'm gone until
it's far too late. By then I'll be past
reassurances and redemptions, with nothing
left to blame. Go ahead, ask me for the world
so I'll know I had a reason
when I gave it away.

Floodgate Eyesby ~intricately-ordinary

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{I'm sorry, you guys.
I promise to stop writing depressing crap.}

=HillsOfMyst Oct 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

don't stop writing depressing crap - it's so GOOD. unless it depresses you, of course. the stanza in italics and the last stanza are my favorites. that last line was a punch in the gut! in a good way, that is

~intricately-ordinary Oct 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

thank you so much!

it makes me feel better to get it out, I just felt bad putting it on everyone. thank you for your kindness, though, you are absolutely lovely

=HillsOfMyst Oct 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

i completely understand what you mean. writing used to be my outlet for things that i just needed to get out. it isn't much anymore though, because i just don't have a lot of stuff to rant about

but don't feel bad about it. that's what we're here for, to read and appreciate and tell you how awesome you are!

~CelestialMemories Sep 28, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

_{Burn my fingertips, please,
so I'll never leave a trace.

I cannot say how absolutely delicious those two lines are. They are brilliant!

The entire poem is just some magical literary journey that took my breath away. You did an amazing job with this and you should be very proud! This really stunned me. Amazing job.

Sorry I comment so late D:}

~intricately-ordinary Sep 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I'm so happy you liked them. Thank you very much, it's an honor!

And it's okay, any comment from you is loved, regardless of the time

~CelestialMemories Sep 29, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

_{You're very welcome!}

=Sammur-amat Sep 20, 2012 General Artist

You really know how to play on an audience's heartstrings, Maddie. You should know that I find you intricately-woven, heartfelt and just as vivid and real as friendship letters. Shades of rain clouds do not carry your soul, these are feelings meant to last briefly, as long as you will it to be so. I'll gladly hold your hand and offer you a shoulder anytime you'd want, please remember I'm just a note away. If I had to define what this is in words, it would be gut-felt honesty in poetic form and in no way depressing crap. Never stop writing your heart out.

~intricately-ordinary Sep 20, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You are unbelievable, truly. Your kindness and friendship mean so much to me. When I get sad, it's definitely hard to pull through. But it's amazing people like you that remind me I have a reason to get through the day. Thank you for your compliments, and even more so, your compassion. They make the day so much easier

=Sammur-amat Sep 21, 2012 General Artist

I'm so very incredibly overwhelmed by your lovely comment, sweetheart!

You too, are one of those amazing people whose words help me get through!

So please, no need to thank me, as you do the same for me

*lantern-rose Sep 14, 2012 Professional Writer

Oh goodness, don't say sorry! If you need to write this stuff and you are inspired to do it! Writing is about all things. The whole spectrum of emotion.

I'm speechless yet again.

"Burn my fingertips, please,
so I'll never leave a trace.
Who I've become is entirely surreal.
Depression was a phantom that lurked in my ribcage
for so long, but rational people don't believe
in ghosts." I have no words. Thank you for sharing.

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