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My Dear Sons and DaughtersFall in love with everything
Fall in love with ideas: anarchy
and LaVeyan Satanism.
Fall in love with solitary back-packing
through Israel or Mexico.
Fall in love with gamma radiation
or tiger-taming, MMA cage fighting
or free-climbing the Rocky Mountains,
but do not fall in love
People will want you
for your similarities to one
or more of their parents;
they will want you
for the outline, the concept of you;
they will want you
because you want them –
they will not know
what they want.
People will take the bed you shared
and fuck other people
in the barely cooled indent
of your absent body
(they will also take your cat,
leaving you with scarred hands
and nothing for them to stroke).
They will promise to never leave you
and maybe they won’t,
but they will buckle you in with them
on the bipolar-coaster,
left flying off unfinished tracks,
and you will have to jump,
They will be perfect
except for little things –
answering their pho
dragonfly wingsi. There is an entire generation of humans who grew up learning how to be murderers,
learning how to wound creatures for an audience and a laugh, and oh
how they love to laugh, pigtailed executioners
and torturers of all that frail life
that could be contained in a quiet garden.
ii. They take spiders by their bellies and put them one each on two ends of a stick,
and they poke and prod and push until one decides to eat the other,
for there must be a duel, there must be a death, or there is no fun,
and the children will race off to find new things to hurt.
They take dragonflies by the wings and stick their jewel tails into electric sockets,
playing god in their pajamas, leaving peanut butter fingerprints
on the little pockets of heaven they find and fight over,
keeping the pretty pieces for their scrapbooks, like you could trap life
beneath scotch tape and label it between lines red-blue-red.
iii. Well maybe they know better, if you want to believe there's a muted brilliance
SnowI have not been in love.
No one has taken
a box cutter to my heart
and stomped the blood into the carpet -
at least not the same person
who stitched me together
in the morning.
But I have loved
pixels and magazine clippings
and the satellites of kittens' ears.
I have loved tinkling bells.
The human voice
can make me float.
(drowned or free?)
I have loved
a snowglobe world
in which people are people
and there are no words
in any languages
next to the bar code.
The more I learn,
the more my mind opens -
like the rose trembling outward,
confused in the cold -
the more I worry
that I will never rid myself
Even (especially) of
the labels that don't
think they exist.
The more I fall in love
with objects and ideas
the more I realize that
doing the same to a human being -
would be just like
watching the snow
Do you have a second?Can I tell you something?
Just listen for a second.
I think that you're amazing.
Not just you,
But who you really are.
What I see underneath.
Sure you can be mean sometimes.
But I've seen you be sweet.
I'm not blind.
And your looks are perfect
No I'm not saying you are the most beautiful
Or the most handsome person in the world.
I'm saying you are perfect.
Your eyes can hold a gaze for hours.
Your smile can draw anyone away from the world.
Your laugh can brighten up anyone's day.
And your personality can make anyone fall in love.
I wish I could tell you that in person
But this poem must suffice
Because where you are is a mystery
But who you are, isn't.
Appear OfflineIt’s easy to miss you in the 21st century
with a little green dot next to your name
with a myriad of ways to grasp across the distance
but my phone has broken
your internet’s terrible
and facebook chat never works
so I’m left to miss you by candlelight
watching a lonely sea
debating a letter
wondering how anyone ever coped
Shedding Stars IIyou were the sky i was
the sea, with the sun
in an offering of light
you wore the night as i
called your stars down
HyperawareI know the thumping of blood in my fingers,
the twinge in my back,
the tension behind my calves far too well.
The bristle of cold is too much
but the silence without the fan is suffocating.
My blankets are too heavy,
settled over my torso like the rock in my chest
but I can’t sleep without the weight.
This awareness is a manifestation of my longing;
for your hands in my hair,
your warmth at my spine,
your shoes on my floor.
This is what I feel when I can’t feel you –
fixations that drive me to insomnia.
Only the trains are any comfort,
plowing away into the night
screaming here I am; there I go
like world-weary tramps moving just to be moving.
Like you, working just to be working,
burning midnight oil and paper
when you could be breathing fire down my neck.
Seam StressThe heaviness settled in like an anvil being dropped on me. I couldn't take the fog inside my head and the lead inside my heart anymore, so I sat in the sun to melt it away. I wanted to sear every surface until I couldn't feel anymore. What kind of life is that, though, to never feel anything? To never feel the joy of love; the way it wraps its arms around your heart and traces its fingertips along your veins? Even the pain of looking back at love's scattered memories is necessary to understand how beautiful the feeling once was; how lucky you were to have ever felt its lips press to your cheek, its breath collect in the hollow of your neck. Love does these things, sews itself right up inside you to close the holes within.
You'll be told you'll find another. You'll be told to go, go and find happiness because all this is, is hurt, and nothing else. The problem is, your heart doesn't understand the complexities of bad timing or fear or settling for another because of low self-worth. You
To the one who holds my heart.I looked into your heart and found a mirror of mine;
the sacred scarlet muscle that so drives our lives.
That bloody pumping rhythm is so hard to define,
and does assault my mind like a thousand buzzing hives.
And yet without this confusion love has no spine,
'tis but a sordid wasteful thing which never survives.
In you I see something that does make stars align,
a power beyond time, keener than sharpest knives.
And it is through this Earth that we will ride
Without fair guidance or friendly hand
To guide us to that so surreptitious lonesome path.
I take the pain of this world in my stride,
and wonder solemnly if this was all planned
Or if our emblazoned love transcends all wrath.
on running away from himI stood 3 miles away
observing the way your legs
how the sunset seemed to be
swallowing you up into a
of a 5-year-old's
fantasy of a father
buried myself in the shadows that
were a reflection of how my
veins looked like on the inside
and for a moment I almost let
my ghosts haunt you
I turned my back and walked
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More