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she breathed out happy endings
she pressed herself between the pages of her favorite storybook
until her veins began to bleed ink. with her head in the clouds,
she wasn't sure of where she was and didn't much care as long as
it wasn't here.
WordsmithsHow long did you think
we could pound our vocabulary with hammers
before it fell flat?
Let the Sparrows InI.

Blackbirds are resting on the power lines,
Their silhouettes form the notation to
A dawn song set on the sheet music of
Telephone poles contrasted by the sun.

Curled leaves are land mines littered
On the lawn where imprints of twigs
And a nurturing robin's tracks collect.

Branchlets and leaflets stem from
Porch step railings and mailboxes;
The numbers read even on the
East side of the asphalt:

Seven-seven-thirty-six.
The engraved letters on
The siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family

So let the sparrows in.

The house,
With its branching hallways
And
Overhanging décor
And
Furniture rooted to the floor
Totems and Godhoodi. As a child, confronting giants.

I take the pine tree as my totem,
learn to love the nakedness of its nether-regions
and its northerly fibers stretched and waiting
for the weft to its warp.

Girlhood is still a part of me as the
learning what I am. In the end,
I haven't climbed a tree in a long time;
I am small, and scared, and ringed round with walls,
and I beg the moon to teach me
to use my pine trees as a ladder.

ii. In the way only young love can.

You, sir—
you are pine chips, and I carry you
like a fetish in my mind.

You are the first vampiric sweetness
to suck the breath from my body:
unknowing, the feeling of ye
i miss the girl i almost wasi miss the girl i almost was

she sits lightly on the edge of the bed
at 4am and brushes my hair back from my
face with a touch like spiders' footsteps

her breath is like ice and
her wishes are weightless

she wraps a strand of promises around
her fingers and kisses me goodbye again
with lips like polished crystal

she waits for me at crossroads

she is always cold
intersectionMy father's hair is gray now.
I'm not sure if it was the elevator
or that realization that caused
the lurch in my belly.

There's a little plastic container
on the bathroom counter, housing
blue, yellow, beige pills, designed
to slow the body's inevitable breakdown.

There are lines around my father's eyes now -
I feel his loneliness echoed in my chest,
in the mirror as I prepare for bed.

A blurry, half-remembered moment,
smudged with time, of sitting on his strong
shoulders, laughing in the sun,
so sure that he would always be able
to hold me up to touch the sky.

We live this half-baked life now,
circling each other, moments
blue and gold are not just colorsshe had been blue-sighted
since
dawn cracked her forehead.
it was the dress she wore on his funeral
the color of her school flag
the shine in her father's eyes;
she waited in blue and gold.

no, she refused to set a bar
because
life didn't just come to her.
she earned her place
in her mother's womb
when each blood vessel questioned her
each nerve ending, if she could live
and each antibody, if she was worth it.

see, she doesn't need new dresses.
she has a memory
for each of hers in her locked closet.
she may not wear all of them
(and most she cringes at the sight of)
but her heart
jumps enough
every time bits of her old
Coffeehouse Bluespeople like to drown in their misery
because it somehow reminds them
that they're alive.

take the lady sitting by the fog-kissed window, for example.
see how delicately her lower lip quivers
as she downs pints of coffee like a drug addiction
when in reality, each sip creates fissures on her tongue
and fills her stomach with caffeinated liquid
she secretly wishes was cyanide.

or watch how the curious boy with suns as eyes
turns to face you and aligns his line of sight with yours;
watch how his juvenile soul becomes
a map of bones so easy for you to read.
suddenly, you realize a gaze could have never held
that much despair
until
What By NightThis is a lazy and ambiguous recollection
Of whatever happened when it did
Or, more appropriately,
What didn't happen whenever it didn't.
I don't remember you
With long brown hair and green eyes
That might even have been brown
Because you are no more your eyes
Than what they see in the mirror,
Or any more than that, your name;
It's just another pretty word
That I can't use anymore.
Who you are is an artist;
You made me who I am
And you let me know I was not alone.
I am a sculpture of clay, by your hand.
You've marked me with intention,
But just before it set in
You left me on a shelf.
Now I am dry and cracked;
Forgotten, I am the unfinished r
PaperPaper
fascinates me
Sometimes.
Especially in the way
it contains
all the possibilities
in the world,
both two-dimensional
and three.

And in the way
that you can cut it
And it can cut you
Back.
minutes and milesit's 5:36 & there's blood
on the backside of my right pocket

my right, that is

i have come to the conclusion that
miles are longer
when you're alone
so i sing in the car to myself &
make strangers think
i am cute & carefree
like the man who
said so in the drive-thru
of wendy's on saturday

my friends leave me holding on
to the very tail of passing minutes
they don't know about the miles i spend
alone

it's 5:43 & maybe i want to sit
in the passenger's seat
Call Girlshe stayed
    for a moment

with an arm
draped over by the shadow of a curtain
a dress folded in a half
in the crook of an elbow

     one of her cheek twitches

you touch her empty mouth
tangled up beneath the covers
her lipstick gets under your skin
a nerve irritated by the shape of a lace

half an hour tops not longer
you kiss her onto the lips eventually
jamming a tongue up the tonsils

      in the end a whore is just a whore
happy birthdaydishwater the color of dawn
detergent is grayed by three plates
and two mugs. your hands are pruned,
the same soap opalescent against
white ceramic and pale skin.

i dry what you pass to me,
then take your wrists to mop away
the suds that bed beneath your nails,
the color of grayed dawn.

"at least we didn't have spaghetti,"
you say while i spread your fingers,
admiring your dull calluses and
knuckles, thick. "at least you're drying,
i said you didn't have to."

"it's your birthday,"
and i admire the thin hair at your temple,
faintly grayed.
Cookerymy blender does not understand
smoothies
"Accept My Gift of Pineapple
Thou Foul Beast!"
this is a blood sacrifice
and she is sadly unreceptive

I begin the main course
I have cupboards full of words
See-Jane-Runs
quick brown foxes
I have half a mind (no, three-fourths of a mind)
to sauté them
into
the golden eggs
more difficult to crack
than I had thought they would be
(forge? My stove doesn't get
hot enough,
I think)

I will spice the adjectives with
madness
I will verb these nouns
throw in a voodoo doll or
tulips! Two! Lips!
Crack open a maraca
and sell you some rhythm

Oh you will love this
you will devour th
they can't be takentheir bleach skin caught my eye
albino white against the wild
hair like bright sky electric in the briars

haloed sister gods shot down like fawn
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More from ~penguinflavoureddoom

Desperate for InvisibilityHer name is called
She shrinks back
Into her chair
And wishes desperately
For invisibility

Behind that brown
Cascading waterfall
She hides
Her cheeks turn crimson
But she feels green
And hopes that this is just a dream

She despises speaking
In front of her "peers"
She's sure she prefers
To be ignored

It's now her turn
As she stumbles dizzily
Up to the front
She wishes desperately
For invisibility
PainExtreme pain
As if she's being
Torn limb from limb
Ripped apart

She cries out,
Screams as loud as she can,
But no one can hear her
They're not really listening

She'd seek help
But she's curled up
Crying and writhing
Wondering if she's dying

She wants out
Of this nightmarish pain
She'd prefer death
Than to see another day
Best FriendYou're always there for me
You'll always care for me
No matter how far apart we may be
You're my best friend

I know I've said
Hurtful things in the past
But that was just my idiocy
It was me not understanding

If I could remember them all
And take them back, change those moments
Would we still be best friends?
Would we be the same?

You're always there for me
You'll always care for me
No matter how far apart we may be
You're my best friend

We've had our spats
As all friends do
But we made up,
Our friendship pulled through

Sometimes I feel
That we're drifting apart
"But that can't be true,"
Says my heart

Because...

You'r
Come What MayHer smile fades to gray
As she whispers "come what may"
She wishes the pain would subside
Even just for a little while
Until the EndShe drifts down the hall
Past enemies and friends
Through the hall, she wanders
Until the end

Until the end
Of things, good and bad
Past everything
That has made her sad

She cries herself to sleep
Some nights
Because she's tired of
Trying to fight

Trying to fight
For her thoughts and beliefs
She always loses
To win, for once, might be a relief

But no one listens
To her explainations
Instead, they keep up
Their own expectations

Their own expectations
Of her giving in,
Throwing in the towel,
And letting them win

She drifts down the hall
Past enemies and friends
Through the hall, she wanders
Until the end

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pigeon

:iconpenguinflavoureddoom:

hello, pigeon,
he says with a smile
like somehow, he already knows
she's been sad for a while.

and she just looks at him,
with her brokenhearted bambi eyes
and she hopes that he understands
because nobody understands,
not really.

pigeon, he says,
I know.
and he does.

he knows that deep in her heart,
she just isn't happy.
not today, not yesterday,
and maybe not even tomorrow.

he knows that she wants to be happy,
wants to know what it's like
to be filled with sunshine

(and he thinks maybe that's why
she loves sunflowers so very much.
because she thinks they exude sunlight,
and maybe, just maybe,
if she were bright yellow,
she could emanate happiness, too)

she breathes fluttery, feather-soft breaths
into his chest as he holds her,

and he whispers,
pigeon, I know.
:iconpenguinflavoureddoom:
I don't really know how this happened. I just sort of started writing, knowing that I wanted to use the word "pigeon" as a term of endearment.
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:iconsilverinkblot:
=SilverInkblot Dec 28, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Hi there! Just a note to let you know I've featured this piece in my 2012 showcase of 100 pieces of literature: [link] :D
Reply
:iconpenguinflavoureddoom:
~penguinflavoureddoom Jan 1, 2013
Thank you so much! :heart:
Reply
:iconsilverinkblot:
=SilverInkblot Jan 1, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
:love:
Reply
:icondoublethefun:
~doublethefun Nov 5, 2012
I love this! Amazing work :)
Reply
:iconpenguinflavoureddoom:
~penguinflavoureddoom Nov 7, 2012
Aww, thank you! :heart:
Reply
:icondailylitdeviations:
=DailyLitDeviations Nov 4, 2012
Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DLD (Daily Literature Deviations) in a news article that can be found here [link]

Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by :+fav:ing the News Article.

Keep writing and keep creating.
Reply
:iconpenguinflavoureddoom:
~penguinflavoureddoom Nov 7, 2012
Thank you so much! :heart:
Reply
:iconkymira12:
!Kymira12 Sep 9, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Hello!

I have featured your wonderful piece of literature in my journal. If you would like to take a look, you can see it here [link] . If you have enough time, can you please take a look at the other featured deviants and support them too? I'm sure they will appreciate your support ^.^

I wish you have a good day and/or night!!!

P.S if you would like me to take your deviation off of my journal then please send me a Note :huggle:
Reply
:iconpenguinflavoureddoom:
~penguinflavoureddoom Sep 9, 2012
Thank you so much for featuring my work! I will definitely go have a look at the other pieces featured! :heart: :hug:
Reply
:iconsmuliee:
Mood: Love ~Smuliee Aug 8, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
This is amazing! :)
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