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001 i am a whirlwind of
an aching heart
a regret that could
Untitledthings she's destroyed this year;
two washing machines
from the pockets she fills with rocks
when the rains come and she wants to drown
the corners of all her books from flicking
bending and shaking edges
whenever she thinks of you
you stupid boy
her first car
crumpled in a ravine
and it left a scar on her stomach
that she sometimes can poke
and feel a lump that science can't explain
and she thinks it physical sadness
the entire box of plates
that her mother gave her for moving out
and making it on her own
well, she almost made it
but something about them
being under the ground left
her shaking uncontrollably
and the tears slid underneath fingertips
and she lost the grip
and didn't notice until she'd ran to phone
and left a trail of her insides
along the corridor.
her heart lines
or whatever it is that lets the happiness in
they're sealed shut
tight and all she can do is
at things that don't notice her
whatever it was that connected him
and let the sparks
32you were gone before it even sank in that you were really there.
habit is the worst thing, cause it made me so blind to the fact that you could
just as easily be snatched away from me.
i should have hugged you at least four more times
i've spent the better half of a year being your definition of evil and insane
at the same time. i've known better than everything i've done, but done it
anyway. god knows i've repeated the same tedious/dangerous/stupid
actions over and over wanting/expecting different results.
you wouldn't be proud of me for anything anymore.
but i'm still mad at you, i'm sure of it. if you waded through the
rising tides, or peeled away my blue like old house paint, you'd find something
that screams how you broke everything inside me. and how you were one single event
that taught me that just cause something ends, that doesn't mean its over.
and that i will waste every single change given to me.
the only thing you ever told me that i listened to, was to rest occasionally.
waste.distance is the worst thing ever
and i think
'if these people were closer, everything would
just be so much better'
but then i stop
and remember all the people in my town
who i barely see
and the thought
to the same place
he's my bottom
my rock bottom
don't go if you've got more to sayand last night i saw you, the real you
the you that i had buried under layers and layers of
blues and greens
from trying to find something
that was almost you
but not quite.
and i didn't cry
i didn't shatter into a million stupid pieces
like you were a car with high beams
and i was a scared little deer.
cause i hadn't seen past this you i made up
for so fucking long.
but i remembered
that you didn't catch my attention at first.
but when you did.
i couldn't look away.
and i wish i had have stayed
with my eyes closed.
cause i was so proud of myself
for tearing my heart
away from you
and out of underneath your skin
or between your fingers
stuck to the back of my throat.yesterday i saw you in cracks of my staircase
and inbetween the pages of my class novel.
you look like hell, and i thought the
darkened circles under your eyes
resembled the colour i think my
love for you would probably be.
its saddening that the thick oxygenated
purple and red mix is kind of like
what i saw once one one
of those anti smoking commercials
spilling forth from a dissected lung.
thats what you are.
you're my personal cancer.
awake from my dream state.it was a leap of faith
but i wish someone had pushed me
so i had someone to blame
pressure.she was cracked in places only she could feel, and where the blood could only be tasted, and not seen.
her lips, fingertips and inside her chest. she learned that there are certain body parts prone to being cut or bruised, and her white laced knees could attest to that. but there comes a time when cutting your leg on the coffee table or pinching your stomach with your belt buckle, isn't an accident anymore. its something more, and you know it is. but you can go so long without ever admitting it to yourself, and even longer for anyone else.
sickly. i think i overheard your thoughts
somewhere in between the lecturer looking at his watch
and my heart skipping a few beats
which it made up for in quick succession.
i don't think i can recall any words
just a heavy feeling in the back of my throat
and i din't even look up and see the walls
close in before that weight rose up and out
and over the already worn out linoleum floor.
the thoughts i gave you exchange were just the same
four letters repeated over and over and i was
beyond any legible reasoning or
comprehension in that moment.
the heat was thick
and i was frail
and you were still a bastard.
even from so far away.
swell.YOU SPENT THREE MONTHS ON MY COUCH
AND I PERMANENTLY HAD A BUCKET FOR YOU
TO PURGE YOUR INSIDES INTO AT AN UNGODLY HOUR.
BUT YOUR VOMITING MEANT YOU WERE STILL
AND I'D RATHER CLEAN UP YOUR BODY'S REJECTION
THAN YOUR REJECTED LIFE.
microscopici. people need to invent a way
to shrink down men with
handsome bone structures
and creative hearts
into the size of mice
to slip into pockets
ii. slip next to hearts
to heal and whisper lullabies
into strings to resonate
and into hears to stop heads
clouding and and throbbing with
feelings and pains
that are inescapable.
things to consider.- my stomach is in so many knots
and its s tight and cramped
its a wonder i can still breath
or keep anything down.
- i am shaking like a leaf
and i don't understand how
because my skin feels like lead
and i am all weighed down.
- there are oceans in my chest
and its all congested and watery
but my tongue and throat are dry
and nothing is coming out.
binding and blinding.
there were oceans and lakes and rivers inside her chest cavities, overflowing and crashing over life and limb.veins were awash in blue, and skin was flourishing in stains of water-rot, making her insides match her ravaged internals. the water wasn't the heaviest thing, as nothing could be any heavier than her heart. weighed down with shadows and too much scar tissue, it constantly threatened to break its tethers, and sink to the bottom of her own personal ocean. the salted liquid seeped into, and under her skin into veins that scattered her entire being and added little weights everywhere from backs of hands, tips of fingers, and creases of
I learned the weight of loss from an age that most adults would consider far too young to be forced to understand such things. They dumbed it down for me, making me feel smaller than i already was, and treated me like i was unable to grasp such a complex concept, that death was beyond me. I thinks now they were just trying to protect me, or maybe themselves in some silly way.
i was the epitome of the daddy's little girl, he was ever strong and protecting and i loved him. In a way that was more than just because he was my father, i don't think he ever understood that though. and there were too many people who didn't understand that i unders
flames.she surrounded herself with candles
lit, flickering and letting of smoke that
sooth her head, and calm her head.
but sometimes the smells couldn't quite
chase away all the ghosts and the
candles became pain, dripping the wax
along arms searing and solidifying and
more stable than she ever could be.
naked as paper.Naked as paper.
Kaitlyn Ann Yates (or her pseudonym Kait Forest) has a burning in her heart, and words lodged under her fingernails, waiting to be released like fledglings, with an intensity and subject matter that few care to elaborate on, even fewer at the tender age of 18.
Despite her fanciful name and subject matters, she grew up in an over populated and highly segregated city near the Ohio river, snuggled between the valleys of middle east America, but something inside her precious head is connected different than most her age and she writes out her ghosts inside pages of journals and books that she has yet to share with the world, oth
11.the internal oceans are more threatening
it makes them cold
and leaves her shaking
right to her core
its okay in summer
but the icy blues
and stark whites
leave her shaken
and scared you'll
slip back inside
trying to warm
but really only intending
Cierra, 2005seven year-old prey
for juvie girls
eleven and thirteen
with sloppy hair
and sloppy clothes,
bragging about broken noses
bloody faces, and the places
they were forced to go
as though it even mattered to me
in the wake
of a seven year old crying
because iron plated hearts
don't know how / don't care to stop
forgotten little girl
i took her in at 12
when the nurses and the techs
could not break us apart
little girl with a broken heart, she
told me that her parents
didn't want her
why are you so nice to me
she asked when i talked down the angry giants,
and i said aloud, i said to her
Keep in Touch!
`ChewedKandi has certainly gone out of her way to keep the vector community on the right path. Always making sure that her talents are infinitely scalable, Sharon has put her bezier curves to excellent use, and firmly anchored herself as an inspirational leader. We're absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for June 2013 to `ChewedKandi. Congratulations, Sharon! Read More