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ConstellationsI look at you in the same way I stargaze.
Picking out my favorite features;
connecting the brightest points to create imaginary shapes.
Searching for meaning in the lines that no one else sees.
He Still WritesHe can't rhyme, but he writes me poetry anyway.
He writes about times I've made less gray
About running away
About making the most of our days.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
Watching him write to me in our favorite cafe;
I love him.
Even when he's frustrated that nothing rhymes with orange.
It's 4:02 a.m. And I Still Love HimThe green pulses of light from my digital clock are slowly driving me mad, or maybe it's just the hour.
Either way, it's 4:00 a.m. and I'm thinking of him.
I finally gave in and bought one of those fancy, new clocks that project the time onto the ceiling; for those nights when I can't be bothered to turn my head and check the time.
Trust me, this is much easier.
If I had just let him kiss me that day last summer, things would be different.
Things would be so much easier between us.
As convienient as this new clock is, I regret buying it.
The flashing is distracting, and it makes it difficult to sleep.
My old clock was better.
I guess I'm okay with where we stand right now.
There was too much risk in that kiss.
I still wish we were closer.
I'm getting rid of this stupid clock when I wake up tomorrow.
It's 4:01 am, and I'm not going to think about him in the morning.
SomewhereSomewhere, someone is stargazing.
Somewhere, someone is falling in love to the tune of their favorite song.
Somewhere, someone is catching lightning bugs.
Somewhere, you are breathing,
and for now, that's enough for me.
The Boy With the GuitarYou played my favorite song on your guitar;
Now it doesn't sound the way it used to.
When I listen to it now I can only hear you.
Your modified lyrics.
I'd like to say I miss my favorite song,
but I think I've found a new one.
Cookie-Cutter DaughterSo there's this school of thought on parenting that parents shouldn't criticize their children.
It runs on pure encouragement and love.
Sometimes I wonder what I would be like today
If you had raised me with this philosophy.
If you had let me smash that chocolate cupcake all over that pink high chair on my second birthday;
Instead of telling me "no".
If you had taught me to color outside the lines in my princess coloring book when I was five;
Instead of trying to make me keep it neat.
I you had let me wear the sweatshirts and jeans I liked when I was six;
Instead of the itchy tights and frilly dresses that would become my uniform.
If you had let me track that dirt through the house after the mud fight with my sister when I was seven;
Instead of being angry about the muddy footprints on the linoleum.
If you had let me wear my hair in the messy ponytails I loved when I was eight;
Instead of the bobby pins and bows that dug into my head,
but I wore anyway because you said they made me pre
Imaginary BoyI fell in love with a boy I made up
in the form of you.
I’m not sure which of your faces I should listen to;
Yours or the one I gave you.
The Summer of Us.A kiss on top of a ferris wheel
Falling from a crumbling rope swing into a lake
Hammock naps in the afternoon shade
Stargazing on my old wool blanket in the back yard
Catching fireflies in a mason jar to use as a nightlight
Secrets whispered under the harsh glow of a flashlight on a camping trip
Cherry Coke and tree forts
Twizzlers and Radiohead
This is how I want to remember this summer.
My SunlightYou are my sun,
My only light,
As you fade,
The moon is there,
A memory of you,
Of the darkness,
Before your dawn.
You are the breeze,
That kisses my face,
Those tender lips,
That rushing embrace.
You are the grass,
Beneath my feet,
You hide my tears,
You support my weight.
You are the last,
One for me,
There was many before,
But they were never the same.
With you its right,
With you its love,
And if tonight,
I come above.
I'll see your glory,
From the moon,
From the memory,
Of this afternoon.
TonightBring me to life
With your touch.
Love me now,
Forget me later.
Set me on fire
With your lips,
Into my soul.
At least for tonight,
Let me feel again.
I PromiseIt is a painful thought
To know he kissed you,
To know he stole your innocence.
He felt the warmth and comfort of your love,
But manipulated it to lust
And turned that perfect smile I now see,
Into a lifeless vessel
That gave into his
Carefully painted words
He had you
Before I ever knew you,
I'm sorry I wasn't there,
I'm sorry I could not save you.
But look up at me now, love,
Look up at me with those astonishing, crystal eyes
And know that I will love you
Until this heart of mine has given out.
I am your present
And your future;
I will love you for more than your body,
I will love your wild personality,
I will love your motherly instincts,
I will love your acceptance,
I will love your understanding,
I will love your "frustrations",
I will love your timidness,
I will love your stubbornness,
I will love your laughter,
I will love your tears,
I will love your scars,
I will love your flaws,
But most of all;
I will love you.
Puppet String SymphonyHere come the snares,
wrenching at my heart;
like my tongue can’t find the words to say.
I've been resurrecting your skeletons,
just to place broken flesh over it and watch it all decay…
…scratching at freshly picked scars and rose petals,
while digging up old habits and hatchets;
just so I can whistle a tune so tragic.
Here comes the wind,
stomping at my lungs;
like my emotions are gasping to be released.
I've been coughing up your cover-ups,
just to place my index finger over it and watch it all cease…
…living in this darkness, sulfur-tipped match tossed in the breeze,
while thinking it’s just not worth the candle;
just so I can hum a song you can’t handle.
Here come the keys,
playing at my mind;
like all eighty-eight demons and angels serving one star.
I've been worshipping my self-inflicted headache,
two times twelve and that’s how many bars…
…I've got to show you the color I feel.
When the puppet string symphony beg
About ArtA sweet poem,
All but a
For the true art called
my eyes sometimes forget youwhen you are gone, my eyes sometimes forget you;
the daily grind goes on; the bus-wheels roll their hides over the asphalt roads;
the snow melts into pools and clings to boots, licking the rubber heels of girls
who sway their hips to music that i only faintly hear; the women smile in coffee shops
and leave stray hairs on the wicker chairs; people pass by windows and their zippers
catch the light; my fingers turn the pages of new books.
somehow your voice finds me in the midst of all of this,
and very softly brings the words
that never really leave me:
this is my love.
when you are gone, my eyes sometimes forget you-
but my heart does not.
An Everlasting RequiemPale white skin.
Your auburn hair in locks.
Eyes as bright as jade-stones.
Body scarred, they say, it’s broken.
But I could only see your perfection.
At peace you are, for so long.
Yet I cannot sleep.
I feel like you have faded now,
You are so beautiful.
Have you moved, are you near to me?
The questions only linger.
We used to play,
And watch the sights,
The world was ours to borrow.
But you were done years ago, when things first turned sour.
I only wish that I had seen- so that I could return your smile.
Where are you now?
After all this time.
The seasons change without you.
But you are gone, and I remain here now.
Everything is cold.
For you, I’ll cling forever,
I could never hold another.
To breathe their scent or touch their hand,
Would only be betrayal.
For you I’ll stay forever,
I’ll grow old, and perish, in time.
For you I’ll wait forever,
Yet I know I’ll die alone.
Unrequited LoveJust think of me.
Text me good morning and good night.
Text me at lunch just to let me know you're alright.
Wish me a good nap around five or six.
And if you're every bored just give me a call.
I'll make you a fangirl no matter what.
Even if you never admit it I'll let you off.
Meet up with me every now and then.
Never end a conversation with just goodnight or goodbye.
Ask questions and explore life with me.
Support me but don't try to fix me.
Even though I'll try to fix you.
But first I need this dream to come true...
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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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