twelvedaysofjune

alyssa.

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invern

few as rare, but many 'round. staring at the ground talking. you should hear when i'm silent; it thunderclaps. wood splinters in my chest, bless the fragments of me i've let lie. fingers pry through my memories, dyed by err or idle worry. working out of my sternum, some wounds remain bright long after burning. returning, the winter again without snow. i set myself down on the floor, it is chilly but calming. i turn my head toward the door, soundless it mocks me. perhaps it is lonely like i am? i run my hand along the floorboards, they are colder than the carpet of my home. i miss collapsing, now i only find time to explode.

All

964 deviations

Literature

invern

Featured

322 deviations

Literature

hagridden

justify dying as a distance worth driving and you couldn't just try to pick a difference and decide to let my heart fly and you couldn't just lie with hundreds of lies already coating our insides.

Love

22 deviations

Literature

of birds and rain

document 1. may 17th. "if this is how it starts how hard is the rest going to be?" may 18th passes. so does june 22nd. in the time between and after, I am left only with my birds and the rain and it rains all the time. august 7th. I can no longer hear the geiger-counter clicking of the gutters over the echoes of crows and car horns, though the mud that devours my shoelaces each morning tells me the storm still hits while I'm asleep. november 24th and even the pigeons have gone. buildings boarded up, graffiti all over my car. nothing shiny left for them to shit on. january 6th now-- eight

older stuff

254 deviations

Photography

53 deviations

Literature

the twelfth year

it is the twelfth year i watch you fumble nails into my garden knowing how your sorries will go down into the space between my lungs and swell . it is before i am a sapling girl who sits at dinner tables wearing ice over my face and sharing meals with snakes who peer in through my blinds while i am dressing he lances me to ribbons through his smile and i am an alien at my own table without an atmosphere airless and alone and when i bow myself away in fumes and he is allowed to stay for the price of performing a coerced sorry . it is the fourth year i am pounding trails again sustained on my unspoken words and pondering forgivene

Poetry

201 deviations

Drawings Digital

29 deviations

Literally Lit: A Poetry Contest!

Sep 1, 2019

Hello dear Lit-Friends! It's time to break out your favourite notebooks, (fountain) pens and crazy coloured ink, because you have just fallen into the rabbit hole of a poetry contest! It has been a while since I hosted any contest at all, so I figured it's about time I hosted another. THE PROMPT Lately, I've ben having some issues with writing myself. I know the words are there, but I am unable to find them. This is why I've picked the following prompt: INSPIRATIONWhat is inspiration? What inspires you? It can be a thing, a song, or even a person; whatever it is that inspires you, grab it by the hand for a walk and just let it inspire you

Journals

24 deviations

Foxes

17 deviations

of birds and rain by poetic, literature

Literature

of birds and rain

summer children, we were' by jonzoiplu, literature

Literature

summer children, we were'

ii. we carved animals from ivory castles floating in the sun. we were the doting spring mayflies twisting upon meadows, wreathing lilies between toes, breathing -- iii. between the sheets of golden chaff, she whispered, "let's dance in the rain on the cobblestone streets before the singing rosebud mutes her swollen gown.' : past the shivering moon we snuck with shadows tucked into dreams. we were waltzing toy soldiers, our peace-broken holster

10 moments of silence by SpokenAubade, literature

Literature

10 moments of silence

[Ten moments of silence.] I I fell in love with the full, fluffy heaps of white on sidewalks, the icicles that clung to gutters and railings. II My mountains changed; They're blue and ridged now. The summers bleed the pavement like steaming gray socks. Shade does not offer solace from moist, viscous air. In the afternoons, if luck chances by, the humidity lofts into thick purple clouds and rain slaps hot pavement. I can breathe. III The carrot leaves fell from gold foliage like drops of sunset. I closed my eyes and saw twelve wild turkeys gaggle cross the yard, a doe freeze, framed by the window, ineffable bright-lined

she has taken up dancing by sunshinegypsy, literature

Literature

she has taken up dancing

she thinks of suicide as a lost art. she wakes to write a poem, her face is not listening to her and it is smiling. she touches her daughter’s sleeping limbs, feels love like a tidal wave, picks up a boulder, rises to greet it; it is May and the tree outside her window is bare, she begins singing out loud. she speaks in French, she has never heard the words, but reading them from the page, they sound like birds taking flight.

How to Look in the Mirror by batmanonrobin, literature

Literature

How to Look in the Mirror

1. i. Let your mouth be a mouth, dropping open. Let it smile and contort itself. ii. The way some people smile makes me believe they are polar bears on melting ice caps and the rest of them look like a growling monkey, trying to say "I have no weapon," but it is clicking its teeth together instead. 2. i. You love her the way she is. If you had her you would never even say "Take your clothes off". You know she is not beautiful underneath those garments. Her breasts are drooping. She has a scar on her stomach after having her appendix removed when she was eight. You would not want to ruin your love for her- begi

if i had to end by Aadea, literature

Literature

if i had to end

i. i am the cat with rabies you euthanized. my happiness comes from twenty different corners of your mouth - and more importantly my happiness came [and you did too] in correspondence with the stray thunder hissing and crying at our window. ii. i ask you if you have always enjoyed conquering small countries and small hearts and you say "no" with silence like i had asked the wrong question. iii. i was some kind of naked galaxy before you. i was some kind of rotwood flute. and now - i am hollow bones or unidentifiable blood cells burrowing my swollen feet in the sands of the moon.

Tuesday by sunshinegypsy, literature

Literature

Tuesday

You write the words so no one will understand, it is Tuesday again, always Tuesday, even when it is Friday and the school across the street shrieks with excitement, the walls have ears and you say it is Tuesday and carefully write a list of what you have and have not allowed yourself, because it is always Tuesday and the walls shake their heads, and trace the lines of your notes, shorter every week, but not every day because it is not Tuesday and you can write what you need, the walls do not have ears. You do not use the phone because the words have slipped from your grasp, the subtle difference between careful and controlled, th

to my former self - by Aadea, literature

Literature

to my former self -

i. in a dim and exhausted new york subway train - i surrender my fingerprints over to dirty railings and start over. ii. my body stretches like a mayan temple over his landscape. my sun drags itself across his skies to his brutal moon prowling the outskirts of our madness. he says bend yourself to these sights, love. recognize, but never accept. i want your filthy and bruised hope on my table. he was saturating space, says - how much do you love your world. eyes screaming alive over and over again. you can do better he says, but you want to do worse. iii. a giraffe crawls out of my dead skin and is silent, but stares with fa

never looking back. by this-epiphany, literature

Literature

never looking back.

--- 1. I am running away to Africa. 2. I am setting my body adrift. lover, tell me one last time that I'm not seaworthy with this sail I patched with my own hands and watch me rake waves with my fingers in the other direction; my whole life, the tides carried me to you and now I am finally floating away. 3. you were the only shore I saw until I opened my eyes a little wider. I'm afraid of dark water and open seas but I am more afraid of your coastline at night, the way the things I thought I knew and could see clearly disappear and leave me battered and broken against the rocks. 4.

09-04-89 by Dibujando, literature

Literature

09-04-89

2. times you've woken with a start, only to realize what day it is. In all honesty, you'd rather have stayed asleep. 4. cards this year but not one is from your grandmother in Idaho. Either she has forgotten you exist again, [god knows she never liked you, hopeless, pathetic middle-child that you are,] or she is dead. you really musn't get your hopes up. 7. cups of coffee. phone calls from ex-boyfriends. tears. 11. people have forgott

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