ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
I.
A General, deemed by the stars you plucked from a summer sky,
you refuse to wear the flag of a constellation-filled heart,
instead tucking it behind ribs you forgot were translucent,
as you prepare to march off in battle of yourself, bravery feigned.
But like Indian summers that linger, your steps falter
and I bend like long, summer grass to your waning touch.
Your impending drought looms, and my rain dance can't compete
with the pounding of soldiers' boots and war-torn hearts,
and I crack and wither in the dust of ghosts, decay, and goodbyes.
II.
In revolt of mourning's light, tides roll in shells whispering old memories.
Where gentle mounds and valleys once offered refuge;
where neglect falls upon the garden you once harvested for my nectar,
used to patch your holes and heal your wounds;
here, these blossoms now bloom dead.
III.
The stillness of long, dark nights toils on and
I still dream of tracing my fingers along your seams;
connecting the dots where your light seeps out, forgiving the darkness;
flanking your worries with my lips, reassuring you of the risks;
and pulling out your demons with my teeth.
It wasn't so long ago I tasted your plans and choked on the medicinal
exit strategy you used to stop your lonely soul from swallowing mine.
Unintentionally, you keep me a prisoner; my heart starved, you are my incubus.
But you're so far gone, you no longer hear my pleas of surrender:
You can['t] have me.
IV.
Tonight, I'll pluck stars from the summer sky and paste them on my cheeks,
honoring the casualties of our needs we once masked with wants,
and our joy forsaken for the dirt paths trodden with footprints bearing our name,
but never our dreams.
--
Written: 8/31/2012
Revised: 9/10/2012
Copyright © 2012 Jennifer Fowler
All Rights Reserved
A General, deemed by the stars you plucked from a summer sky,
you refuse to wear the flag of a constellation-filled heart,
instead tucking it behind ribs you forgot were translucent,
as you prepare to march off in battle of yourself, bravery feigned.
But like Indian summers that linger, your steps falter
and I bend like long, summer grass to your waning touch.
Your impending drought looms, and my rain dance can't compete
with the pounding of soldiers' boots and war-torn hearts,
and I crack and wither in the dust of ghosts, decay, and goodbyes.
II.
In revolt of mourning's light, tides roll in shells whispering old memories.
Where gentle mounds and valleys once offered refuge;
where neglect falls upon the garden you once harvested for my nectar,
used to patch your holes and heal your wounds;
here, these blossoms now bloom dead.
III.
The stillness of long, dark nights toils on and
I still dream of tracing my fingers along your seams;
connecting the dots where your light seeps out, forgiving the darkness;
flanking your worries with my lips, reassuring you of the risks;
and pulling out your demons with my teeth.
It wasn't so long ago I tasted your plans and choked on the medicinal
exit strategy you used to stop your lonely soul from swallowing mine.
Unintentionally, you keep me a prisoner; my heart starved, you are my incubus.
But you're so far gone, you no longer hear my pleas of surrender:
You can['t] have me.
IV.
Tonight, I'll pluck stars from the summer sky and paste them on my cheeks,
honoring the casualties of our needs we once masked with wants,
and our joy forsaken for the dirt paths trodden with footprints bearing our name,
but never our dreams.
--
Written: 8/31/2012
Revised: 9/10/2012
Copyright © 2012 Jennifer Fowler
All Rights Reserved
Literature
Everything You Borrowed
On Sunday afternoon,
after exiting the church,
you plucked the sun from the sky
and hid it in your palms
so that when I held your hands
they would no longer be cold.
When Monday night arrived
you snatched every single star
and used my tears to make
a necklace.
Tuesday's empty dawn shone
through the cracks of the door--
you stole the promise of what
could never be
and draped it around my shoulders.
After Wednesday's twilight passed,
you grabbed the clouds
and wove a tapestry of lies
that I hung on the walls
of my prison.
Thursday crept through us
on silent tiptoes,
waiting for us to take notice--
instead, we merely waited
for midnight to
Literature
Goodbye
i didn’t fall in love with you
until your skin was already grey and i
had to tell you what the weather was like
since you couldn’t leave your bed.
i didn’t mind long nights in the hospital
because making you laugh brought a warmth
to my cheeks that burnt hotter than a
forest fire, you never laughed at me for blushing
i snuck you in alcohol and forbidden foods
and pushed you around in that rusted wheel chair,
and all the nurses looked at us with
miserable eyes that said more than the doctors
would ever tell me.
naively i thought it was good news
when you said they were sending you home; but
when i saw you strewn across
Literature
to be a waste of grey matter with no self-esteem
forgive these
rorschach nerves &
mercury veins -
i am no tragedy boy,
but i have self-decay
down to an art.
this tar tongue only starts
marlboro conversations &
self-ignition;
i only start fires.
Suggested Collections
Updated 9/10/2012: I wasn't completely satisfied so I've been working on tightening it up for the past week.
It's been rearranged and edited in various areas. Lots of excess clutter was removed, too. Hopefully the readability has improved.
I've been working on this one for a month and I'm tried of rearranging it over and over again.
This is the best I could come up with; I'm pretty rusty.
I will happily take critiques and/or suggestions. I need some help getting back in my groove.
It's been rearranged and edited in various areas. Lots of excess clutter was removed, too. Hopefully the readability has improved.
This is the best I could come up with; I'm pretty rusty.
I will happily take critiques and/or suggestions. I need some help getting back in my groove.
© 2012 - 2024 BeyondJen
Comments28
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
*jaw drops* a month was worth it woman!