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About Deviant o-ohhaiFemale/United States Group :iconpoets-are: Poets-Are
Poets with real emotion.
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Literature
November Cold
November sinks its icy fingers
Between my shoulder blades
And an ache blossoms inside of me.
I imagine a lacy white filigree of frost
Growing over my lungs,
Spidering over my veins
And up into my heart.
The cold crawls up my throat
So that when I breathe
I half expect snowflakes and hoarfrost
To fall from my lips.
I've got an ice-heavy heart in me
And I am breathing winter,
Wondering if my tears would freeze
If they even fell at all.
Help me shake November's chill.
Blaze passion and fire into me
And never let me pull away from the heat of you
Kiss away the rime of ice that coats me
Sink your fingers into my skin
So that cracks spiral crazily from your fingertips
So that finally, with a small shudder,
I splinter and sink into you
Burned and blackened,
I am only yours
And November will never touch me.
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 114 73
Literature
Stone
"You have a stone in your heart,"
That rouses me somewhat. I look up from my book and out the window at the gray fog that's settled over everything like wet cotton. I imagine breathing it, letting it fill my lungs with gray. All at once, the room is suffocating and I push the window open and the cool air tumbles in and ruffles the pages of my book so that I lose my place.
The spell of the story unravels and some part of me aches to know that the sort of love that exists in the storybooks is never true.
She loves the lines of him.
Her.
"Are you listening?"
"… Yes," I say without much conviction.
Rainwater pools on the windowsill.
"You— you have a stone in your heart,"
I've waited a long time to show these flowers how pretty you are.
"Yes," I trace circles on the white laminate with a fingertip.
"Most days you can ignore it. And there are even some people who can make it lighter. But it always comes back. In the end it… It always comes back,"
I should have
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 266 109
Mature content
Wonder if You Wonder :icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 71 52
Literature
Curio
She can't handle being manhandled
By all the pretty girls
So it's best not to touch her at all.
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 39 27
Literature
Dancing
I can't dance, Dreamgirl. Did you know that?
I think Novembers will always hurt the most, unless maybe I meet you on the seventh or the fifth or your birthday falls around that time. That might be okay, I think. But I will always think differently in November.
Explain this, please:
It is December and cold and bright and perfect. It smells like woodsmoke and snow in the clouds and when she steps outside, she takes a deep, deep breath. But the air is too cold for her scarred insides and she starts to cough uncontrollably. Why doesn't she remember that cold air makes her lungs tight?
Maybe she pretends not to remember. Or maybe she is preoccupied because she is thinking of last month and how she can't breathe. But it was warm in November. Warmer than last year. The scars were quieter, but that could have been because of you, actually.
She draws a second, careful breath and cinches her coat more tightly around her. She glares sullenly at the cheery winter sky and it glows back, making h
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 64 55
Literature
I wanted to tell you
There's a heady exhilaration blooming in my chest and a broad, triumphant smile on my lips and I know I look almost too happy, but I can't control my beaming, and I am absolutely bursting to tell you the news:
That my essay was perfect, that I nailed the presentation, that the biochem final was a walk in the park.
And, oh, God, I want to tell you so many things and that I love you and that I want you and I want to feel your arms around me, just barely containing my wild excitement. I want to laugh with relief and feel your lips curve up in a smile against the skin of my neck.
And I love you,
I love you,
I love you.
It's these moments when I am absolutely on top of the world that I want to share with you. I want you to laugh and tease me and call me a nerdy little bookworm and your baby girl and then kiss me all over so that I am pulled in a thousand directions at once. I want to absolutely unwind in your arms, but you hold me so tightly that I'm never afraid
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 86 23
Literature
True
I lost everything I was, true.
But all I was
I was for you.
And, oh,
Soldier girl,
I wish you knew
How I still cry
To think of you
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 81 54
Literature
Cracked
"I'm waiting, Miss Dickinson. Waiting, waiting, waiting," I say it all in a singsong voice and then dissolve into giggles because somehow the made up tune makes the laughter bubble up in my chest like champagne and I'm thinking of the time I got drunk on New Years and beat the girl I loved at gin and later poker even though the cards spun a little bit in my vision.
"But I played 'em close to my chest," I smile up at the sky and am rewarded with a fat raindrop hitting me square in the eye and then another and another and I open my mouth and I imagine myself drinking the whole sky and being filled with blue.
It wasn't New Years this year. It was last year.
"I was happy last year,"
Emily Dickinson told me that death was on his way, but he's late. And I guess my schedule's not as full as hers, because I can and I have come to a full and complete stop, just like a train or a bus and then (and only then) am I allowed to safely exit. Only I've jumped out of moving vehicles befor
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 59 59
Literature
three a.m.
It is nearly three a.m. on a Sunday and half the world is awake.
Strains of the national anthem bounce off the alleyways and filter through my window. From my room on the sixth floor, I can see a group of inebriated revelers stumble past on their way from one bar to another. They laugh and shout and wave a great star-spangled flag above their heads. One boy is wearing pale blue-checkered boxers and little else.
I turn away. Back to my room, which is dark and my roommate who is asleep, and to my bed where I have chased sleep with far less success for nearly three hours. I am supposed to be happy, maybe. Proud, at least. Tonight, of all nights, I am supposed to be able to sleep easier.
I am supposed to be celebrating death.
And yet, the most emotion I can muster is mild surprise, but not because a wanted man is dead.
The boy on the street is wearing the same boxers as I am. Pale blue and checkered. I smooth my hands over the tightly spun cotton, which is all hot under my fingers because
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 55 54
Literature
Smoke
I don't know if it's the smoke in my lungs or your lips on mine, but I swear I am floating in my own skin, so close to drifting away, just like the gray haze that spirals towards the ceiling
But you hold me to you, deliciously too tight, as if you feel me falling away
And with my hands locked around your wrists and the amber scent of you deep in my chest, I know I would not leave you.
I will never leave you
--
The mist is cool as it prickles over my skin, but it warms to the blood tumbling through the translucent blue veins of my wrists.
The scent is sharper than I remember, harsh and biting, as though the amber curves are turning to razor blades, sharp and lethal and warning you away.
I anoint the hollows beneath my ears and the sharp points of my clavicle with my fingertips and I imagine that she is still holding me too tightly, and so I am almost safe.
Because there are lines drawn into me that you dare not cross, and because there are some promises I still keep.
And I am kee
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 53 41
Literature
Inside Out
It is like my skin cannot contain me
Like every fear and every secret
Churns and hammers and rages
Just beneath my shoulder blades
And the worn-out hollow
At the base of my throat
And I am stretched so thin
That only a fragile membrane
Stands between my heart
And how its every beat would be written
Into the translucent skin of my wrists
If it weren't so firmly caged behind my ribs,
If I hadn't already made that mistake
Of wearing my heart on my shirtsleeves once before.
I think sometimes
That I might be tearing already
Unraveling at those very seams
That I'm trying my hardest to hold together
So that when you ask me
If there's something wrong,
I'm beginning to indulge
In a short pause where
I don't meet your eyes.
I look down instead,
And for a brief moment,
I let that small, private pain
Pass across my face and
Press against my lips
I'll push it back, though
Because I need to prove to myself
That my skin is not so fragile as it seems
That I'm not as vulnerable as I feel
That I am capa
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 110 70
Literature
Dreamgirl
Dear Dreamgirl,
You don't know it yet, but you might save my life.
You are taller than I am and your hands are long so that they fold over mine. Your
mouth is full and real and made for smiling and your eyes are sharp because you see
and kind because you pretend not to.
Sometimes, when I'm walking down the street, I see somebody in a crisp dress uniform
or carefully groomed fatigues and my stomach bottoms out. I want to cry, but I don't,
because I swear to God nobody will ever see me cry ever again.
I might hold your hand too tightly and put my face into your neck, because the warm
scent of you drifts over your sensible shoulders and everything that was spiraling
away will spin back into place—
Dear Dreamgirl,
In the ugly, scarred parts of me, the parts that I don't like to show anybody,
there'll be a sliver of coal-black disbelief. You're going to leave me, too. You will.
You'll walk away and you'll never look back, just like she did. And I'll be alone
again and more broken than
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 110 96
Literature
I Remember Me
She is only eighteen and the world has never failed her. Her smile is wide, open-mouthed and dimpled. And when she laughs—God, when she laughs—it's a free, melodic thing, unrestrained, like pealing bells. It bubbles out of her, all golden curls, just like the lion's mane that ranges wildly around her eyes. She is so happy, so lively. So alive.
She is nineteen and her small hands shake with something that is panic and excitement and something a great deal more. She is in love and suddenly her world is narrowed to one wild, beautiful girl and her kisses and her smile. Baby girl. Nobody has ever called her that. Nobody has ever cared for her in that way, and she is in love with the way she is loved—so wholly and completely and with such overwhelming passion.
There is a small part of her that is convinced that this cannot be real, that maybe this cannot last. But she tries to push that part of her away. How can she think that when there is a ring and a promise
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 71 55
Literature
Conversations in the Rain
"At least put up your umbrella. Seriously—you'll catch your death out here,"
I turn to look at her, give her a withering look, and turn away. I lift and relax my shoulder blades, settling my jacket more snugly about me. The raindrops that cling to the water-resistant fabric scatter with the movement and, for a moment, I'm surrounded by a silvery halo. Then the little droplets fall and burst against the pavement at my feet, and the moment's gone.
There's an umbrella in my pack, of course. I should use it, probably. It's an old wives' tale that getting cold and wet will make you sick, but I'd never been able to convince her of that. She was always stubborn that way.
She frowns disapprovingly now. "I'm not impressed by this, you know. I don't know what you think you're doing, but we both know you should get inside,"
I look at the ground for a second. The rain has plastered my hair to my face and neck, and when I look up, she reaches out to peel an errant curl from where it's settled
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 87 55
Literature
Drowning Instinct
Twenty seconds
And there's no air
I can't, says her body
And her empty lungs agree
I can't do this anymore.
Stop fighting.
There is nothing,
Nothing you can do
No air to breath
No strength to move
Drift.
There is
     nothing
         left.
Safe? They mouth it from the shore.
She's not crying
Or shouting
Or waving her hands
There's no frantic splashing.
                                                   .
Peaceful.                                         
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 97 86
Literature
Lackland
"Drop it,"
"You drop it,"
"I'm the one with the gun, missy,"
"Yeah, and your jugular's right under my knife," I press a little harder, showing him how much I mean it.
"You bit?"
"Do I look infected to you?"
He sighs.
"Never was much for killing kids," He mutters, lowering the shotgun he'd had trained on my chest. He drops it carefully and nudges it towards me with one foot.
"I'm not a kid," I tell him—not whining, just telling. I don't pick up the shotgun, just kick it a little farther away from him. Not as if I've ever known how to handle a gun, anyway. I'm more likely to shoot my foot off before I hit anything.
After a few second's consideration, I take my knife from his throat. I don't think I could kill him, anyway, and he seems much more friendly without his gun. "My name's S—"
"No—no names," he cuts across my introduction. "Doesn't matter who you are, does it?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Where're you from?" Again, he overrides me, but he does it in an amiable
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai
:icono-ohhai:o-ohhai 93 91

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Untitled
I've burnt my feelings to ashes
Given them to the waters flow
Sent your name away with the winds
And buried my memories in the hard earth
But you're still here
Or rather
I can still feel you out there
Because I'm connected to you
By that little piece of heart I left behind
On the day you left none the wiser
Everyday I convince myself of things -
You can do this, you're stronger than this, everything will be fine
But I can't convince myself you could have loved me
That the words meant nothing
And the feelings then
Are gone now
Lost to time and memory and the hurt that never fades
Maybe one day I'll forget your name
Maybe one day your face will become a blur
Maybe one day I'll hear your voice and not remember
But I'll know the small battered piece of me I left behind
Even if it's been burnt
Drowned
Toss about
And ground into the dust
Because it'll always be a part of me
And it will always be a part of you.
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I wonder if you could sense how I feel when I look at you,
Tilting my head to the side when I smile with you.
The way I feel when I listen to you,
The anticipation in my stomach right before seeing you.
I could hold my breath counting the number of stars I see in your eyes,
Stretch my fingertips to graze the surface of your lips,
And slowly, tenderly,
Fall in love with the way you look at me every time.
I sometimes wonder if you could see all this in my eyes,
Recognize the feeling of my heart in my voice,
Feel the tenderness of my mind lost in translation,
A heart wavering like an angel hair in the wind.
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:iconmadam--kitty:
Madam--Kitty Featured By Owner May 23, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist

Hi. wanna join my group called Anti-illuminati-01? anti-illuminati-01.deviantart.…

P.S. The group is about politics in case you were wondering.

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:iconsolitudedefinesme:
solitudedefinesme Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
please check out my poems, I loved yours!
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:iconpre-heresykharn:
pre-heresyKharn Featured By Owner Aug 28, 2013  Professional Artisan Crafter
ša va bien, j'espere?
Reply
:iconbambi-claire:
Bambi-Claire Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
Your poems always makes me feel like you're writing my thoughts down for me. I wish I could make my words so pretty! It's like they're fragile and delicate and could just blow away, but still they're there, because you're still there. Anyways, I just wanted to say I love it all. :)
Reply
:iconrociobelindamendez:
rociobelindamendez Featured By Owner Feb 18, 2013
Your writing is beautiful. So enjoyable to read, great emotion
Reply
:icono-ohhai:
o-ohhai Featured By Owner Mar 24, 2013
Thank you for taking the time to read through some of my work :hug:
Reply
:iconthelastjinx:
TheLastJinx Featured By Owner Jan 22, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Hello. Thank you for the fave. Also for helping me out. I am very bad at dealing with sudden decisions, I went into panic mode. I feel better now that he and I have talked further. This probably should be in a note, but I started writing and it just came out, so here it will stay.

I also realized that I really miss talking to you and we should talk more often. Hope you are having a good day. I am going to watch the snow now. Bye for now, dear :)
Reply
:icono-ohhai:
o-ohhai Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2013
I'm glad to know that I could help.

I would love to talk more often, but I can't guarantee I'd be at all reliable with notes or anything. I don't come online all that often. That being said, I'm glad I got to speak with you.

Anyway, enjoy the snow, but try to stay warm.
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:iconpre-heresykharn:
pre-heresyKharn Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2013  Professional Artisan Crafter
how's it been lion? still drawing breath over there, beautiful?
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:icono-ohhai:
o-ohhai Featured By Owner Jan 20, 2013
Oh, sometimes.
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