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Edgelessit was two in the afternoon
the afternoon sun sparked my room into orange light;
all our edges had blurred;
love, we had no edges at all.
i lay thinking of my summer;
[i smoked too many cigarettes, i didn't kiss you enough,
i broke a heart, i fixed two]
the summer ended a thousand times with every setting sun;
and every time the sun rose, it started again.
the final sun was setting on our summer;
when the afternoon sun sparked my room into orange light;
i thought of collarbones, tired eyes and forevers
and how i want all those edgeless things with you
the onsethe never stood still and it annoyed me that
his resting position was always halfway between a stretch and an unrelenting springing.
i figured the outward restlessness was a manifestation of an inward fear of being still
but he loved yoga and meditation.
he was a contradiction of himself in many ways,
the happiest sad face you'll ever see,
the distraction you can't help but focus on:
he has a lot of thoughts,
he doesn't speak fast enough for them,
then it all catches up with him
Vascillate(july nights are for)
thinking back to when:
i love you
replaced my damaged skin with the sound of the ocean;
replaced my tired eyes with butterflies wings;
replaced my chattering teeth with poetry;
replaced my shaking hands with pieces of the moon.
it was just that simple
(july nights are for)
i miss you
i love you
it was just that simple
(july nights are for)
vacillating futures, hazy promises;
to craft bigger futures and vaster promises for my hungry, destructive mind.
because it's just not simple anymore
(i love you)
july nights are for
turning off my phone when you call
and being alone when you need me the most.
untenable1. it's January-
i'm hearing his voice for the first time on a wednesday.
i'm the new girl at school,
standing awkwardly on the periphery of girls i barely know who were talking to him about late assignments or something.
i'm standing in a shaky, nervous way, waiting to be introduced or acknowledged.
he looked at me once, but i was looking at him the whole time.
i couldn't stop looking at him. later, he would tell me that he liked that about me.
but by the time he was telling me that, i had become too self conscious to meet his eyes as much as i used to.
7. it's July-
things are going wrong, i'm feeling worse more frequently.
we're swapping definitions of love over the phone,
he says: love is the person you always want to be with, no matter what.
i say: i don't think i know what love is.
things are going wrong.
we're talking about the countdown.
2. it's February-
we joke about how good we look together
we jokingly hold hands and take
Sleeplessi'm drowning in a puddle of little extremities
that attack in diminutive dramatic doses.
i'm losing friends,
i'm losing sleep;
a sweeping sunset swiftly burns a pale sky,
i'm melting in a freezer and freezing in the fire
and every feeling cancels out every other feeling.
i'm losing battles,
i'm losing clarity;
the stars burn out and give way to morning.
CataclysmI tend to think emblematic thoughts:
hectically, I think up intricate poems as things are happening,
willfully splitting myself into both bystander and perpetrator.
I do this every time my fingers skim his angular collarbones,
noting their vulnerability under my hurricane fingertips,
my tornadoes of attachment, my storm clouds of indecision, my incessant rain.
I could write about that forever.
He said to me: I think you are incredibly intelligent.
i realize that it's getting harder to write poems about you,
immortalizing you in words that can't even properly describe how much i hate this,
or how much i love you. I realize that
i can't decide which is stronger.
every day more than four million people fly on commercial airlines worldwide,
in over one hundred thousand planes.
reducing you to a part of this statistic doesn't lessen the pull i feel in my chest,
but at least i tried.
and what if, this time, it's not as easy as turning off my phone?
what if i can't just throw you away with everything you gave me?
what if i can't just distance myself from it until it's so small i can swallow it up?
what if i've finally found the pain i have to work through?
if i'm lucky- statistically, i will fall in love seven times before marriage.
you will always be the first.
you will always be the messiest, most confusing, most beautiful, most shocking
it's been roughly one hundred and eighty two days since we met
AsphyxiativeI know I'm difficult
too often I stop myself from asking:
would you hate me if I messed up really bad?
would you hate me if I had a new friend, just like how we were friends,
who was there for me when you couldn't be,
and kissed me on my black sofa?
would you hate me if it got too hard?
would you hate me if I stopped calling back, just like how I used to
when the line went dead too early
and I still needed to hear your voice?
would you hate me if the noise never stopped?
would you hate me if I couldn't even focus on being still and content, just like how I used to be
when we met and started talking
and you fell in love with me?
would you hate me if I ended this poem too soon?
would you hate me for running out of things to say and giving up, just like how I always do,
when you ask me what's wrong?
Arithmophobiawe had thirty six days left when you asked me why I don't talk about it,
it was nearing two in the morning when i told you.
i told you all the things i hate talking about,
i was speaking into the vacuous, suffocating, ambiguous dark
not knowing if you were crying on the other side of the phone,
or even there at all.
i spoke despite my voice denying me the power to sound powerful.
my voice shook and spluttered and stumbled over words,
i mumbled my words into the enormous void.
and, for a split second, i was starting to think that maybe, possibly, hopefully –
but as soon as the phone went dead, and the silence encroached
there was just more to say.
thirty five, thirty four;
there's more to say today, there will be more to say tomorrow
and there's only so much you can listen.
Death isn't a fresh perspectiveI saw my mother
swallowing something small
when I was just a child
The anguish in her eyes
faded, as she told me
it was just a
with a little extra kick
maybe years later,
that's how I convinced
to swallow fifteen,
give me a fresh perspective;
in the end,
my breath reeked
instead of mint.
fall in love with (splitting hairline fractures)we swallow blues instead
of talking them out. oh,
kids like us are specters,
spectacles: boys counting
rib(cage)s & (de)composing
don't you hate
is a vessel
we're deities or tomb-raiders; no
in-betweens for writers these days
Dark SideThere's another side of me
A side I barely show
It's my dark side
And my pride
The time I showed it to my friends
They were shocked, worried
I will tell you what they said
Decide for me
If these are what you call
One said 'just be happy'
One said 'that isn't true!'
One said ' but I've got it much worse'
One said 'don't be annoying'
One said nothing at all
Only One listened
That could be you
This is my dark side
The one that tells the truth
It makes me write
It keeps my dreams
It is everything I have
But no one knows
i'm not going to lie and say she was perfect.her skin was spotted with what she passed off as freckles,
but what were really scars from a thousand summer suns
as she ran about outside,
climbing trees and treading rivers,
pretending to be an american bomber
in the midst of WWII.
she kept crimson stains on pearl pink lips,
which always had the habit of getting on her teeth
because she put on make-up after dressing in her car
and ordering coffee in every way she hated it
as she drove to the record store three times a day,
ignoring her job downtown.
she owned four and a half hairbrushes exactly,
i took count on the first night i stepped into that whirl-wind room,
though her lopsided up-dos of messy blonde hair revealed just how much her fingers
never broke the dust.
she had these lovely fragile hands
that showed each and every vein and bone,
the type of hands made for tearing boys like me apart.
how could i have even expected to survive,
a paper poet
held against a reckless flame?
I died todayI died today
Took my own life
I was tired
I was desperate
And now I'm dead
People never cared
So I left them behind
Now a new life awaits
Beyond the gates of Hell
each kiss carries
context and content,
sad eyes pour into mine
like a swimming pool
being filled with angels’ tears.
i cup her face in my hands,
trying to hold all of the water
that escapes her
as i gently kiss her forehead.
i will cradle her cerebrum
and maintain our composure.
i will protect you.
refers to the hands on a clock,
as well as the anatomical.
and this kiss is subtle,
but it represents our passing of time.
i started this with my mother at 13,
and only a few embraces away from 18.
with our fingers locking
themselves to adolescence.
i never have visibly blushed,
but i swear my flushed cheek
burned where your left your lips
for nearly a lifetime.
at least that’s what it felt like.
i kissed the blinds
that covered the windows
of your soul
to let you know
the sun still shone
even if your eyes were close
bone brittlethey say that love is like an ocean and you can feel the waves
filling up your stomach, saltwater rolling against your nervous system.
they say that when you're in love and you curl your toes in pleasure
you can feel wet sand between them, warm against the skin.
but your love was like a desert.
our love left me parched, throat raw, the taste of grit in my mouth.
my stomach empty, growling for some sort of sustenance,
something you always refused to give me when i needed it most.
you told me you loved me, like a mirage floating amongst our heat.
if love is like an ocean then you were loneliness, i guess.
every saltwater tear you cried evaporated into thin air.
you were the Sahara and i was the Atlantic.
we collided every time we met.
Sleepless part IIyou were a lot of sleepless nights in february,
because we took an anticlimactic walk in the onset of rain.
we didn't know how to speak to each other,
so we played tennis with frustrated little sighs.
you were the sleepless nights in march,
because i was writing about you, and i never used to write.
we sat down on my swing set,
we talked with raised voices between too-long pauses.
you were sleepless nights in april
when the messy kisses stopped being so volatile, so mercurial.
even when we stopped sighing and fighting,
i never slept quite the same as i used to.
five.Five is the number of times you worry he’s stopped breathing, as the surgeons carve around his heart, twisting away the plaque ridden arteries, and pulling a vein out of his leg. Five is the number of heart wrenching hours you and your family were waiting in the hospital room, worried that your lives would crumble, that there would be five members of the family instead of six, that five days out of the week he would not come home for dinner, that five kisses from him would no longer be given to his wife and four children. Five was the amount of fingernails you bit off while watching people enter and exit the waiting room, and the amount of minutes your mother spent on the phone, explaining that something was wrong. Five is the critical difference between holding a father’s hand as your mother cries into his heart shaped pillow. The difference between rejoicing and smiling weakly because he’s okay or carrying your father’s American-flag-covered-casket and watchin
A Guide to Writing DialogueWhat is dialogue, exactly? The definition from Merriam-Webster’s dictionary was several lines long, so I shall summarize it in a short sentence for the sake of the readers; it’s the writing that illustrates conversations between two or more characters in a story. We read and hear it all around us, but creating it in your own work can be a challenge. However, if you find dialogue an obstacle in your writing, then don’t push the panic button. In this tutorial, you’ll find by analyzing what dialogue can do and how to use it, you can turn your greatest fear into your greatest ally in your story.
What dialogue is
Like I’ve asserted before, dialogue is basically what the characters are saying to each other. It can be found in multiple mediums such as books, movies, comics, video games, etc. We even engage in dialogue daily without even thinking. When you talk to your best friend, a co-worker, or even your dog, you create dialogue. It’s exchang
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More