[x]

Does that make me Different?I wear make up. Does that make me fake?
I cry. Does that make me emo?
I have male friends. Does that make me slutty?
I smile a lot. Does that make me weird?
I laugh loud. Does that make me preppy?
I have anxiety. Does that make me a freak?
I have Bipolar Disorder. Does that make me abnormal?
I respect people. I change for me, and only me. I have a past, but I know I have a future.
Does that make me different?
Maybe.
But at least it makes me
Me.

FrostbiteNumbness
I can’t feel my toes and at first I think
It’s just my toes.
I can cover them up.
I can warm them.

It spreads, like fire,
Like ice.
I glance away for a second, it seems, and my feet are cold
Pat –pat
That’s funny, I didn’t feel that
Maybe I’ll cover them up too
I’ll warm them up.

I’ll take a nap
Maybe a short rest will make it all better, warm them
Up…
What’s that? How long has it been?
My legs… are you still mine..
Why has my breath left me, short?
Has everything but deserted me?

What about you, are you still here?
Are you still with me?
Hello?
And before I can say goodbye, I think my thoughts are leaving me too –

You'll Never Understand...You'll never understand...
But I'm glad you don't.
Because that would mean
You'd have to go through my pain.
And I'd never wish that
For you.

Dear fucked society,Dear fucked up society,
Why do you take our rights?
Our human rights?
To who we love?
To who we are.. To our image?
Tell me.

You force images down our throat;
Images of airbrushed, false looking
people. You want people to look
more skinny and cause anorexia,
More along the hidden line that
you dig under the ground like
a dead forgotten body yet always there

You show us that its not right to be gay,
lesbian, bi-sexual or transgendered..
And then wonder why the suicide rate is
so fucking high. You cause the nightmares
and terrors of our family not accepting us
our

Telling Childhood Goodnight.They were the fearless whispers through the starless night.
They were the pounding feet through the cobbled streets,
Screaming out for everything.
They were the fleeting memories of a time long gone by,
Blown away in the wind to a far away sky,
Where the air is cold and the stars never shine.

Memories leave their traces behind,
The scars on my legs from a day long gone by.
I was climbing a rock,
That would forever leave me with a flaw.

They were the youthful cries, screaming out.
They were the glowing eyes, on a fearless march,
Racing down the cobbled streets, blazing out for all to see.
The beacon of light that is now dying out,
I never wanted it to go away.
Everything is changing at a speed I can’t match,
I am drifting further every day.

It makes me want to cry that the best and worst days of my life,
Are being pushed away with every day that passes by.
I want to hold on
But each day I lose more ground.
Soon they will be gone without even a sound.

Th

Sleeping Beautyshe’s in love with a character who
never existed but in the labyrinth of her head:
a patchwork composition of beautiful, lengthy words
she’d heard in her catatonic state; coma living
day in and day out, reliant on the salvation
of a man made of foreign wishing
and imperfection and necessity – an ignorance
of the less than ideal perception of self she’d
come to fear, absention stained romantic to the point
where daydreams were a standard for survival

(real living is for the purposeful of heart,
he loves her in her sleep)

Silent and GoneAlong the blue streams of those who were simplistically glassed, I drag my wooden, empty coffin; it contains only my past.

For the many decades I've lengthened have expanded pain's time; across shallow mountains and beatings I prepare my final climb.

Through harsh mists and soft grasses the journey trembles on; days on end without my voices; alas, I realize they are gone.

Near all abandonment's shelter I rest without ease; my halved demon appears before me; she speaks hellishly in the breeze.

Forgiveness and hallucination she crisply burns in my eyes; I must awaken and continue, 'tis my time to remain wise.

To a judging stream near the g

I don't fight fair...Cut, bruised, scraped, forgotten. These things I have all been at least once in my life. But it
hasn't made me stronger, just more determined in my fight to live another day.
I know the ways of my attackers, studied their movements, learned their tricks and gleamed
their true motives. I have seen their weaknesses, their faults, theirs flaws and I have kept
them close to me, ready for use when the next time we meet.
They are cautious of me, they have weary from my adaptive ways, knowing that I can fall only
so many times. They are scared for I have the key to their defeat; not by sane ways, but by
the ways they fear to tread.
One look, one stare, one gesture and they will run in fear for the truth is upon them: "I won't
live restrained anymore."
"I have seen your errors an played on them like strings on a violin. Moved you to place were I
make the rules. Put you on display for all to see what you have done, and what will be done."

You ha

The WaitingBones hang from trees
Hollow windchimes rattling
In the sullen breeze

Dark clouds make noonday dusk
Rusted buttons on threadbare coats
Sorrow drips like rain

(From the fingertips of this dead-rose day)

Hoofprints kill the grass
Where the dark horse steps
The rider unsmiling

The tired and ill amble about
Cattle awaiting the shoulder tap
To sleep, but not to dream

(To become whatever the second birth dictates)

the carbon footprint of an arsonistyour crystal promise
rings drip off your glacial
fingers into global

nothings. the geodesic
dome you used to live in
is a hell you keep

clean-shaven and concentric,
spiraling away from you,
wrapping your unborn

children up in paper goblets.
for minimum wage, any geryon
would cling to the terza rima

inkblots on your
collarbones, his spongy molars
diving into your right

angles, his familiar laughs
killing your skin with
shivering cuddles and you

shudder, being self-diagnosed
at center of the universe,
your hair a nest of radio

waves, the one cosmic
principle drumming on the ancient
heart of mystery.

but amateur porn always
made you cry

lifelinesI fear the sound of sparrows
and the density of leaves
against dew-muffled blades
of grass,

and I'm drowning
in the sky.

My skin has learned how
to peel itself off
without causing a commotion
in my marrows or
even show the slightest hint
of pain,
and my heart has learned how
to hush the stars in their wake
and keep it all a secret.

There's a sea in my mouth
and I can't swim.

There are lifelines
cast like these and it will
all end with the same tragedy.

of seafoam thronesFrom Atlas’ hands she wept to me,
atop Africas and South Atlantics;

this is one situation unaffected by
ember eyes and windy lashes
(it has no anatomy).

You are sparrows stranded
in tiny crevices and cliffside love,
though you rebuke flight
in the fear of chipping feathers.

So what do you do?

You reach for my soul,
coveting flight with shaking
dainty arms…

and perhaps I’ll let you:
With flytrap lips and
glass shaped hips…
you are unfit for anything but
sight.

(But beauty isn’t everything)

Happily AloneHonesty,
She does not have,
Personalities,
She has many of them.

A million shields,
a million personalities,
She's always changing,
to fit every person around her.

If one were to ask why,
she would answer with,
I will never reveal my weaknesses,
because she's evil.

She hates everyone,
stupider than her is barely tolerable,
smarter than her is too scary,
She hates it all.

She leaves the world behind,
To one she has dreamt of,
No color,
nobody else.

Then,
she will smile,
why,
because she is truly happy alone.

She is not evil,
She does not hate you,
She is not dishonest,
She simply wants to be alone.

A Charmed LifeDoll-faced men and sinkholes, ancient tombstones
Leaves piled ankle-deep, falling down
Old wells, old graves, old friends lost
Pirate adventures in Neverland
Don't go into that barn

Ponchoboy and Rangergirl rise from the ashes
From the cold river, from afar
Remember before they were born, how they
Held hands and jumped into the world
Don't go into that school

Ladybugs, pennies, notes from the dead sun eclipse
Scrape the inside of your skull for clues
All the old dreams are still there, petrified
You are a rock of ages gibbering
Don't go into that factory

weight of the worldand suddenly--
it was like the world decided that
it didn't want to carry its burden any longer,
so it shifted the weight
into the hollows of my bones
and told me that
it was my problem now.

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Nano Day 30+98.

She wandered, empty. It had been three days since he left, and every second felt like a long, painful month of staring into nothingness. She was bereaved. She turned to see him, and there was a space in the air, the same shape and size as he was, but – empty. She thought of her father, stolid and dependable like Idwal, and how easily he had slipped away – and now she was looking for two ghosts that would not appear. But Idwal was alive, graspable, wonderfully whole. He was just – not here…

Every time she walked through the hall she traced her finger over the ivory plastic of the phone receiver. She dipped her fingers

Nano Day 30+77.

A week passed, and another week… Winter had pushed the brief autumn away with brutal decisiveness. The first frost had fallen, and edged every blade of grass in the fields until it seemed to be a miniature battlefield, tiny glass-edged swords crossed in frozen combat for miles around.

Anwen's breath steamed when she stepped outside to see to the dogs. The water in their bowls was frozen over with thin discs of ice, and she pushed them with her fingertips, making them seesaw, letting the water beneath seep through. And then she plucked up the courage to lift the clear panes and she dropped them onto the concrete of the yard, her fin

Nano Day 30+6She sat, holding the receiver… It was yellow-white like ivory, yellow-white like a curved bone, and warm where it has been pressed against her head. It was warm like a live thing,

She put it back in the cradle.

Something unspecified inside her torso seemed to be fluttering like a caged bird. Something was knocking at her throat and making her mind feel like a wide, wild, empty space, like sheets of paper being blasted in the wind. She sat, aware of her body, aware of the warmth of her torso and of the thin layer of fat and muscle that was laid over her ribs and back, and how they looked when they were peeled back on a jointed lamb. She

Nano Day 30+4******

It was the thin light of a summer evening when Anwen finally gained the chance to talk to Idwal. Her mother had been moving around the house ever since her rest, quiet and somehow smaller, as if she was half in another world. Her hands were thin and restless, and her wedding ring looked loose about her finger, and even as she silently tidied or rearranged she seemed to be inhabiting another place to this reality.

Anwen slipped out into the yard as she saw Idwal crossing from the gate, and she followed him into the shippon and said quietly, 'Id.'

He turned, and smiled, and reached out a hand toward her waist.

'Id, mam's back,' she s

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Submitted: November 5, 2012
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Two Poems of Drowning

by =Aconitum-Napellus, Nov 5, 2012, 9:33:15 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

I write to be obscure(d).
The depths will catch me like a web,
like your depths, out of reach,
while our fingers like weed in a stream
reach with the current,
flowing north when we should point south.
Even the crispest, clearest of days
will not awaken you.
Autumn sun through autumn leaves
will not reach us all.

What words could reach you?
An embryo settled in silt,
your womb-bed a winter lake,
unconscious as glacial drift.
Your womb-mates are fish.
Stygian things, eyes like stones,
mouths open in soft surprise
at what sank in their realm.
The solitude of death must be beyond compare,
all ruin at an end, all ruin beginning,
a passing through to a nothing time.
And after the drowning, a wake,
a churning you are blind to now,
the fragmented grief of disparate souls.
A mute womb-bound life
all your legacy and trust.

Two Poems of Drowningby =Aconitum-Napellus

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Requiescat in pace

Michael Bailey. 11th October 1976 - early November, 2012.

I never believed I would write those words.

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

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*archelyxs Nov 22, 2012

I'm speechless, but I can give you this:

=Aconitum-Napellus Nov 23, 2012 Professional Writer

Thank you

~winterkate Nov 12, 2012 Student Writer

Wow. Really gorgeous, brilliant work. I love your tone and diction here, and the overall mood you create. I think womb is used maybe one time too many in the last stanza, but overall....I just really, really love this piece.

=Aconitum-Napellus Nov 23, 2012 Professional Writer

Thank you

I'll have to look at that stanza. It's not my best piece of work.

~winterkate Nov 24, 2012 Student Writer

It was still a very effective wrap-up

~chazcartier Nov 9, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Your womb-mates are fish.
Stygian things, eyes like stones,
mouths open in soft surprise
at what sank in their realm.

stunning.

=Aconitum-Napellus Nov 11, 2012 Professional Writer

Thank you

~chazcartier Nov 11, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

no prob...

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Two Poems of Drowning

Two Poems of Drowningby =Aconitum-Napellus

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