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Six Synapses1. I would let my fingers sprawl onto the piano keys, letting each curved knuckle plink notes that would all link together like musical chains. And as I would sing and let my voice mingle with the ivory and ebony hums, you would vocalize the harmony. We sounded like two bluebirds fluttering in the sky, our voices linking talons above the clouds and falling to the ground, just to dash back up, a roller coaster belly flop that wouldn't stop.
2. I would let my fingers scrawl raw emotions onto paper, translate my synapses into words that most people still don't understand, but you did. Your mind thinks in vast skies and dissonant chords and galaxies just like mine. The only difference is that your eyes project your imagination on paper with your pencils so the memory forever lingers. Mine do the same, but only wise eyes can see the picture.
3. When I entered the battlefield called high school, the sky where I would learn to fly, the fully fledged sparrows and crows darted above my tiny blu
StringsMy self esteem and hopes and dreams were
Connected to your hands like puppet strings
You tangled me up, strung me as I clung to you
For my life because you clipped my wings...So now
You're the only chance I have
I once danced in front of you, putting my own self in a trance
But now I am no longer a puppet, but a helium balloon
Making my way up to the moon, to reach the stars
My strings pulling you up with me
The swaying lulling you to sleep
But my fear of heights is making me weep
And my rope is loosening around your wrists
I don't want you to fall
The sea is too deep
But who are you to listen to me,
And who am I to speak?
EpitaphYou were a song
Your pulse was the bass drum and
I couldn't help but hum along
To whatever was plucking your heartstrings to make
Staccatos and chords
I thought the pick of your internal guitar
Was made of my words and my laugh, but no,
I was just one point on your infinite graph
I've never met anyone else who could
Make music from their fingertips like you can
Like when you brushed my hand a bit with your wrist
It created a symphony in my brain
But now it's just a chorus of crickets and rain
I need to stop getting my hopes up
Before someone gives me a rope and I confuse it with a necklace
But it's a noose or a leash and they are a leech
I try to compose songs out of sand from the warmest beach
To try to get my mind off of you but everything good
Contains the same threads that you do
Even the chirping birds' voices don't sound sweeter than your words
I didn't know your song
Was just my epitaph
A melody to honor a relic, and when my body is just a cof
Ethereal TightropesThe other girls ran around,
The monarchs, the swallowtails, the painted ladies
Teetering in the air
Trying to balance on ethereal tightropes, their wings trying to catch the wind
But only creating it
As fingers go towards them, trapping them, their wings flapping
Their hearts tapping at their tiny thoraxes, sending their pixie blood through tiny veins
I preferred bumblebees
Humble tufts of yellow and black resting on flowers,
Clumsy enough to catch, small enough to fall for my honey hair
Into my palms
And instead of putting them in jars to starve
I would find the perfect petal
And let invisible wings take their flight.
The Girl Who Looks DownShe stares down
They all say don't look down but her fears are up
They walk by with peeled ears and scanning eyes
She sighs, like a cage with a rusty hinge
That cringes at the sight of other girls like her getting pushed around,
Their locks tightened even more,
No thought or word will escape from that iron door
On her mouth
Behind those secretive dark amber eyes are zoos full of musing and buzzing words
Her ears are lined with callouses and scars from
The words shoved in like bricks, too hard
The others tried to force her words out through her teeth like metal bars but
They don't know how bizarre they are
She walks around with her head down
Her voice remains a mystery to most people
Speaking's not a choice when everyone thinks you're a freak or weak or
A human with a beak or something
They crowned her queen of the quiet, empress of idiocy when really
No one knows how smart the words in her throat really are
The words she stuffs under her tongue could cure diseases
Weaving Night Skies from SynapsesShe was a girl with sloppy handwriting.
A girl who would twirl her hair around her fingers
And her fractured memories and dreams always lingered in her mind
She was one of a kind
A girl who picked up a worm while everyone else squirmed, disturbed.
A girl whose carried her imagination like a balloon around her finger
It was so big, so vast, that she didn't fit in with the others.
Sometimes she tried to make herself smaller so
She could make way for her big brain
But no matter how far she shrunk,
She remained the junk of society. At least that's what she thought.
Her parents' sobriety was rare. Her own home was like an asylum
And some days she wanted to peel the floorboards from the kitchen and
Hide underneath. She taught herself to weave night skies from her synapses when
She felt like collapsing, and it worked, so now she keeps her mind
Dancing, imagining things like what the color blue tastes like and how summer smells.
Her thoughts are all she needs here in this dun
MosaicsShe was a stoic artist
That created mosaics from
Her own broken dreams, her own tear streams
The shards of her own discarded heart that
Other people shattered
Arranging them into dragons with iridescent scales and teeth
Made of jade and pieces of her bones
She was a jar and every time she felt like disaster she would reach down
Take a handful of pieces and spread plaster on canvas,
Construct constellations from cracked words and crushed souls
She created smiles out of her teeth spit out from punches and kicks
To her jaws, because the other kids thought she chose to have flaws
Her internal jar wouldn't fill as fast
And she ran out of supplies, so she had to improvise
Her skin became her canvas, her tears became her plaster
She started gluing her broken self back together
Putting casts around her dreams and her heart and her soul
Making mosaics inside her mind and in herself
And soon, she looked like the work of art she was.
Hydrophobia (Percents)The earth is seventy percent water.
Our bodies are seventy percent water.
Our love is seventy percent water
Seventy percent tears, seventy percent
Oceans hiding behind my eyes with every "I'm okay."
Seventy percent of us is the river flowing through you
And sometimes that river's current is against me
I try to swim but seventy percent of the time I almost drown in you
The other thirty I almost drown in myself
Thirty percent of us is land
Grass, dirt, the flowers you give me to say sorry
(and they just end up dying with every other good lie you said to me)
The branches spread up and down your arms that hold me
And seventy percent of the time it's warm
And it's making me melt like an iceberg into the ocean
I don't want it to happen
Because then seventy percent will grow to seventy one and seventy two and soon
The entire earth will just be a sea
The moon will be crying trying to make the waves happen and
Only adding to the ocean
Thirty percent of the ea
Caged WordsSwallowing spicy sentences
Can give you a sore throat
Just like saying them does.
The words ride my tongue
Like expert equestrians
Never falling off, with stirrups made of steel
And a bridle made of brick
And if one slips off, it falls quietly
Onto its helmet, getting right back up
Tough words, sly words
The ones that are good at hiding
And sometimes tiny words
Just slip from cracked lips
A mouth like a cage,
Where sentences enter through the ears and
The words, each letter, each syllable stays in
It's cold out there
They are tough but scared and not calloused and not prepared
I was born with a mouth like this
Words hiding between my teeth,
Residing there until invited into the world
My tongue is a horse
But sometimes it is a hearse
Because some of my words never see the light of the sun
I am a mother fish who keeps all her young behind her tongue
They are safe there
And so am I.
I screamMy scream is loud.
My scream is honest.
My scream is desperate.
My scream is filled with truth.
Why would nobody hear me?
dearly belovedthese days
your name has been slipping
in and out of my rib cage
my heart forgets to beat.
how even after all these months i still
don't want to believe that
you're dead. how during the
first couple of weeks i prayed
to a god i didn't believe in and begged to know
if death tasted sweet to you. how once,
when the monsters in my head
didn't let me sleep, i
wrote you three poems and then
you were a supernova that
lit up my life for
a few radiant moments before,
like all good things in this
you came to an end.
the sinner in me hopes that you have wings now.
but i think that,
most of all,
i hope you no longer
remember what pain
I Tear My Skin AwayI Tear My Skin Away
I tear this skin from my body,
Even if the world screams,
That I am only an illusion.
I tear the bones from my legs,
Through pain, I will grow,
Through suffering, I will become.
I rip the muscles from my arms,
These teeth from my jaws...
And with nothing upon me,
I carry on...
Like a broken puppet, still shivering,
Still forcing its way through the darkness;
I tremble for I am nothing...
And yet, I am moving. My voice still screams...
I draw breath into these tired lungs,
As I rip the flesh away...
And I shatter these mirrors before me,
With a voice that will not break:
Because the world cannot label me as nothing,
And I will live for my own sake!
"So tell me, is that all the pain you've got for me?"
Those Green Eyes (Or: Don't Lie to Your Kid)Those green eyes -
The green of joy
The green of hope
The green of love and acceptance -
Were always full of lies.
They first lied when I said,
After a nightmare at four am
When I was too small to reach a light switch,
“Will you ever leave me?”
And those eyes said,
Why did those green eyes
Shut when I needed them most?
"Are you okay?"
Would be a red line
That I would etch into myself
Those green eyes melted.
Those green eyes did shine
And I knew what it was -
I was young, not stupid -
But I indulged the lie,
For those green eyes.
"Will it get better?"
I asked one sunny Saturday
At ten in the morning
And those green eyes looked away;
“And you’ll be here forever?”
There were no words.
I made up my own affirmative.
Those green eyes -
When they saw
How I’d rubbed myself raw
notes on a matchbook love.if I were the type
to say how I really felt,
I'd tell you that
I hope you choke on your apologies
like they're arsenic
and your nails are already
with the poison.
I'd let you know
that I'll never be a body
for you to touch
just because I know that's all you want.
I'll never be a fairy in a bottle
at your waist.
this is no storybook, and
I am no myth.
hear my silence,
feel the cold absence
respond to your weak "I'm sorry"s.
I beg you,
stop digging the hole,
stop, just stop.
Hush and watch the flames
engulf the image you sold me.
you can tell me
I'm beautiful as much
as you want,
but I know that it's not enough,
that you'll always want more,
that you've been a wolf
between my legs all this time
and my fingers are bruised
from holding the leash.
now every time you whisper
"please be okay",
I will always tell you that
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
I will forever pretend
that I've grown up from you,
that I've become a mystery
Let me dieGo away
Leave me alone
And let me die
Of this world
I don't want to live
Because there's no light
At the end of this tunnel
So I'll just end my life
Don't try to stop me
And we'll meet again
On the other side
Outside this dark tunnel
Wrists.Wrists are not made,
To be cut up by cold blades.
Blood was meant to stay in your veins,
Not to be drained.
From your body,
You're stronger than that,
I know a person can only take,
Until they break.
And you have your doubts,
And when you lay in bed,
The pain is all you think about.
But you're so much more,
Than your heart aches.
So much more,
Than your demons.
Even if you feel,
Like your dying,
And you are through with trying,
Because all you've been doing lately is crying.
I want you to know,
That no, you're not alone.
And you re going to survive.
Please just drop your knife,
Because you're going to,
Make it out alive.
words, wonderlight has faded and words are heavy,
but there is a delicate magic
twisting between your fingers.
it is all a-scribble
melisma without music;
syllables stitching terra firma
to firmament in intricate
stanzas that require
neither breath nor sound
to echo, infinite,
within the depths
of susurrous souls.
it is cold and it is dark,
but there is a fire in you
and you use it with a fierce grace
that illuminates the shadows,
and ignites the demons
until not even the grey spaces
that haunt and harry
can hold dominion.
they are exposed
they are broken
into shards of sunrise
and rays of a quiet
you scare away the night
with exhalations that blow
away the fogged emptiness
inside, over and over,
sparking fireworks from
what was thought
to be ash.
An Apology To Everyone I'm sorry that my dance classes cost too much money.
I'm sorry that my jokes are never even remotely funny.
I'm sorry that I laughed when I should have held it in.
I'm sorry that I've made mistakes and lied and failed and sinned.
I'm sorry that anxiety has made my eyes get small.
I'm sorry that my crying seems to drive you up the wall.
I'm sorry that we're magnets, seemingly both set at south.
I'm sorry that I'm always letting words flow from my mouth.
I'm sorry that my fingernails aren't perfect, clean, or straight.
I'm sorry for the things I've said and done and turned in late.
I'm sorry that my interests aren't things that you like to do.
I'm sorry for not running fast enough away from you.
Im sorry that my cherry cheeks are always topped with salt.
I'm sorry for existing, but that's really not my fault.
I'm sorry for wasting precious time when no one will forgive
All the awful things I've caused, as long as I still l
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More