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pears and nears

monday afternoon and
my lover is studying;
i am wondering if he remembers that time when
we learnt together the geometric shapes -
circled are his lips when
the sun draws himself upon them;

i am jealous.

earth has his own anatomy -
them science people called him "pear";
maybe the fruit was before the planet
or maybe the planet grew out of it,
which makes us pearestrials, but
i wouldn't know;

i don't do science.

i don't even do words -
words are too academic sometimes;
it's propestorous (exclamation mark)
and my fingers are only made to waltz with yours;
i'm sorry when i stumble,
you know my forefinger is high heel sensi

On conversationsI
have upset the order
of things, birds
fall fast and featherflappingly from
shaken skies, and leaves
curl backwards into trees
which snap
from frost in summer, my heart
is a bell that rings until
glass shatters and frost falls
fearful on the ground and I
just do not know how
to tell you.

Progesterone.you should ask,
fittingly,

if one could die from bruises
or pressure, sub-
marine and ready to tip
like
an ancient bell-curve.

naseous, I am full
of textbooks, upper-layers of
disgust and
seizures.

but you'll come down south
with me, after our bones
ache and stretch and I
told them, I did, that
all I needed was comfort,
yours --
at night, and I don't
care about doors.

please, please let your
optimism be
true.

Maslow's ChildMonday's child is
Choking
Starving
Exhausted.
His thoughts are barely worth the name,
His needs too pressing

If he could just pull in that cold,
City air - maybe a little food
To wash it down -
He will sleep.

Tuesday's child is
Terrified.
The dark, fanged elements
Are inches from her throat
And closing.
Her heart's staccato speeds
And all she can hear is
The pounding of her feet
And the pounding of her pulse
As she runs,

Looking for somewhere,
Anywhere,
To hide
And pray
For tooth and claw to pass by.

Wednesday's child is
So
Ver

SpringtimeIt is winter on my breastbone,
Across my nose,
Down my arms,
Snowbanks of pale skin
At my shoulders, elbows, knees.

But a sudden spring emerges on my hipbone,
A rioting vibrant mass
Of blue-black-purple-green.
Brought on not by the warming of the weather,
Or a gentle rain,
But by a forceful collision with a table.

This bloom will wither soon,
Just like the real daffodils and irises.
The colors will fade,
And my skin will return to the tundra.

High Heels for Death's ParadeWe walked in on her putting on sparkly, strappy stilettos
on those marble feet, and one of those leather miniskirts,
two fake eyelashes studded with glitter, a mouthful of overflowing
claret lipstick, and a necklace made of an old noose.
We asked her 'what are you doing, you silly girl?'
she said:

'I'm off to meet death while i'm still pretty.'

We found him scribbling out his old mottos of 'carpe diem'
and 'que sera sera' to replace them with 'death is a promise'
in scrawled red marker. We caught him laughing at old movies
with gun fights and when Jack went beneath the waves in 'Titanic'.
Eventually, we asked 'so, why do you want t

Only In My Memories

Only In My Memories

The thoughts are like frost-bitten pins
Everything goes numb when the cycle begins

I'm every sin

No hands were lent, no hands to take
Abandonment   abandonment   abandonment
No tears were shed, no tears to make
Abolishment   abolishment   abolishment
-
The images are like venomized needles
After the feelings are injected, I'm left fearful

I'm chaotically peaceful

This self-suffering is man-made, so I hope for my own sake
Heart infection   heart infection   heart infection
I thought it was destiny, but I fell for you too

AbsintheThat sallow-cheeked girl told me that every night
she hallucinated of sprites and pixies weaving between her eyes
and she giggled every time she did.
We shared an awkward silence before she dissolved into a fit
of laughter on my bedroom floor, but it's a harsh kind of laugh
and she strikes me as the type who knows she is not there
but strings pearl teeth and magenta lips onto a pole of her own
stacked identities.

Meanwhile, there's a boy sipping absinthe out of champagne flutes,
spilling it from lips like colanders onto the waiting floor.
He talks to paintings on the wall like they'll console him.
He tells a portrait of a woman in

virgin culturethere's a little more to love than lust
and a little more to a person than a label.
you can try to sum me up in five words or less and you'll find those words,
but you won't be able to reduce me to them.
you can't turn me into something that can be thrust,
curse-like,
down the grapevine
when there's something more to me than the colour of my eyes or the size of my chest.

and that's something we could all do with remembering.
but this is the culture we were born into.
where the length of your hair is more important than the sincerity of your words,
and nothing matters as much as the kardashians' latest scandal or talking some hot c

FaithEach October I stand here
As fallen leaves damask
haphazard arrangement
yellows and reds
In natural brilliance.

The heads of these stones
Stand above this sea of color.

It was October twenty years ago
When, in your stillness,
You were brought here
With box and grave faces.
—The last I saw of you.

I have been faithful.
In the braced air I visit
Though I have no words.
I want to believe you are here
Want to believe

And each October I turn my
Back on the leaves and the stones
And the air and the gray—

Believing—Believing?
Fall colors can return to gre

why jk rowling embodies depression as dementorsi wanted to talk to you about happiness
but i don't think anyone in this room is qualified to talk about something
they probably don't know much about, and
how it spends most of its time
seeping out of your skin in whatever ways it can
because maybe your body is too toxic for it.

that's when you start having your moment.

the moment when you're not sure
how to be alive,
when strings become nooses
in the stars of your eyes,
thin objects mock your bones
and the instruments of your heart
act like knives thirsting for blood.

pavement shatters underfoot.
the cracks become teeth,
sharp and unfriendly as you pass;
they're grey, great

beside me.I wish you were laying here beside me. . .
Here to feel your warmth, here to give that soft comforting touch that only you can calm me with.
To hear your gentle heart beat from under your soft skin, I couldn't think of anything more soothing.
I want to get captured by your bright loving eyes and get lost in the thought of this moment lasting forever.

As I crave you to be so close, I lay here alone.
On a bed that feels too big, under sheets that seem so cold, heated by nothing more than a shell of a lovesick boy wanting to reconnect all the pieces of our devided hearts.

I wonder if you think of me too.
If you miss me.
I

SuspendedSuspended

I like the palms of your hands-
dry and static. I like the palms
your mother planted in the front yard
when you were five. They grew more
quickly, but you grew healthier- less green.

Good thing we planned this
exodus into the Dead Sea.
Lucky we cannot help but to float.

Something from the sea, the land-
they were mockingbirds, weren’t they?

This cannot be healthy.
How the hell did my mother manage
to sink here like a fish
after death? She claims to have exhaled
hard, but my lungs will not compress
enough; I cannot let go

enough. Let me tell you something-

We should grow gills,
individually,

Republican and ProudYeah I'm a republican,
But I don't like war.
Sure I'm a conservative,
But who's keeping score?
I support gay marriage,
And I'm also pro choice,
The media lies about us,
But don't we have a voice?
I'll respect your opinion,
If you respect mine.
I’m tired of getting flamed all the time!
Don’t hate me because I’m for McCain,
Don’t tell me I’m living without a brain.
I’m a republican, elephant, conservative,
and it might suprise you to know that
I’m proud.

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Submitted: May 1, 2012
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Deux-piece

by *iNeedChemicalX, May 1, 2012, 4:41:47 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

_{i gave my heart to a crocodile
but
he used it as a toothpick
so
i took it back
and

gave it to Charlie Chaplin
but
he kept playing the dictator
so
i took it back
and

gave it to Houdini
but
he'd make it disappear every morn
so
i took it back
and

gave it to the Beatles
but
they threw it to their lunatic fans
so
i took it back
and

gave it to my chest
but
it was dark and bloody in there
so
i took it back
and

gave it to You,
my Unloneliness,
to stuff it next to yours -
i heard from your veins
there's room enough for Two
in your rib cage.}

Deux-pieceby *iNeedChemicalX

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *iNeedChemicalX

once upon a ~tibiii and i

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If you like my work, please click the "Collect me" button here: [link] so I may have a chance to be exhibited in NYC. Thank you!

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

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~STONECASTLE311 Jun 19, 2012

beautiful

Reply

*alika-n May 12, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Very personal story, huh?

Reply

*CHARLESRATTERAY May 10, 2012 Professional Digital Artist

this is lovely

Reply

*alika-n May 9, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

OK.. This is actually a pretty good poem

Love it! Maybe, just maybe, instead of "gave it to my chest", add another character! Someone the writer gives her heart to but regrets it because it's dark and bloody (too many hearts?).

Reply

*iNeedChemicalX May 10, 2012

Thanks.

but the chest part was too true to omit

Reply

Mood: Relief

~Moonell May 7, 2012 Student Photographer

I'm glad you are happy now. When I got to your work about two years ago (maybe more ?), you seemed really confused and depressed sometimes (althought that just might be my feeling because I felt that way these days). I'm glad you at least seem to feel better.
Your poem is really touching.

Reply

*iNeedChemicalX May 7, 2012

Well, you've quite got it. I can feel the happiness now.

Thank you...

Reply

Mood: Sweet

~ruffscorp May 4, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

love it........!!!!

Reply

~xXMeganMckenzieXx May 2, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

I like the repetitiveness of this poem.

Reply

*iNeedChemicalX May 2, 2012

Thanks!

Reply